Fic: Urban Wildlife Blues (Part 9 of 9)

[unbelievable2.livejournal.com]

URBAN WILDLIFE BLUES
Or, maybe not the tail you thought it was.

Part 9 of 9
Pairing: Howard/Vince
Author: Unbelievable2
Rating: PG13, probably
Word Count: 4,400

Summary: What starts as a new departure for Howard and a surprise for Vince swiftly turns into a [nail-bitingly terrifying/ridiculously overblown*] race against time to thwart an old enemy.
*delete as applicable 

Warnings: For story as a whole, some nastiness, violence, drug refs and swears, talking animals, (oh, and some s/ash ;) here and there)

Disclaimer: Sadly I own neither the creators nor their characters, and I will not, nor would I ever wish to, profit from either.

Notes: Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this little epic and encouraged me with comments. You are all lovely.

Hope you like the way this ends!

Links to previous chapters are contained within.

 

A bit of hive mind has been in action again. There’s a Howard thought in the first chapter of el gardner’s Veracity that is extremely close to a Howard thought here. No plagiarism, I assure you! This one was written ages before I saw that great fic.

Acknowledgment: The wonderfulthemogwai has been a wise counsellor and thoughtful commentator throughout. And has done her very best to keep the writing taut, sharp and lemon-fresh, sir. If that hasn’t worked anywhere, it’s my fault alone.

*hugsthemogwai to excess*

Part 1 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/825533.html

Part 2 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/825623.html

Part 3 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/827206.html

Part 4 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/843732.html

Part 5 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/844142.html

Part 6 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/845590.html

Part 7 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/848306.html

Part 8 here: http://community.livejournal.com/booshslashhaven/864306.html

 

 

Part 9

 

As a plan, it had started well, but went downhill very rapidly. The first problem was, which way to run?

 

Hand in hand, one man in his underwear, the other in a dress, they bolted from the cavern into a black corridor, only to find it a bin-bag cul de sac. Back, back and down another, only to realise it led to Howard’s former prison. Another frantic dash in a much more promising direction and suddenly Vince was careering in reverse again, dragging on Howard’s arm.

 

“The juice! The juice! I’ve forgotten the juice!

 

As he grabbed it from the floor of the cavern, ramming in the stopper, they could already hear snuffling and cursing and shuffling from the shadows. Somehow, not being able to see the Fox, but knowing he was only feet away and ready to move again, terrified Howard more than all the previous encounters.

 

And with good reason. The Fox was chanting, calling; summoning up the last of his powers with the last of his strength. And his bin-bag bitches were heeding him. In ones, two, and then in increasing numbers, the bags started to collapse inwards, falling from the walls, filling the cavern, filling the passageways. The dump was imploding; a final show of power, a final chance to prevent their escape.

 

With bags raining on them from every side, blocking them, dragging at their arms and legs, they ran on into total blackness, hearing only the slap of Howard’s bare feet and the thud of Vince’s boots, their pounding hearts and panicked breathing.

 

“C’mon! C’mon! C’mon…!”

 

Howard didn’t really need encouragement, but Vince’s constant muttering and the pressure of his hand were welcome comfort. His heart was filled with dread – was this another dead end? Were they too late, the rubbish already blocking their route and about to crush them forever?

 

But Vince was calling excitedly from in front.

“Light, Howard! I can see light!”

 

They forced their way between the collapsing walls, now on their knees. Howard lost his grip on Vince’s hand and flailed to find it again.

“Vince! Vince!”

 Vince was gone. Alone in the darkness, more and more bin-bags now collapsing onto him, Howard felt the claustrophobia of his imprisonment rise up in his chest. He couldn’t suppress a whimper. This was it, he was going under…

 

Then something grabbed his wrist, making him yelp, and he was pulled bodily through the wall of bags to tumble out onto hard-packed earth, the night sky above him, the Moon scatting absently, air fresh and cool (comparatively, anyway) on his cheek. And Vince lay spread-eagled on the ground next to him, wide-eyed and whooping, his hand still holding fast to Howard’s.

 

He was the first to rise too, pulling Howard to his feet.

 

“The Fox…?”

They stood still, eyes fixed on the garbage from whence they had just scrambled. There was a distant rumble from far beneath the black plastic mound, and then the hill of bags collapsed inwards, as if sucked in to fill a sudden vacuum. And then silence, with just the soft patter of shifting pebbles and earth as the rearranged landscape settled down into its new order.

 

And the Fox was underneath it all.

 

“Howard! We’re free! Genius!”

Howard was pulled into a tight hug, and he did nothing to protest. But after a warm, happy moment basking in the sensation of being in Vince’s arms, he felt obliged to bring them back to reality, or a version of it, at least.

 

“Ah, well, we’re not exactly free, Vince...”

Vince looked around him. They were in a large canyon with steep, sloping walls of rubbish-bags, masonry, hard-core and twisted metal. It was about twenty yards across. The dry earth underfoot was rutted with the tracks of heavy machinery. It must have been where waste was piled and sorted before further disposal. But it seemed endless. They looked around them at the towering moonlit walls, topped off with the deep velvet of the Moon’s stamping ground, and then right and left at the canyon floor stretching out into darkness in each direction. They looked back at the place where they had emerged, now completely blocked with fallen bags.

 

And they looked at each other.

Vince shrugged.

“Okay, not free, maybe, but at least someone will find us now? Yeah? Tomorrow, when they come to work?”

 

Howard gazed benevolently at the vision in front of him, one silver boot crossed over the other, tattered dress, eyes wide, hopeful, enthusiastic. He considered the ignominy of discovery in their current state of deshabille by his ex-colleagues, the burly binmen running the site, and he realized that he didn’t give a damn.

 

“Yeah, that’s right, Vince. Tomorrow….”

Vince squinted at him.

“Let me look at your head…”

Howard had forgotten his wound. He ducked down and let Vince’s gentle fingers explore his scalp. And couldn’t help flinching as they touched raw and bruised skin.

“Can’t quite see, but it’s not like your brains are coming out or anything...”

“Well, thanks for that, Vince…”

“… you just look a bit… odd, with that stuff on your face.”

“I think it’s called blood….”

“Well, it’s too dark for anyone but me to see, so don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“And that’s your considered medical opinion…?” Howard felt his mouth twitch as a smile tried to get out.

Irony was lost on Vince. He held out his hand.

“Shall we walk someplace?”

Howard looked up and down the canyon.

“Toss a coin?” he grinned, relaxed now and full of contentment, despite their current situation.

Vince snorted.

“Let’s go this way.” He hauled on Howard’s arm again, like a child tugging its parent to the fairground, his body leaning to indicate the proposed direction.

“There’s more sky this way.”

 

Not a bad way to decide, mused Howard. And without really thinking about it, he threaded his fingers through Vince’s and they walked down the moonlit canyon, with darkly-shadowed gothic arches of twisted steel and rubble looming over them, the massed bags in the lower reaches gleaming dully. It was a curiously dream-like sensation, walking towards nowhere in this strange, silent environment, and with this companion. But, he reflected, his dreams weren’t that much more unusual than his waking life – though perhaps to date with one notable exception….

 

And it all suddenly became clear. Wherever he was, wherever he was going, he needed to be with Vince. All these last days, these last hours, all his intense feelings of loss and grief, all his joy and delight, all his sense of who he was in the world - they all had Vince at their core. If he had never before tried to imagine life without Vince, the hours of fear and despair in the cavern had shown him what the reality would be like. His heart had always counted on Vince being there. But now he knew he could never survive Vince not being there.

 

And what was the other side of the coin? What had he contributed whilst tied up in his plastic cocoon, or allowing himself to lie helpless at the feet of a talking animal with anger management issues? What had he offered Vince? What could he offer? He was appalled at his own inadequacy.

 

Lost in familiar Howard Moon self-flagellation, insecurities and fears, mentally applying Chinese burns, his body tensed up. Vince could detect the change of mood. He pulled in closer, linking arms, squeezing.

 

“All right, Howard?”

 

Howard Moon, you’re a Man of Action! Bloody act now! For once in your life…

 

Howard stopped dead, pulled his arm away and grabbed Vince by the shoulders, spinning him round so they faced each other. Vince gaped at him, eyes wide. But after that sudden flurry of decisiveness, Howard seemed at a loss for what to do next. Biting his lip, he absently rubbed Vince’s shoulders with his thumbs, little circles on the skin, feeling the hard muscle underneath.

 

“Howard…?”

It came out all in a rush.

“You saved me, Vince. You saved my life. Thank you.”

A grin.

“’S’all right, Howard! Goes with the territory….”

 

Howard shook him gently, resolve building.

“No, listen to me. You save me. Every single moment of every single day…”

“Howard, not even you get into trouble that much…”

“You save me from me. You make me… whole. Better. Better than I am. I’ve always known it, and at the same time I’ve never known it, until now. Do you understand?”

 

There was a desperation to his tone. Vince knew instinctively that this was important stuff here - for Howard, for himself - and gave him a confident smile. And then an apologetic grimace.

“You want to run that by me again, maybe?”

 

Howard was on that ridiculous cusp between laughing and crying. His chest and throat hurt. The heat from his friend’s skin beneath his fingertips was searing into his heart. He wanted to pull him closer and hold him again, like in the cavern.

 

He wanted… he wanted…

 

Vince was frowning at him, clearly perturbed. And Howard felt all the words that were crowding around waiting to be said fall back in a hopeless jumble. He tried to make sense.

 

“You. I don’t want to be without you. I can’t be without you. And I don’t know what to do.”

 

Vince’s perplexed face broke into a glorious smile.

“Oh, Howard…” He looped his arms around Howard’s neck in a tight, reassuring hug. Howard felt the incongruous chill of the flask on his bare shoulder. Then Vince pulled back with a grin, all the mysteries of life clearly solved as far as he was concerned.

 

“Howard, don’t you realise it works both ways? You save me and I save you. It happens all the time, and it isn’t gonna stop now!”

 

It was a pretty basic statement of their normal lives, to be honest, but nonetheless Howard felt relief and a sense of security at the words. He closed his eyes, felt the warmth of Vince’s breath on his cheek, and tried to ignore the aroma of cleaning materials and Indian takeaway that seemed to linger around the other man. He allowed his arms to circle Vince’s back, returning the gesture of reassurance, feeling his friend’s strong, resilient frame, the rough, gauzy shreds of the dress, the slimy touch of rotten lace and tinsel…

 

He jumped back, pushing Vince away. Vince almost dropped the flask.

“Howard, what the fuck…?”

 

Howard raised his hands, palms out.

“Take it off, Vince! Take it off! Why are you still wearing it? It’s evil! Can’t you feel it? Take it off!”

 

Vince looked down at his clothing, and then made a pained face. He put down the flask and pulled at the hem of the dress, shaking it lightly.

“C’mon, Howard! It’s an old dress! What’re you on about?”

 

With more hate and fear than he’d thought he’d ever feel again, Howard dragged Vince towards him, grabbed the material at the shoulders and wrenched it off his friend. Vince almost toppled over, stumbling against him as the material was ripped from his body. It seemed to cling…. it stung. He yelped in pain.

 

And suddenly it was gone, thrown into the shadows. Vince was staring in fright. Howard was in front of him again, breathing hard.

“Just evil,” he repeated.

 

Vince rubbed at the weals on his arms and shoulders. His shocked face slowly relaxed into a grin, albeit a bit shaky still.

 

“See?” he said. “See, you save me and I save you. Team work! That’s not gonna change, Howard.” He put out a hand and squeezed Howard’s forearm. Howard froze, his eyes suddenly staring out into the darkness.

 

Vince’s grin widened encouragingly.

“Oh, come on, you spanner! You’re not gonna say ‘Don’t touch me!’ now, are you? Not after all we’ve been through tonight?”

 

He tugged on Howard’s arm. But Howard’s face was turned away, his whole body tense.

 

“Relax, Howard! It’s all okay! I told you things needed fixing and we’ve fixed them now. Everything’s….”

 

He tailed off, following Howard’s frightened stare. From way down the canyon, there was the revving of an engine, and headlights suddenly pierced the darkness. Howard looked at Vince with such open dismay that the other felt obliged to try for a positive spin.

“Night shift?”

There was the squealing of tyres as a vehicle leapt into life and powered down the canyon towards them.

 

Neither of them bothered to say the word this time.

 

They ran. Nightmare or reality, it was all one to Howard now. He was exhausted, but he still ran on, towards Vince’s chosen direction of ‘more sky’, inaccessible walls on each side. It was now his turn to lead, dragging Vince along, his friend obsessed with turning back to check the progress of the headlights. Howard didn’t need to turn round. The lights were getting brighter and brighter, and the engine louder. He had no doubts as to who would be in the driving seat.

 

The end of the canyon was in sight, headlights illuminating their goal – a chain-link fence, tall and unscaleable, topped off with razor-wire, to deter all those with a predilection for stealing rubbish, presumably.

 

And to stop the trapped from climbing out….

 

Lacking any alternatives, they ran directly into the fence until it stopped them bodily. They bounced back into each other’s arms, eyes fixed on the vehicle bearing down on them. Howard raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare; Vince simply buried his face in Howard’s chest. They were trapped in the circle of light as the vehicle sped towards them. The noise was overwhelming. Howard clutched Vince to him and held on tight, placing himself in front of his friend as if that would somehow make a difference. A small, otherwise unpanicked part of his brain registered relief that his final thought would be one of nobility, not “now I know how rabbits feel.”

 

There was a screech of brakes and they were showered with dust and earth as the vehicle – it was a dumper truck - slewed to a halt yards away from them. The motor still throbbed menacingly.

 

The headlights dipped. Howard looked up, hoping against hope that a late-working binman would be gazing down at him.

Of course not.

It was the Fox.

 

There was a crutch wedged on the brake, another teasing the throttle. The Fox himself was balanced on the steering wheel. Difficult to see against the strong light, nevertheless he looked dirtier, bloodier, even more tattered than before. And more full of hate. His voice was pure growl.

 

“Can’t stop me now, got you now, you roadkill now….”

 

Howard drew himself up to face the Fox. His arms were still protecting Vince, but he felt Vince shift round, too, facing off their adversary. And in a hopeless situation, there really was nothing for it but pointless bravado. The time for panic was over. This might be the end of things for Howard Moon, but Vince was there with him, twined around him like an exotic plant around an English oak – a strange and thrilling biodiversity. What more did he need?

 

“You’ve got no-one, Fox! And we’ve got each other! So who wins, eh? Eh?”

The Fox panting, considered for a moment.

“Cracky Fox wins, dickbrain…”

 

But Howard wasn’t to be deflected.

“Vince said you destroy things, pervert them, ruin them. Well, we’ve had enough of that. We’re stronger than you…”

 

He turned and looked down to see Vince staring at him with a mixture of wonder, reverence and just plain bewilderment. He cupped his hands around his friend’s jaw and pressed their lips together, opening his mouth, feeling Vince’s open in turn. Everything he felt, everything he had wanted to say to Vince that he’d never had time for, and now never would have time for, was poured into that kiss. He heard Vince whimper into his mouth, felt hands tangle in his hair, and the flask hit him yet again, this time on the ear.

 

The headlights blazed full on again and the motor revved. Howard broke the kiss, but dragged his friend into an even tighter embrace, one armed looped around his neck. Vince’s eyes were shining.

 

He yelled defiantly at the roaring engine.

“See? See what we’ve got? What’s more powerful than that?”

The growl was audible even above the engine noise.

“Crack Fox’s truck…”

 

Howard shut his eyes, squeezing the lids tight, holding onto his friend, hearing Vince repeat his name again and again and again and again, as if it were a protective charm. He heard the throttle kick in.

 

Some hope…

 

Something came past them like a rush of woodland air. Bracken and leaf-mould and musk; the brush of warm fur, the scuffling of claws. Something knocked them both sideways and they were suddenly sprawling on the ground as the dumper truck lunged forward and hit the fence just where they had been standing. The motor died immediately.

 

Howard struggled up from where he had effectively been flattening Vince, who was rubbing his head and checking his flask with concern. And he jumped with shock as he saw a long red muzzle and amber eyes looking down at him

 

“Vince…!” The old terrified inflection was back in his voice.

Vince looked up and grinned with delight.

“Terence! Genius! Cheers, mate, we owe you one…”

 

Howard looked from fox to friend in amazement. And then at the other foxes gathered around - one in control of the dumper truck, the others holding tightly on to the Crack Fox, who was now encased in a bin-bag up to his neck.

“Basic procedure,” explained Terence. “Saves problems with the… you know…”

He made a pained face.

 “… flatulence, and all that.”

 

Vince was still greeting the other foxes. “Alistair! All right, mate? Jonathan… Edward, good to see ya!”

Howard stared at the elegant dog fox before him, and then at his team.

“You’ve got… headbands on…” He tailed off uncertainly.

 

Terence bared brilliant white canines. Howard hoped fervently it was a friendly smile.

“Well, Vince suggested - very sensibly, I might add – that we undertake some community action against lowlife like this Crack Fox individual here…” He gestured dismissively at the new captive, who was still wriggling and spitting, but helpless in his bag. Howard felt his eyes cross slightly with the effort of keeping a grip on what passed for reality around here. It wasn’t just the talking foxes – but Vince’s sensible ideas…

 

“So we thought,” continued Terence “ that a little branding might go down well. Ninja foxes, y’see? Could catch on. We’re very hopeful. Aiming for an interview with the Gazette next week.”

He flicked his claws.

“Now, must be off. Got to dispose of this miscreant, etcetera, etcetera. Simply loads of paperwork…”

 

Vince shouldered back into Howard’s orbit, arms snaking around his waist.

“What’s gonna happen to him – that Fox?” There seemed to be a note of concern in his voice. Howard couldn’t quite work out whether it was for them or for their old enemy.

“Oh, rehab, I should think…”
“Rehab?” spluttered Howard.

“Oh, certainly at first. That Crack Fox has serious problems to sort out. Good heavens, we aren’t humans, we do have standards….”

“But... will he... come back..?” Vince’s voice was now getting smaller. If there had been any charitable concern there for the Crack Fox, it had quickly disappeared.

 

Terence gave a toothy, but not entirely convincing, grin.

“Well, after rehab, it’s the secure wing of the appropriate correctional facility, if we’re following Government guidelines....” He saw their expressions. “Don’t worry, chaps! The Prison for Animal Offenders is much better run than it used to be” He looked around at the dump. “Which is more than I can say for this place. Honestly, have you people never heard of recycling?”

 

Then he flipped one paw in a casual gesture which was nevertheless loaded with disapproval.

“Oh, and whilst we’re talking about standards, might I suggest perhaps a modicum of clothing? And the tiniest bit of self-restraint in public, you chaps? No need to be quite so blatant about it all, you know…”

 

His voice tailed off, musing more to himself than addressing Howard and Vince.

“Really, I don’t know, everywhere we look nowadays… young people, and…” His eyes flicked back to give them a hard look, “…those old enough to know better…”

He gave an exasperated sigh.

“No wonder the country’s going to pot…”

 

Vince glanced at Howard in quiet amusement, rolling his eyes.

“That Terence!” he muttered. “Bet he reads the Telegraph!”

But Howard was just looking perplexed.

“Vince,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “What does he mean, ‘blatant’?”

 

Then Terence shook himself out of his somewhat reactionary reverie. His fur rippled.

“Now, must fly. Catch you later. Toodleloo. All right, team? Off we trot…”

And in a flurry of red-gold fur and white-tipped tails they were gone.

 

Leaving Howard and Vince still on the wrong side of the fence.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“So…” said Vince.

“So…” said Howard.

Vince twisted a lock of black hair around his finger.

“So, it’s finally over…”

“Yep, everything’s back to normal, little man.”

They looked at each other, eyes catching eyes. Vince reached out and brushed a hand down Howard’s forearm.

“Maybe not quite the same as before, though?”

 

The hand continued to stroke over Howard’s arm, absently. Howard blushed a little, averting his gaze. Vince pressed on, regardless.

“You okay with that, Howard?”

It was so very tempting to duck away from the question, but Howard made himself think for a moment. He looked at his friend, seeing that familiar smile of reassuring, boundless confidence in life, and was pretty sure he knew what the other was thinking, too.

 

Quietly, unconsciously, each was registering how they had changed over their life together, and yet had not changed. Had remained the same, despite those carefully constructed identities they had each adopted for protection but which in the end had served only to conceal and confuse. Those disguises were gone. They stood as themselves; skin with skin, friend with friend, heart with heart. No longer boys, but men. And they were young again.

 

And Howard knew what his answer was.

“Yes. Okay. Very okay…”

Vince’s answering smile told him everything.

 

“Oh, I forgot…”

Howard was fumbling, then took hold of Vince’s hand. Vince felt something slip onto his finger. He held his hand up to the moonlight. And blinked.

 

“A ring? A ring? Howard… you got me a ring…?”

“Well, Vince…”

“But how could you… I mean, we never… I mean, we haven’t…”

He looked at Howard in amazement.

“I mean, we haven’t even kissed, not properly…”

“Vince…”

“And I didn’t… I mean, I did, I do… but I didn’t expect…”

“Vince!”

Vince stopped short, still open-mouthed.

“Vince, it’s your own ring! I just found it back in the bin-bag place…”

 

Vince’s face visibly fell. He looked down at the amber ring and twisted it on his finger, blushing at his own foolishness.

“Yeah, ‘course. Thanks, Howard….” A pause. “Where were you even keeping it?”

Howard coughed lightly and looked away.

 “You don’t really want to know that, Vince.”

 

Then he turned back, frowning.

“Hang on, what exactly do you mean - ‘we haven’t kissed properly’? What was that, sir?” He gestured wildly to the air, a proxy for their last clinch. “And underground? And… er… that time on the roof…? Are you implying Howard Moon is substandard in the kissing department, sir?”

 

Vince was bouncing up and down now, hands on Howard’s shoulders.

“Don’t be a plum! I mean kisses like we have time! Like we’re not in fear for our lives, like it’s not some “thank god it’s all right” sort of moment, like when you realized your Auntie Margery hadn’t been crushed by that giant bakewell tart after all…”

“I can assure you, Vince, I never kissed my Auntie Margery like that!”

“I should hope not,” Vince winked, grinning, “otherwise I should have to have words with her!”

 

Howard tutted and deliberately removed Vince’s hands from his shoulders, but Vince just kept on grinning. It was a special grin of triumph.

 

Somewhere above the Moon was wittering quietly.

“And I telephone they… them Council and I say… ‘Ah’m the Moooon. When you comin’ to take ma bin?’ and them, the Council, they say ‘Your bin in outaspace, we don’ collect no bins in outaspace,’ and I say ‘Ah’m the Mooooon, and tha’s why I don’ pay no freakin’ Council Tax….’”

 

“We need to go home. Finish fixing this,” said Vince softly.

Howard smiled.

“I’m not too sure what needed fixing, really. A little readjustment, if anything. But I’ll play along…”

Vince sighed happily.

“After all,” continued Howard, “Naboo’s been on about that kitchen lino for ages…”

A snort of mock indignation, and Vince was about to launch himself at the grinning Howard when a blanket hit him in the back of the neck, sending him reeling into his friend anyway. He turned to see a carpet hovering, Bollo the pilot and Naboo cross-legged on it, holding a flask of shaman juice.

 

“Oh, great,” said the shaman flatly, gesturing to Vince’s flask on the ground. “So you didn’t need me to get this anyway, yeah…?”

“Vince put on blanket. Bollo no want Vince arrested for indecency…”

Vince and the gorilla exchanged a long look.

“…or get a chill. Put on blanket.”

Vince’s smile was like Christmas Day.

 

“Don’t I get one, then?” came a plaintive voice beside him.

“You can share mine, Howard…”

“Come on, you ball-bags! We haven’t got all night!”

“’S’ all right, Naboo, we’re coming!” He started dragging the still grinning Howard.

“Naboo… me and Howard, we’ve fixed things!”

“Not that bloody kitchen lino, you haven’t…”

 

Two steps further, and Vince stopped again to retrieve his flask, and presented it to Howard. Then he draped the blanket around his friend’s shoulders, looking up - a bit playfully, a bit shyly - as he fussed with its folds.

“Sorry it’s not a poncho, Howard…”

Howard took hold of one of his hands, stilling him for a moment.

“Oh, I’m happy enough, Vince…”

Blue eyes held brown.

“Really, Howard?”

“Oh, yes. Really.”

“Genius!”

 

And it was.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

finis

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~