[Log] Egg Touching I
Who: Ajatha, Betegal, Tiriana, Whitchek
When: Day 25, Month 10, Turn 19
Where: Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana takes a couple of candidates out on the sands for a touching.
Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather.
The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure.
Contents:
Iovniath
Obvious exits:
Galleries
Iovniath seems uneasy out on the sands, fussing at her eggs, giving them tiny nudges and adjustments to make sure they're just like she wants them, arranged so artistically on the sands. Tiriana's just as fidgety herself, where she waits for the candidates just at the wide entry to the sands; she keeps glancing back at her dragon and then the assembling candidates. And then she announces, voice raised to quiet any murmuring for these few minutes, "Shut up."
Other Candidates may have looked forward to this for a long time. Whispered about the possibility. Whitchek is not one of them. He even goes so far as to shuffle behind the bulk of the others, but at the very least he's not doing any murmuring. Shutting up is doable when you're busy being sullen.
Betegal doesn't really look like he wants to be among the assembling candidates. But this is what he's supposed to do and he'll make the best of it. He manages to be in the group without being with anyone in particular and he wasn't talking anyway, so he just looks toward Tiriana when she speaks.
"Okay," Tiriana says, when she's got silence. She glowers over the crowd, mouth tight with one last glance at Iovniath, who duly retreats back from her eggs, lingering a couple of yards from them with a forlorn expression. "Okay. This is easy, guys. You go out there and touch the eggs. And you keep your voices down and you don't run around and you don't pull any crap on us or those eggs, or Faranth help me, I will beat the ever-loving shit out of you and bury you in a dark corner." She even points helpfully, back off at the far, unlit end of the cavern. "Got it?"
Ajatha doesn't try to lag behind or hide away from this impromptu call for the candidates. It just happens that she is scooting - not late - back up in the rear, but once she sits the entrance of the cavorn, she slows as if it never happened and draws up at the back of the group, ducking around one of the taller boys to hear what's being said. Ah, threats. Well, at least it's warmer here.
"Yes'm," is all Whitchek starts with. All politeness and please-don't-notice-me-back-here, as any sane person ought to be. Hands in pockets, head down. But then there's that unavoidable fact that he's still Whitchek, and after a moment, he raises his hand with all the hesitance anybody ought to give to that gesture in this company. "Um, we're supposed to touch them--how, exactly? What kind of touching are we talking about?"
Betegal's gaze shifts to the dragon that retreats back from the eggs. Where other people seem excited to move forward, his eyes return to the Weyrwoman and he frowns in her general direction and he may or may not murmur with the general consensus that, yes, they got it.
Somebody's asking questions, and Tiriana, about to turn and lead the way to the group of sixteen eggs, pauses to look back at Whitchek, eyeballing him. "You grope them, feel them all up, duh. Faranth, what do you think, man?" she huffs, with a shake of her head, a sarcastic sneer. "You touch 'em lightly. Gently. They're hard enough they're not going to just spontaneously burst, but still. /Gentle/. Anything else?"
Ajatha glances back over her shoulder toward the one asking questions, Whit, of course, and purses her mouth. But, to her credit, she actually keeps her mouth shut for once, only offering a general agreement and canting her head with some matter of interest.
"...okay," Whitchek says, quieter, rather sheepish. You know, part of the flock. Just here along with everybody else. He has a little look around, notices Betegal there, steps a little closer and murmurs--"Were we supposed to already know that? How was I supposed to know that?" But he keeps his head down, his voice low enough to hopefully pass under the radar.
Betegal doesn't ask any questions. He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest. A glance is given sideways when Whitchek sidles closer. He shrugs. "You know now," he says, not really sure what else to say. He must have taken it for granted to.
"Anything else?" Tiriana asks again, testy; she's eyeing Whitchek even as he ducks his head and tries to lay low. When there are no other concerns, she adds, "No? Fine, go then. Just remember we're watching you." And she steps aside, to let the candidates go ahead toward the eggs; her destination's Iovniath, who croons what might be a greeting, a caution, or just motherly worries as the candidates go to lay their grubby hands on her poor eggs.
Ajatha, for one, seems to have known, by the fact that she subtly drifts back near Whit and Bet both, her tone dropping. "Gentle. Like when you're holding a child, or hugging a loved one, or when you're holding a lover's hand on a walk." Softly, lazily, as others trickle onto the sands toward their task.
"Mmf." Whitchek makes a little noise upon Ajatha's passing, but otherwise thankfully manages to keep his mouth shut, now. And, as everybody else mills forward, towards the eggs, he's sure to keep at least a few people between him and Tiriana. When he finally gets out there, he stands off to the side, eyes the eggs like they might really all spontaneously explode.
Betegal wanders forward, not looking particularly worried about staying near Ajatha or Whitchek. His arms stay crossed over his chest, too, even when he reaches an egg. He just looks at it while someone else touches it, a brow arched like he expects it to do something even though he's perfectly aware that it won't. "It's too hot in here," he mumbles.
The eggs do not, for the record, spontaneously explode. Yet. Tiriana, however, may shortly do so, eyeing the candidates who hang back particularly harshly, while she runs a hand over her dragon's cheek. Iovniath is tolerating those touching her children with effort, and though she makes the effort to play the gracious queen, it's not working this time. And Tiriana, on her behalf, says sharply, "Touch them already. You're not staying in here all night, people."
"C'mon, Whit, get on with it," Ajatha encourages, more amused than anything else as she finally shoos another of the boys out of her way and comes across an egg resting in the sand. Her hand lightly rests on it's side, one hand, then the other smoothing over it and steely eyes surveying the color and design in it. "They won't bite you."
Well, so, no explosions. This is good. And Iovniath hasn't eaten anyone yet. Also good. Whitchek finally, in the face of these affirmations of the general safety of the endeavor, picks an egg, crouches down next to it, and touches the tip of one finger to it so exceedingly lightly that it probably could have been a bubble and still sat there utterly undisturbed. "That's easy for you to say," he hisses in Ajatha's general direction. "Have you seen *her*?" Head jerk in the queen's direction.
No doubt he hears Tiriana and that might be what brings him to uncross his arms and trail his fingers over the shell of the egg he was watching someone else fondle. Betegal moves on to the next without a change in his mostly blank expression. His hand brushes over the next and he circles it slowly, taking in the colors and textures before moving to the next in what becomes a methodical process.
Iovniath settles, more or less, eventually. And when she does, Tiriana murmurs something quiet to her, something about murdering anybody who hurt them and so forth. And then, that assured, the Weyrwoman moves away, cautiously backing off until she turns to approach the candidates and eggs themselves, to keep a better eye on them. Whitchek and Ajatha both earn long looks, but it's the reticent Betegal that she edges closer to, asks, "Well?"
"That's part of why you're -respectful-, remember? Don't give her a reason, and you should be safe. Moderately." Off-handedly, softly. Ajatha trails her fingers over the curve of the shell and, as if she never was there, she backtracks on her steps and strides across the warmth of the sands toward the next egg not but a few feet from there.
Another noncommittal noise from Whitchek, who can hardly be said to have been disrespectful so far--no lectures, no screeds on the immorality of all of this, no calling Iovniath a 'thing', none of it. He's being good. He finally manages to touch the egg's shell with several fingertips, perhaps trusting more now that it's really, really not going to break, or explode, or start singing, or anything. "And how is this all supposed to help us?"
Betegal gives a little start at the sound of Tiriana's voice a lot closer to him than he expected it to be and he turns his head to look at her, standing a little more straight. "Well," he repeats. "They feel different than I thought they would," is admitted. "Warm, I guess." Why he thought it would be any different in such a steaming area of the Weyr is anyone's guess. But they were just things to him and now they're perhaps on a slightly higher level than that.
Tiriana eyes Betegal, blinking. "Gee, you think," she says finally, snorting; but she sounds less annoyed about this than about Whitchek's question earlier, at least. Guess who's on her good side. Encouraging, "Touch another one. Touch a lot of them. Faranth knows if this actually does any good, but you might as well try it. Can't hurt." Beat. "Unless it does work and then the dragon just decides it hates you before it ever even hatches. Maybe that's why we still end up with maulings, some days."
Ajatha glances back up at the trio and eyes Beteegal and Whit. "Maybe it's to just get you used to standing on hot sands and being near eggs that are larger than one might usually not be accustomed to, before the hatching. Who even knows anymore?" Anyway. Touching, yes. Lightly, she's examining the surface of her chosen egg just now and considering.
Can't hurt unless it does. Whitchek eyes the egg he's next to with newfound alarm. Murmurs--almost a whisper, definitely not meant to be audible to others even if it happens to carry further than intended--"I'm really not a bad person." Maybe the heat can be the excuse for why he seems to have broken into quite a sweat. He gets up, moves on to another egg, placing each step with extreme care. No reply to Ajatha but a bit of an anxious smile in her direction. Who knows, indeed.
Betegal attempts to move along to continue his egg groping while the Weyrwoman speaks. "Maybe you should try not letting a group touch the eggs one time and see if there's any difference." He's all for new things. So long as they don't infringe on his values, such that they are. This is apparently not one of those things. But he still touches the egg that he passes by while he talks.
"Maybe," considers Tiriana, though she steps away from Betegal then, to let him have a few moments' peace with the eggs. "Supposedly, that's what they used to do, and lots of people got hurt. So." A shrug. She moves away, toward the next nearest candidate, Whitchek of the annoying questions, and--well. Now he's whispering to the eggs? Tiriana eyes him, perhaps catching snippets of what he says; probably just thinking he's really weird.
Ajatha looks back over her shoulder once again, only to quirk a brow in the direction of Whitchek's ramblings to nothingness. Peer. Then, more peering. Shaking her head as if to shake off the image, she tosses a half smile his way and blinks back to the egg. Hmm. "Sounds like a good reason to keep the practice up, no matter the unknown reasoning." There's a pause.
At the next egg, Whitchek is at least not audible, although someone who was actually staring at him--and what would anybody be doing that for?--might notice his lips moving a little bit anyway. Covering bases. "But people... do still get hurt," he notes, for clarification purposes, towards the Weyrwoman. "Didn't you say that?"
Betegal continues doing his thing, more or less in silence, though he glances toward Whitchek and his last comment to the Weyrwoman. The ex-smith doesn't seem worried about the prospect himself and he probably doesn't care whether the touchings continue for all eternity.
"Sometimes," says Tiriana, but she's only half-listening to Whitchek, as her eyes flick back to Iovniath. "They don't die, though, for the most part." Though the gold looks the same, statue-still since the candidates reaches the eggs, Tiriana claps her hands together to get all the candidates' attention back on her. And then she points toward the exit and says simply, "Out."
Hrr? Ajatha gets pulled from her thoughts again and perks up with a quierying sound back at the others in the cavern. "Mostly. They just get a few scars - if they're not quick enough to move out of the way of a hatchling. S'why you have to be alert." Giving the last egg she's on a last light pat, she clears her throat and steps away, straightening her back.
Out. Well, there's something. Whitchek is only too prompt to stand and break for the exit--but then stops, holds back for a second, waits on Betegal. "Hey," he asks, voice all hushed. "You got a minute? Outside." Indicates the exit with a motion of the chin. Looks back at Tiriana for a moment and the motionless queen, then heads on out, not waiting for a response. Seems like a better idea to wait outside, no doubt.
Betegal doesn't waste any time leaving and as he turns to head toward the exit, he smacks a younger candidate upside the back of their head when they're still lingering at an egg as he passes them. "Go," he says and points toward the exit, following them out. He glances at Whitchek when he's spoken to, thinks for a moment, then gives a movement of his head that's probably a nod but he doesn't say anything as he continues out.
Tiriana lingers behind, watching as the candidates trickle out. And she returns then to Iovniath's side, while the queen lowers her head down to her rider's level. Tiriana leans her forehead against her muzzle, an oddly gentle moment. "I know. I know they touched your eggs," she murmurs. "It's okay. They're all okay."
When: Day 25, Month 10, Turn 19
Where: Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana takes a couple of candidates out on the sands for a touching.
Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather.
The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure.
Contents:
Iovniath
Obvious exits:
Galleries
Iovniath seems uneasy out on the sands, fussing at her eggs, giving them tiny nudges and adjustments to make sure they're just like she wants them, arranged so artistically on the sands. Tiriana's just as fidgety herself, where she waits for the candidates just at the wide entry to the sands; she keeps glancing back at her dragon and then the assembling candidates. And then she announces, voice raised to quiet any murmuring for these few minutes, "Shut up."
Other Candidates may have looked forward to this for a long time. Whispered about the possibility. Whitchek is not one of them. He even goes so far as to shuffle behind the bulk of the others, but at the very least he's not doing any murmuring. Shutting up is doable when you're busy being sullen.
Betegal doesn't really look like he wants to be among the assembling candidates. But this is what he's supposed to do and he'll make the best of it. He manages to be in the group without being with anyone in particular and he wasn't talking anyway, so he just looks toward Tiriana when she speaks.
"Okay," Tiriana says, when she's got silence. She glowers over the crowd, mouth tight with one last glance at Iovniath, who duly retreats back from her eggs, lingering a couple of yards from them with a forlorn expression. "Okay. This is easy, guys. You go out there and touch the eggs. And you keep your voices down and you don't run around and you don't pull any crap on us or those eggs, or Faranth help me, I will beat the ever-loving shit out of you and bury you in a dark corner." She even points helpfully, back off at the far, unlit end of the cavern. "Got it?"
Ajatha doesn't try to lag behind or hide away from this impromptu call for the candidates. It just happens that she is scooting - not late - back up in the rear, but once she sits the entrance of the cavorn, she slows as if it never happened and draws up at the back of the group, ducking around one of the taller boys to hear what's being said. Ah, threats. Well, at least it's warmer here.
"Yes'm," is all Whitchek starts with. All politeness and please-don't-notice-me-back-here, as any sane person ought to be. Hands in pockets, head down. But then there's that unavoidable fact that he's still Whitchek, and after a moment, he raises his hand with all the hesitance anybody ought to give to that gesture in this company. "Um, we're supposed to touch them--how, exactly? What kind of touching are we talking about?"
Betegal's gaze shifts to the dragon that retreats back from the eggs. Where other people seem excited to move forward, his eyes return to the Weyrwoman and he frowns in her general direction and he may or may not murmur with the general consensus that, yes, they got it.
Somebody's asking questions, and Tiriana, about to turn and lead the way to the group of sixteen eggs, pauses to look back at Whitchek, eyeballing him. "You grope them, feel them all up, duh. Faranth, what do you think, man?" she huffs, with a shake of her head, a sarcastic sneer. "You touch 'em lightly. Gently. They're hard enough they're not going to just spontaneously burst, but still. /Gentle/. Anything else?"
Ajatha glances back over her shoulder toward the one asking questions, Whit, of course, and purses her mouth. But, to her credit, she actually keeps her mouth shut for once, only offering a general agreement and canting her head with some matter of interest.
"...okay," Whitchek says, quieter, rather sheepish. You know, part of the flock. Just here along with everybody else. He has a little look around, notices Betegal there, steps a little closer and murmurs--"Were we supposed to already know that? How was I supposed to know that?" But he keeps his head down, his voice low enough to hopefully pass under the radar.
Betegal doesn't ask any questions. He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest. A glance is given sideways when Whitchek sidles closer. He shrugs. "You know now," he says, not really sure what else to say. He must have taken it for granted to.
"Anything else?" Tiriana asks again, testy; she's eyeing Whitchek even as he ducks his head and tries to lay low. When there are no other concerns, she adds, "No? Fine, go then. Just remember we're watching you." And she steps aside, to let the candidates go ahead toward the eggs; her destination's Iovniath, who croons what might be a greeting, a caution, or just motherly worries as the candidates go to lay their grubby hands on her poor eggs.
Ajatha, for one, seems to have known, by the fact that she subtly drifts back near Whit and Bet both, her tone dropping. "Gentle. Like when you're holding a child, or hugging a loved one, or when you're holding a lover's hand on a walk." Softly, lazily, as others trickle onto the sands toward their task.
"Mmf." Whitchek makes a little noise upon Ajatha's passing, but otherwise thankfully manages to keep his mouth shut, now. And, as everybody else mills forward, towards the eggs, he's sure to keep at least a few people between him and Tiriana. When he finally gets out there, he stands off to the side, eyes the eggs like they might really all spontaneously explode.
Betegal wanders forward, not looking particularly worried about staying near Ajatha or Whitchek. His arms stay crossed over his chest, too, even when he reaches an egg. He just looks at it while someone else touches it, a brow arched like he expects it to do something even though he's perfectly aware that it won't. "It's too hot in here," he mumbles.
The eggs do not, for the record, spontaneously explode. Yet. Tiriana, however, may shortly do so, eyeing the candidates who hang back particularly harshly, while she runs a hand over her dragon's cheek. Iovniath is tolerating those touching her children with effort, and though she makes the effort to play the gracious queen, it's not working this time. And Tiriana, on her behalf, says sharply, "Touch them already. You're not staying in here all night, people."
"C'mon, Whit, get on with it," Ajatha encourages, more amused than anything else as she finally shoos another of the boys out of her way and comes across an egg resting in the sand. Her hand lightly rests on it's side, one hand, then the other smoothing over it and steely eyes surveying the color and design in it. "They won't bite you."
Well, so, no explosions. This is good. And Iovniath hasn't eaten anyone yet. Also good. Whitchek finally, in the face of these affirmations of the general safety of the endeavor, picks an egg, crouches down next to it, and touches the tip of one finger to it so exceedingly lightly that it probably could have been a bubble and still sat there utterly undisturbed. "That's easy for you to say," he hisses in Ajatha's general direction. "Have you seen *her*?" Head jerk in the queen's direction.
No doubt he hears Tiriana and that might be what brings him to uncross his arms and trail his fingers over the shell of the egg he was watching someone else fondle. Betegal moves on to the next without a change in his mostly blank expression. His hand brushes over the next and he circles it slowly, taking in the colors and textures before moving to the next in what becomes a methodical process.
Iovniath settles, more or less, eventually. And when she does, Tiriana murmurs something quiet to her, something about murdering anybody who hurt them and so forth. And then, that assured, the Weyrwoman moves away, cautiously backing off until she turns to approach the candidates and eggs themselves, to keep a better eye on them. Whitchek and Ajatha both earn long looks, but it's the reticent Betegal that she edges closer to, asks, "Well?"
"That's part of why you're -respectful-, remember? Don't give her a reason, and you should be safe. Moderately." Off-handedly, softly. Ajatha trails her fingers over the curve of the shell and, as if she never was there, she backtracks on her steps and strides across the warmth of the sands toward the next egg not but a few feet from there.
Another noncommittal noise from Whitchek, who can hardly be said to have been disrespectful so far--no lectures, no screeds on the immorality of all of this, no calling Iovniath a 'thing', none of it. He's being good. He finally manages to touch the egg's shell with several fingertips, perhaps trusting more now that it's really, really not going to break, or explode, or start singing, or anything. "And how is this all supposed to help us?"
Betegal gives a little start at the sound of Tiriana's voice a lot closer to him than he expected it to be and he turns his head to look at her, standing a little more straight. "Well," he repeats. "They feel different than I thought they would," is admitted. "Warm, I guess." Why he thought it would be any different in such a steaming area of the Weyr is anyone's guess. But they were just things to him and now they're perhaps on a slightly higher level than that.
Tiriana eyes Betegal, blinking. "Gee, you think," she says finally, snorting; but she sounds less annoyed about this than about Whitchek's question earlier, at least. Guess who's on her good side. Encouraging, "Touch another one. Touch a lot of them. Faranth knows if this actually does any good, but you might as well try it. Can't hurt." Beat. "Unless it does work and then the dragon just decides it hates you before it ever even hatches. Maybe that's why we still end up with maulings, some days."
Ajatha glances back up at the trio and eyes Beteegal and Whit. "Maybe it's to just get you used to standing on hot sands and being near eggs that are larger than one might usually not be accustomed to, before the hatching. Who even knows anymore?" Anyway. Touching, yes. Lightly, she's examining the surface of her chosen egg just now and considering.
Can't hurt unless it does. Whitchek eyes the egg he's next to with newfound alarm. Murmurs--almost a whisper, definitely not meant to be audible to others even if it happens to carry further than intended--"I'm really not a bad person." Maybe the heat can be the excuse for why he seems to have broken into quite a sweat. He gets up, moves on to another egg, placing each step with extreme care. No reply to Ajatha but a bit of an anxious smile in her direction. Who knows, indeed.
Betegal attempts to move along to continue his egg groping while the Weyrwoman speaks. "Maybe you should try not letting a group touch the eggs one time and see if there's any difference." He's all for new things. So long as they don't infringe on his values, such that they are. This is apparently not one of those things. But he still touches the egg that he passes by while he talks.
"Maybe," considers Tiriana, though she steps away from Betegal then, to let him have a few moments' peace with the eggs. "Supposedly, that's what they used to do, and lots of people got hurt. So." A shrug. She moves away, toward the next nearest candidate, Whitchek of the annoying questions, and--well. Now he's whispering to the eggs? Tiriana eyes him, perhaps catching snippets of what he says; probably just thinking he's really weird.
Ajatha looks back over her shoulder once again, only to quirk a brow in the direction of Whitchek's ramblings to nothingness. Peer. Then, more peering. Shaking her head as if to shake off the image, she tosses a half smile his way and blinks back to the egg. Hmm. "Sounds like a good reason to keep the practice up, no matter the unknown reasoning." There's a pause.
At the next egg, Whitchek is at least not audible, although someone who was actually staring at him--and what would anybody be doing that for?--might notice his lips moving a little bit anyway. Covering bases. "But people... do still get hurt," he notes, for clarification purposes, towards the Weyrwoman. "Didn't you say that?"
Betegal continues doing his thing, more or less in silence, though he glances toward Whitchek and his last comment to the Weyrwoman. The ex-smith doesn't seem worried about the prospect himself and he probably doesn't care whether the touchings continue for all eternity.
"Sometimes," says Tiriana, but she's only half-listening to Whitchek, as her eyes flick back to Iovniath. "They don't die, though, for the most part." Though the gold looks the same, statue-still since the candidates reaches the eggs, Tiriana claps her hands together to get all the candidates' attention back on her. And then she points toward the exit and says simply, "Out."
Hrr? Ajatha gets pulled from her thoughts again and perks up with a quierying sound back at the others in the cavern. "Mostly. They just get a few scars - if they're not quick enough to move out of the way of a hatchling. S'why you have to be alert." Giving the last egg she's on a last light pat, she clears her throat and steps away, straightening her back.
Out. Well, there's something. Whitchek is only too prompt to stand and break for the exit--but then stops, holds back for a second, waits on Betegal. "Hey," he asks, voice all hushed. "You got a minute? Outside." Indicates the exit with a motion of the chin. Looks back at Tiriana for a moment and the motionless queen, then heads on out, not waiting for a response. Seems like a better idea to wait outside, no doubt.
Betegal doesn't waste any time leaving and as he turns to head toward the exit, he smacks a younger candidate upside the back of their head when they're still lingering at an egg as he passes them. "Go," he says and points toward the exit, following them out. He glances at Whitchek when he's spoken to, thinks for a moment, then gives a movement of his head that's probably a nod but he doesn't say anything as he continues out.
Tiriana lingers behind, watching as the candidates trickle out. And she returns then to Iovniath's side, while the queen lowers her head down to her rider's level. Tiriana leans her forehead against her muzzle, an oddly gentle moment. "I know. I know they touched your eggs," she murmurs. "It's okay. They're all okay."