The bags weren't outrageously noticable, I mused on the first day of the next school year. The day passed quickly, me and the Master easily restarting up our routines and relationship, which I could only call friendship. There was a distinct lack of other terms that could describe what he was to me, seeing as I could just tell him to fuck off and cut ties at any point in time if I so wished, and he could as well. Yes. Friends. Ish. Maybe. To me, at least. He still didn't seem to give a fuck, which I was almost grateful for.

It only took a week before trouble came in the form of bullies, though. It was odd, I'd never been physically bullied by anyone besides my own parents, before, and even then it was rather tame, and involved nothing that could strictly be called abuse, typically done after they purposefully tripped us so that we accidentally hit them or something. It was all very annoying.

The hallways were empty, faded sea green lockers lining the walls besides the off-white brick of doorways into classrooms. Ceiling made up of lined and plaster-looking tiles, rectangular lights lighting up the otherwise windowless hallway, and floors made up of white tiles that changed to carpet in certain classrooms, it was a typical, if large, middle school. Made of light brown brick, almost but not quite light enough to be called tan, and visible roofing being red, it was certainly a sight that made a lot of eyes sore.

"Wimp, what're you gonna do? Cry to the principal?" The dude said, laughing with his buddies, "Suck his dick to get good grades?" There were four of them, and it was the middle of class, with all the doors in the hallway we were in closed. Even still, I knew that these four idiots, one of which was a bratty-looking girl, would only have a few minutes to satisfy themselves by bullying me before one teacher or another wandered by.

The boy speaking was Noah. He had tanned skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. He was white, despite looking more hispanic than Julius, a middle-schooler that I had met in passing but remembered from my past life. There was Nick, a kid only slightly tanner than me, with freckles battling across his face, a giant nose, and greasy-looking dirty blond hair that somehow matched his green eyes into making him look more mousy than what should be physically possible. Then, the last boy, Sebastian, was light blond, and the cutest, if most bastardous, boy in middle school besides Michael, one of my elementary aquaintences that would surely fight these four simply due to being a "tough guy" always looking for fights. Sebastian had light hazel eyes, smooth skin, and was the best dressed out of the boys. I'd need to be careful not to injure him too badly, lest his parents sue. Finally, the girl, Liz, had light brown hair that could be mistaken for extremely dirty blond had she been in sunlight, her chocolate brown eyes twisted in malformed glee. All were taller than me, though Sebastian barely so.

"No. I was suggesting you don't do this for your own good, due to the fact that I am entirely prepared to put all of you in the hospital, and none of you are in any way strong enough to stop me," I said calmly. It was an unbased claim; I'd not fought in any way, shape, or form yet this life. Having said that, walking, running, and climbing trees all summer, along with gaining better reaction speeds due to the fact that I had an ongoing war with one of the best professional COD players still playing Black Ops, I knew I'd easily be able to dodge anything they could throw, and probably had more usable strength in one of my legs than in all of their bodies. They didn't look too scared, and I figured out why when a big kid grabbed me from behind. Of course. Tobias the fatass "you're-a-sheeple" that hates people being smarter than his arrogant ass. A fat kid that happened to be in the wrestling club, and certainly was stronger than all five of us twigs combined. "Due to new information, I retract my previous information. I am not merely prepared, I am going to fuck your shit up so hard it'll look like a chocolate shake when I'm d-agh."

Tobias held me up while Noah kicked me in the stomach. Sebastian threw his hand out in what was presumably supposed to be a punch, and Liz kicked me in the face. Nick sneered at me. I kind of hated Nick more than the others. Was he ringleader? I'd happily beat his face until it looked better than the sewer rat appearance it held currently. He hadn't thrown hands or cruel words, yet, though, so I had to presume he was just a coward who went along with the others. I jumped, snapping my head back. I gained a headache, but Tobias loosened his grip as my head impacted his mouth, and I stomped on his foot, heel scraping down his shin on the way down. Never had I been glad for remembering freshman year gym class before until then, and my mind was vindicated in its memory of such previously useless information, because Tobias actually let me go, and I stormed forward, knocking Liz out with one perfectly executed right hook. I did a sweeping kick, and Nick and Noah fell to the ground, surprisingly. Standing up, I did a karate-kick, essentially just putting my entire body into a steady kick right to the chest, where Sebastian stumbled backwards. I moved to another part of the hallway, now in the middle with my fists raised as I watched the five people before me carefully, Tobias kneeling next to Liz, trying to wake her. I had hit her in the temple as hard as I could, so she wouldn't be down for more than five minutes, not unless my strength was higher than I first presumed.

Noah glared at me, and Nick grinned nastily, baring his teeth. I suddenly realized why Nick had hung back, and felt vindicted at the fact that I hadn't realized that he had a knife as most rat-faced dicks did. He flipped out his switchblade, and I took a deep breath, keeping my memories of fighting at the forefront of my mind. You could never be uninjured in a knife fight unless the opponent is so far below your level that it's hilarious, or you're extremely lucky. None of those exceptions held true for me, but I knew the parts of my body that wouldn't be too injured at a slash or two, which should be enough for me to finish this fight. Sebastian and Noah held back as Nick ran forward, and I wasn't quite prepared. It didn't matter, no one's ever one hundred percent prepared for a knife fight, even with proper training, which I didn't have.

He swung at my stomach, but I deflected with my outer forearm, which hurt like a bitch and left a deep gash, and grabbed his arm with the knife, kneeing him in the balls as hard as I could. The knife clattered to the ground as he groaned, barely muffling his own scream. I kicked the knife far down the hall. It almost reached the back hallway, and I paid it no more mind as I turned back to see Nick had been dragged back near Liz, who was starting to wake up. I stared, holding my arm calmly as it bled in a way that was neither sluggish nor gushing. It was just bleeding, and it was getting fucking everywhere. My favorite long-sleeve shirt was ruined, as was my favorite overly big black plaid button-up. Soon my jeans would be too. I'm glad I chose to wear my black sneakers today, as the blood was dripping steadily on the ground, splattering onto the edge of my shoes from the ground. Would they attack? Would they leave? At the death glare that it seemed only Noah was capable of pulling without looking like a dumbass kid, I sighed lightly.

"This isn't over, jackass," Nick spat, and they all got up and ran past me to grab the knife. Glancing back, they turn the corner. I walk calmly towards the principal's office, stopping to grab a small sewing kit I kept in my backpack at all times as a habit from my past life. Or, well, just my past. It was technically the same life.

The secretary gaped at the blood, and I paused to speak to her, "Hey, Candy, tell the janitor that I'm sorry for the mess, will you? Thanks." She's silent as I walk, relaxed even as my arm burns, to the nurse's office. She wasn't in today, but I just grabbed the alcohol used for cleaning and dragged my two sleeves up on the arm, wincing at the pain as the still loose but not as loose sleeve of my favorite shirt scrapes against the wound. Pouring the alcohol on some cleaning gauze, or whatever it was called, I roughly wipe it, ignoring the pain as I clean the wound, pour alcohol on the still-bleeding cut, and stare at it for a moment. It was a cut along where there was bone closest to the surface, and I could see bone, but it wasn't bleeding heavily. So it was probably safe, and all I had to do was sew it up enough that it'd heal.

Making sure the small spool of fishing wire had alcohol poured over it, I start on sewing it together. It wasn't something I wanted to go to the hospital for, I'd not want to deal with the questions of the police, or, more accurately, I didn't want to spend a few hours getting patched up with my mother watching and pretending to care. I'm halfway through when the Master swooped in and, very sternly, but carefully, stopped my hand.

"Are you bloody insane?" He snapped, voice low and serious.

I tilted my head, a small sigh escaping, "Not as insane as the kid that pulled a knife on me. Don't worry, the cut didn't get any veins or arteries, so it just looks ugly and hurts like a son of a bitch. After I'm done sewing it I'll pour more alcohol over it and bandage it so it doesn't get infected." My voice was calm, and I knew it as the "professional" tone that the Master seemed to think it was. It was just me not giving a single fuck, though. He might not know that, I mused.

The Master looked physically pained for a moment, and I looked at him carefully. Right, he did actually care, despite how he acted. About his minion not being able to do her job, at least. Me. Not- Yes. I've forgotten. I look back to my arm, not seeing a problem. You couldn't even see bone anymore, and I made sure the stitches were as close together as I could get them, which was very. I'm glad I was extremely paranoid last year, I suppose, since I had certainly asked for personal tips and different sewing styles, in case I ended up homeless again. It was also to help me with the ongoing tapestry that would certainly be finished by next year. Hopefully. I spent pretty much all of my free time on it, which was a lot in the summer. If I wasn't working out, or if M_OfYourMom wasn't on and I didn't feel like solo-playing, I'd work on it. Gently, but firmly, preventing me from continuing, the Master takes the needle from me and I watch, wincing every once in a while silently, as he sews it together slowly. He was doing a better job at it than I was, and soon there was, instead of a lot of criss-crossing lines that would be a pain to take out when it healed enough, simple lines that, while still looking like a pain to get out, kept the skin together better, and looked neater. Mine were stronger though, but that was probably because they were extremely close and criss-crossed to heaven and hell.

"Should I call you the Tailor now? Or would Doctor be better?" I saw his sharkish grin-grimace at the last title, "Kidding, Master. I know the Doctor, as a title, wouldn't sit right with you. You're too sadistic."

It was concerning, it looked like he knew someone who was named the Doctor. It looked like he got my reference to a show that didn't exist. It would be best for me to avoid making references to the future, and what should or shouldn't be, from here on out, in case his words from last year about Time Agents were true. Or from being from another universe. There was no way he was the actual Master, though, I knew, because he was undeniably consternated by the nickname I dubbed him with before ever learning his actual name. My vision focused on his hands as he cleaned the wound way more gently than I'd ever have done even if it felt like it was being crucio-ed every time I touched it, which, I mean, it didn't, but I'd probably still treat it less gently than the Master was currently. I wondered, absently, if he was gay or European, before realizing that he was, in fact, European. He had a fucking british accent. I'm a fucking idiot. Having thought that, though, I wondered if he was an American citizen, or just worked and lived here? I then wondered what his reaction would be if some ninny Karen told him to go back to his country. My lips twitched at my own thoughts.

"Who did this to you?" The Master asked after gently wrapping my arm unnecessarily. I proceeded to clean the needle and start adding white thread to the needle, before the Master sighed and took it from me, proceeding to help with my sleeves too, "You won't get the stains out of white," He simply muttered to himself as he began helping me.

"Nah, but my mum has fifty years of experience doing it," I joked, before frowning, "Er, forty? Maybe thirty-five? I have no clue how old she is."

"Who did this to you?" He repeated his question softly after giving me a searching look at my term for mother. Jokes on him I called her that before I even knew of his existence. Technically. Maybe. Did I know of his existence in my future's past when I started using it? No, I used Ma, but she called me Daa in return so I changed it to Mum. Then I freaked out when Christopher Eccleston died and cried while my mum did laundry in the other room of the basement. Ah, good memories. I'd not be able to cry this time, though, sadly, because it wasn't a thing here. Not even Classic Who was, which I found especially disappointing. Actually, World War 1 wasn't either. Or, well, there was a war called WW1, but it was the Hitler-war. Hm.

"Just a few kids," I eventually answered after watching him sew up what I desperately hoped wasn't a lost cause of a shirt. I wore this shirt a fuck ton, and while it isn't anything like the long sleeve white shirt I'm sure to get in the future, which was heavenly, it was still positively sinful to wear it. I loved this shirt, so even if it was a lost cause I'd probably just dye it black, or red in memory of what caused me to have to dye it at all.

The Master glanced up, a disapproving frown on his face, "Yes, a few kids that are going to a detention facility and getting sued for injuring you. Names."

I blinked in surprise, before chuckling in slight amusement, "I don't think it's worth the money to sue them, we'll probably lose, and there's no way the kid's parents would willingly send them to a detention facility."

"No, I will personally get the police to do so," He answered darkly, black eyes darker than they usually were. Or, well, again, really dark brown, but still. His hands were stained red, and my gaze followed them as they worked gently. How... interesting. My gaze was enthralled with his blood stained hands, gently working at my sleeves. Oh, no, I didn't have a blood kink, did I? I observe the hands. No. No, I don't think so. I think I was just a serial killer in training or something, really.

"Ahaha," I said, voice light but otherwise lacking emotion, "Good joke. The cops don't do shit in this town. My mum'd probably lift more fingers than the cops would for me in this situation, though she probably gets paid more."

I was given another curious look at my usage of mum, but then his fingers, previously gentle, tightened around my arm, "Paid?"

Blinking, I nodded, "Yeah? She gets paid for me, my sisters, and my brothers, because we're all adopted."

Watching the Master work is soothing. Once he finished with my white shirt, which you could barely tell was cut when he finished, he started on my black plaid overshirt, not even bothering to ask as he plucked the black thread, rethreaded the needle, and continued sewing. I was grateful, because while sewing two-handed sucked half as much as sewing one-handed, which I'd be able to do on my overshirt, I rather hated the thought of doing it. Not because sewing wasn't the most peaceful shit one could do while being productive, because it totally was, which is why I worked on the tapestry of the Master I was making, but because I hated fucking up, and I wasn't skilled enough at sewing to confidently sew my favorite shirts without taking hours on end to undo any fuck-ups I make.

"Hm. If your home life gets any worse, I'll just convince them that you should live with me," The Master murmured to himself with a heavy sigh, "Now. Enough digressions, tell me."

"Tell you what?" I asked blankly, before my expression eased away from confusion, "Oh. Uh, nah-" I flinched backwards, falling onto the nurse's bed and taking a deep breath through my nose at the uncomortable pulling of threads. My side of the wound was certainly not about to pull, the threads in the skin a bit deeper than the Master's, but his felt awfully fragile compared to my rather bad, but well-covered, side of the stitching.

I look at the puddle on the ground, increasing from the spilt alcohol, before my gaze met the Master's darkened and almost murderous glare. I was still awfully calm, I noted, before realizing that this happened only once before, in my previous life. Was it me being tired, or did I subconsciously realize that I was in danger? There was no adrenaline, my heart wasn't beating fast. I just... Was calm. In the face of the most dangerous man I knew's anger. It was a smart move, on my part, but I was rather confused. Why was I so calm during these events? Was I a video game character where the player chose to remain calm during these times, or was I just weird? Probably was just weird. I should look it up sometime. I then paused, wait, maybe I wasn't emotional because I wasn't scared? I mean, I didn't care about the outcome overly much, did I? Quickly banishing those thoughts when the Master came closer, I pushed myself to the wall of the bed, and his hands slammed on either side of me, his face half a foot from mine. It didn't seem so close in words, thought in my mind, but it was rather fucking close to me. Fucking personal space, man.

"You will tell me their names," He ordered, voice slow, dark. I shivered and had I any arm hair, it'd be standing straight up. Oh, there was the adrenaline. How nice of it to join us. Running a bit late there, aren't you, naturally induced chemicals that were supposed to appear three minutes ago?

"Uh, is... Everything alright in here?" The nice old lady, Candy, said unsurely, observing us from the doorway. The Master glared at me in annoyance, eyes unfocusing, before he stood up and spun around. Candy's gaze went from unsure to uncomfortable. Poor old lady.

"Fine. Just trying to find out why my Minion," He emphasized my nickname, my epithet, "Walked into the office with a cut deep enough to show bone."

Candy paled, "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

I idly wondered how the Master knew it showed bone, before realizing that he had parted the unsewed skin a bit to see how deep he had to sew. Huh. Right. That. When I tuned back in, I saw Candy looking very unassuaged, and the Master turning back to me. I scrambled to my feet, and noted with some disappointment that the cot didn't make me taller than him. Seeing as it was only about a foot above the ground, I wasn't too surprised, but it still annoyed me. I... Enjoyed being at a normal height again, even if I had to stand on something to achieve anything close to normality. I mean I'd never get this tall, but hey, I didn't mind being two inches taller than I'd ever get.

"Who. Hurt. You," The Master snapped, and I observed him for a moment. If I didn't answer he'd probably attack me, Candy being here or not. He looked ready to lunge, and I was curiously passing my gaze over him and then his body over and over, taking care to keep his strained hands in view, as it looked like he was ready to clench them and throw a punch.

"I mean, they didn't really hurt me," I dismissed with a shrug, "I'm fine, after all."

"You are NOT BLOODY FINE!" The Master snapped, voice raising to a yell even as he stayed at the edge of the cot, whereas I was leaning against the wall. He... Seemed to be really affected by this, and I gave a noncommittal hum.

"I am," I nodded, "You obviously aren't okay with this, though, and I'm sad to say that your trust in the authorities is misplaced, especially in America, but whatever," I shrugged, "Their names are Nick, Liz, Noah, Tobias, and Sebastian." I don't know any of their last names, but besides Nick and Toby the three that attacked me are all solo-bringers of their name to my grade. There's only three Nicks and two Toby's in my grade, but my description would only match one of each. Especially since the unobese Toby is very clearly not fat, "Nick looks like a rat, is blond, doesn't wear glasses, and has freckles, and Toby the fat one. They're all in my grade."

I just stand there, staring at Candy after the Master stormed out of the room with such grace it looked like Darth Vader himself was walking away. I had no clue how he managed to give that impression, it's not like he had a cape. Or was wearing a heavy-breathing-noises-mask. Rebreather? I dunno.

"Are... You okay, dear? Would you like me to call your parents?" Candy asked.

I shrugged, "I dunno, do you think if they come I'll manage to get McDonald's for lunch? I'm famished."

Candy thought it over. She was close friends with my mother, or so she thought. As soon as my youngest brother went into high school, my mother would drop her and Candy's friendship like it was magma. I felt... Bad. I felt really bad for Candy. She was such a sweet old lady, had children of her own, and always had an ear open for anyone who wanted to talk to her. She wasn't nosy or anything, but she was a bit of a gossip, which is what my mother looked for in "friends". I hoped Candy had better, closer friends than my mother. I desperately hoped that. Such a sweet old lady didn't deserve the pain my mother spread around like a plague.

"If your father comes to get you," Candy eventually came to the conclusion of. I nodded and hopped off the bed.

"He's in surgery today, for his knee, so there's no point. I'll try and stop the Master before he rips the heads off those bastards," I explained, and Candy nodded before going back to her desk. I honestly think the only reason she got up at all was because I had been bleeding, because it certainly wasn't the crash of items nor the angered tone of the Master when speaking to me. We both regularly pissed each other off to the point of knocking stuff around. Not that I'd admit to being the reasons for the crashes Candy may hear sometimes. I had an image to upkeep, now that I knew I had one. Professional standards, man.

Wandering around, not having found him in the office, I blink at the presense of the singular cop hired by the middle school talking into his walkie-talkie thing, the Master standing before the taller man imposingly. Huh. That... That actually was kind of adorable, The Master's murderous aura not being recognized by me as I watch the Master look very sulky in front of the man towering at least half a foot above him, belly fat probably able to be taken and formed into a semi-accurate avatar of the Master with no weight lost between the avatar and the Master. The old cop wasn't at all imposing, unlike the comparative stick in front of him. I wondered if the Master, like I had been when I was an adult, had a napolean complex. As a kid once again, I quickly learned to get over myself, though, lest I snap at every adult that treats me like a kid, as I am, in fact, a kid.

"Minion, heel," He snapped, and I gave him a glare even as I listened to his directions.

Kind of.

I made a point to stand closer to the cop, a gesture that I was going to come over anyway, and that his ordering me to do so like I was a dog was found insulting. He rolled his eyes, and I felt even more insulted. What a slight upon my honor. How rude. I fell into a brooding session, trying to keep my expression blank as I stayed silent, sulking. The Master rolled his eyes again even as he gently gripped my upper arm and dragged me to his side. I gave him a confused look. This was the most gentle he'd ever been in the history of ever with me. I shifted from one foot to my other, wondering what the fuck he was thinking in regard to me. Hopefully nothing mushy or too chick-flick, because despite being a chick, I hated movies and moments like that, always feeling like I was reading from a script every time a moment like that happened. I probably was, I admitted to myself. With how emotionally-stunted I was? I probably just repeated words I've heard from chick flicks unknowingly. It made sense, kinda. Maybe. Probably. I hated feeling like I was on a script. I always felt so surreal during moments like that. With the presaging dreams and the Time Travel, my life sometimes felt like one big scripted event, and I absolutely abhorred it.

I barely noticed when the Master started moving, falling in step with him easily. I thought over what was said, and huffed, "I suppose they were right, huh?" I muttered more to myself than him, bitter as I ran my hand gently along the seagreen lockers, getting the light paint on the tips of my fingers. The Master glanced to the side, raising an eyebrow, and I shrugged while explaining, "They asked if I was going to cry to the principal, after I told them to stop the first time when they started shoving me around. Er, well, not the second part though."

The Master scoffed, "You certainly didn't come crying to me," He sounded almost upset over that, "You'd have been in an ambulance being patched up instead of halfway through patching yourself up. And what second part?"

I shook my head, "Same meaning, either way I wasn't good enough to do it myself I-" I paused in speaking when my friend came up to me. My first one.

"Is what I hear true? You fought off five people and got stabbed?!" She asked, "Bitch you should've ran!"

I blinked at her, before grinning, easily slipping into the persona I had just for her. The Master watched, almost incredulously, at the total change of personality, "Hell yeah I fought them off! And I tried, but I got grabbed before I could, haha. I mean, dude, he like cut me down to the bone, I had to sew it shut, see?" I winced and ducked as she smacked me upside the head, grinning sharply.

"You patched yourself up?! May you need to go to the hospital!" My friend snapped, and I grinned at her sheepishly.

"Nah, it's fine, the Master totally helped me after I was halfway done. See? He wrapped it n' stuff. Duude I actually took on five people at once! And won! Isn't that fucking awesome?" It would be safe to say that my grin never left, seeing as I was still grinning at her, except bouncing excitedly. She rolled her eyes, and my grin sharpened at the sight of her lips twitching upwards.

"Yes," She agreed unhappily, "That doesn't mean you should have! You'll get suspended! Or arrested!"

I gave her a confused look, grin matching my mood, "What? You do realize that it's the principal in charge of expulsion, and that I was attacked first, right? It's on camera! Or, well, it was, I'm not sure if it's recorded or not."

My friend finally relaxed, worry seeping out, and I flinched back, grinning again again as she swung, smacking me in the back of the head again, "Bitch you scared the shit out of me! Don't do that again!"

"Ahh, man, I was so cool though! I bet movies would look less cool than me beating those fuckers up! I was like trapped, and then I wasn't because I'm awesome, and like I was like pow like a freaking ninja- I was so cool."

My friend rolled her eyes- which was my goal- and laughed, "Cool people don't say that they're cool."

My grin faded a bit, still on my face but smaller, "I guess not. But the Master says he's cool all the time, and you can't say he isn't cool," I argued, totally forgetting that I was, in fact, not alone with my friend.

"True," My friend laughed, "You know he's right there, right?"

My grin froze, before it shrank, "Oh, no, I forgot actually," My grin had officially left, a smile still on my face, "It's true though."

I grinned at her again at her exasperated expression, having rolled her eyes. It was a victorious grin. To my friend I was an annoying little shit that, in fact, has had to run from her multiple times lest I get kicked across the room. She glanced at the principal, nodded once, awkwardly, and sighed, "I have to get to class now. You're so lucky you don't have to."

My scowl was more of a pout than anything, "Oh no way!" I whined, hands flapping in the air as I gestured around pointlessly, "He just told me to heel! Like a dog!"

"You do kind of act like one," She pointed out, and I gaped at her. She was supposed to be on my side! Me acting like a dumbass or not!

"Wh-bu-No I don't!" I whined indignantly, "I'm totally awesome and chill and- he called me professional once! That means I'm totally not puppy-like! Dogs aren't professional!"

"There is no way you act professional," My friend immediately refuted.

I grinned gently, "Yeah, I told him that too. I'm like, the opposite of professional. I'm unprofessional as fuck-"

"Language," The art teacher, who was in the hallway with everyone else, said. I glanced over, calling an unapologetic sorry out to her, before turning back to my friend. She waved, I waved, and she left. After she was out of sight my grin faded and I went back to how I usually was.

The Master gave me a once-over, "Ever thought of becoming an actor?"

I shrugged, "Sometimes. It'd not work very well, I can only act happy around her," I then frown, "That came out wrong. For clarification, I am not a lovesick puppy. She's just awesome," I clarify, lips twitching at the Master's eyeroll.

"Right," He drawled, "Not a lovesick puppy, yet you forget your entire world everytime she's around?"

I frowned, "To be fair, acting is very distracting. Plus, it's not like anything I said was a lie, really. I think. I dunno."

After the halls cleared, the Master walked into the classroom we had been standing near, which then held all five people who had attacked me. I blinked in surprise, oh, he checked for this class? Makes sense, I suppose.

"Look at this crybaby!" Nick yelled out, "Crying to the principal because she tripped!" He had emphasized the fact that I had apparently tripped. Huh, did he think that'd work?