Title: One Single Try
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Characters: Frannie/Dewey, Elaine, Vecchio, Mort, Welsh, Turnbull, Thatcher, Huey
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4421
Notes: After the Shades arc. This story absorbs Never Where and was written in part by sl_walker. Title with gratitude to Frank Sinatra.
Summary: There's only so long someone can hide a pregnancy.


"You've gotta do it, Frannie. I know you're stuck in some kinda denial, but while you're trying to figure out how the Hell this happened, that baby doesn't care how, he's growing, ready or not--"

Frannie's eyes were squeezed shut and she felt stupidly exposed, even if she was the only person who could hear Elaine down the phone. She knew that. How could she not know that? It was her body that had a no vacancy sign up. She tapped the pencil manically on her desk, honest to God trying not to snap a friend's head off.

( What's going on? You all look like a Pak'ma'ra just ate your cat. )

Title: Call
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Characters: Turnbull, Thatcher, Buck Frobisher, Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski, Myra Turnbull, the Turnbull family
Rating: G
Words: 2180
Notes: After COTW. Written in part by sl_walker and encouraged/brainstormed a great deal more ♥
Summary: '...Constable Turnbull decided to run for public office. But his campaign got off to a rocky start...'

If Turnbull was too young to die, he had to wonder about the man he shot off his snowmobile.

It was an idle thought. Very honestly, he thought he felt nothing about having killed the man, something he'd been matter-of-factly informed of not long before. He'd never killed anyone before. Of course it had always been a remote possibility; one accepted when he became a police officer. But it was by no means a given.

The man was shooting at him. At people he cared for.

It was a simple matter, and Turnbull felt nothing.

( You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe. )

Turnbull, Kowalski; Arch To The Sky; PG; 673 words. Inspired by the discussion in "Luigi" and encouraged by Steff.

What was that awful noise?

Someone appeared to have set up an arcade in his consulate foyer, and Turnbull was not especially pleased with this. He wandered out, duty smile fixed even so, to find Detective 'Vecchio' engrossed in a small gaming system. Volume cranked no doubt to the maximum.

( Is there a reason for this or should I just go ahead and snap your hands off at the wrist? )

Guy Laurent, Renfield & Myra Turnbull; Wizard!Verse (1990); G; 538 words

Descendo - Partis Temporus - Avis - Obliviate - Wingardium - Incarcerous - Incendio - Imperius - Nox - Lumos

Vampires are graced with a certain stealth.

If this comes as no surprise to you, perhaps you are a consumer of the muggle fiction about them. All the better. The bit of mystery mixes well with the fiction to keep us hidden from that which could overwhelm one of us should we be discovered. As you will dismiss this as fiction, too, I feel a looseness of tongue I generally do not possess.

I sink from a rafter to a lower one, my footfalls making no sound, my body moving with a fluidity not granted by God at birth.

The baby Auror is rather interesting; I know that I have been silent, but he detects me. He is clever enough to betray nothing of what he has heard to the woman he's talking to, but the slight incline of his head in my direction tells me all I need to know. I smile, allowing fangs to descend only so far as needed to lick one. It's a tic; one of pleasure.

Few Aurors come through Regina in any given year. The state of pressing oneself into a muggle life has always fascinated me. I am not a wizard. I was not born one, and have come to understand this world only by being half-pressed upon it myself by virtue of my change. It seems improbable that any of them would wish to come the other way.

They are very... precious about their wizardry, after all.

This one speaks to a rather lovely woman apparently several years his senior, and she speaks softly in return. I wonder if she belongs to him; I sniff the air. No... no... hm. Perhaps she does. Not in the way I expected.

They appeared to be having some sort of disagreement, before he detected me. It is made no simpler by his apparent instinct to take the woman away from this place at the detection.

She seems to be insisting on remaining. He doesn't manhandle her into leaving. This impresses me. He has risen above my estimation of many wizards already.

"It's all right," I offer softly from my perch. I smile down at them, sans fangs. My condition is obvious enough. "I only wanted to welcome you to Regina."

The woman jumps; the Mountie snaps a look at me that I'm sure is very frightening to other people.

"Thank you," he replies with a suspicious squint.

They are interesting. It won't do to burn that bridge.

"My apologies for the startle." I reach into my pocket, pulling from it a long grey feather, and I offer it down to drift to them.

The Mountie blinks, moving to take it, though it's his sister - I can smell it in their blood - that plucks it from the air. Neither of them seem to have an answer for my apology. The Auror nods acknowledgment of a sort; it's then his sister seems to give over, and he is able to nudge her out of this place.

She watches me as they leave. I flourish a wave and watch her go.

Title: Blither
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Characters: Bob Fraser, Turnbull; appearances by Benton Fraser, Thatcher, RayK
Rating: G
Words: 3094
Timeline: Canon.
Summary: In a moment of pique, Bob jumps ship to a different Mountie.
Notes: Yes, Bob has his own misogynistic moments. XD Still working on mood themes. ♥ Wanted to get this out while it was in my head.

"You know, son, you should be nicer to that boy. You can blither with the best of them, yourself."

"I deal with Constable Turnbull in an even-handed manner. And I do not blither."

"Oh, yes you do. I should know, son. We can smell our own."

( The Babylon project was our last, best hope for peace. ...it failed. )

Title: That's Life
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Characters: Francesca/Dewey, Maria, RayV
Rating: NC-17 (not terribly graphic)
Words: 3820
Timeline: September 1998, and then retrospect from April. After the Shades arc.
Summary: The story of Francesca's 'immaculate' conception and several other things she never expected.
Notes: Did you think I couldn't do het? ;) I know I owe commissions and I'm working on those too, guys. <3 Braindead from work, and I finally just finished this after working on it for weeks (with Steff's loving encouragement).

September, 1998

Frannie traced her profile in the mirror and waited to feel something.

Fancy math had gone out the window a month or so ago, but at least she could've had hope. Turnbull had been so sweet before. In a few sentences she knew that God had been trying to tell her the solution was in front of her the whole time, she just couldn't see it. She knew once she had her foot back in that door he'd take everything that came with her with open arms. It was like something out of the movies; good guy rolled off Turnbull in waves, or so she thought. She could've gotten that proposal. Been married in time.

If the Mountie hadn't been gay for her brother.

She dropped her nightshirt and wiped her face when she heard Maria in the hallway.

Nothing left to try now. Too late. She might as well not be alone anymore.

"Maria?"

( Take my advice and go back to the time you came from. The future isn't what it used to be. )

Turnbull/Vecchio; Arch To The Sky; NC-17; 327 words. Here be porn; written for sl_walker to the prompt 'Detective Walks Funny' (with love to elf_fu).

( Suddenly, I looked up and this beautiful dancer is leaning down over the stage, and looking right into my eyes. And she said: 'Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.' And then she kissed me, right here. )

Title: Inapparent Points
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Characters: Guy Laurent, Renfield Turnbull
Rating: PG
Words: 2221
Timeline: Early Nipawin, 1991
Summary: An early day in Guy's Nipawin.

I have already trained the bartender to the precise order of my drinks.

The bar was the natural place to gravitate; the town of Nipawin is notable for an inadvisable multitude of churches. It is not that I have a low opinion of religion. Everything is fine in moderation - I realize this sentiment is rather comedic coming from me - and whatever the indulgence, it should be balanced. It is a fine bar. I like to hope that what happens here will balance proportionately to the amount of religion going about.

( Dull. Muffled. Slower now. Closer now. Over your shoulder. It comes. The transition. A shadow. The long exhalation of the spirit. Can you see it, healer? )

The last of our rounds of one-line prompts, and once again just about everyone from Mike Chase to Diefenbaker turns up in here.

Part I - Part II - Part III


( Read more... )

Title: Never Where
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Characters: Vecchio, Mort, and ?
Rating: G
Words: 402
Timeline: After the Shades arc.
Summary: In which we learn four things Mort should know and one place he never was.
Notes: Yep, we really are COTW-compliant. :D

For each time he passed, Ray Vecchio remained leaned nonchalantly against a drawer in Mort's morgue, taking small bites of a sandwich that was not rapidly disappearing.

Each time Mort passed, he chose not to bother the man. Who was he to critique a man's choice of lunchtime locale? Not Mort. He often ate there. The morgue was quiet and comfortable. It was somewhat unusual for another person to share his opinion of that, but he wasn't a man to judge.

Curiosity grew, but it wasn't until he heard a distinct thunk from behind the man that Mort stopped, backtracking to look at him.

( 'Then, if you'll excuse me, but I'm in the middle of 15 things, all of them annoying. Thank you for coming by.' )

Here are the one-line prompts Steff and I exchanged a couple of days ago. This is only about half; another page to come ♥

Pretty much every character is represented yet again, from Gardino to Stella to Longfellow to Turnbull to Hell, even James Lennox.


Part I - Part II - Part III

There are two NC-17 ones in here, they'll be in white font, highlight to read!

( Read more... )

Also exchanged on March 12, these are the few short one-line prompts we did in 'verses outside the ones for Arch to the Sky. Wizard and Zombieverses.


Author :: Character :: Prompt


kalijean :: Maria :: Honey
Ma always said Ray was a sweet kid, but this was ridiculous; she tried to scrub the honey out of his hair and vowed never to try that spell again.

kalijean :: Myra :: Muffled
Muffliato really was the most mind-numbing spell, in large part because her parents seemed to feel the need to use it when discussing her disability.

kalijean :: Vecchio :: Endless
Knowledge that it was just a lake didn't make the drift of bodies seem any less endless.

kalijean :: Turnbull :: Crucio
One truly had to mean it for Cruciatus to work; he knew now that he could have, but he warded the man's bed instead.

Myra, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky; G; 200 words.

Prologue
I. • II. • III. • IV. • V. • VI. • VII.
Epilogue


His uniform had taken home a sizable amount of Lake Michigan.

Renfield had taken home Ray.

Tony had brought Ray's clothes. There was a part of Renfield that was disappointed for that; clothing him from his own drawers felt like another layer he could impress between Ray and the open world. If Tony had an opinion on the whole mess beyond a shrug and a low whistle, he didn't offer it. Renfield had just tried not to think about who would've provided Tony with his address.

The divide between the letter he'd gotten and the reply he wanted to send now seemed impossible to bridge. He forced it anyway.

Dearest Myra,

Please likewise forgive the delay in my response. You are right; I am happy for this news. I am honored that you would name a son for me.

It was not long after I took possession of your letter that Ray and I became unexpectedly public. In some quarters, the matter became confrontational. Ray is now estranged from his family.

I am uncertain of when I will see you. I would be grateful for your updates when you have them.

Give my best to John.

Renfield

Myra, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky; G; 221 words. Immediately before Crickets.

Prologue
I. • II. • III. • IV. • V. • VI. • VII.
Epilogue

Dearest Renfield,

I have read over your letter several times since its arrival. I am sorry for the delay in my last response; I know you have forgiven me, but I feel the need to reiterate as I regret that my reply arrived too late to ease your mind. As a child you often bounded ahead of me to seek your own path. I am happy to see the trend continues.

Your letter had an unusual lengthy quality, Renfield. One might suspect another man of gushing. I am only teasing, of course; you have told me much about this Ray of yours, but I would like to hear still more. It was a relief. Forgive my candor, but you have been quiet these past few years. It would seem this man is good for you.

You have my heartfelt blessings, Renfield. I want to meet your Ray.

I have delayed the completion of this letter for the sake of certain tests. We have discovered today that I will be adding another set of twins to the Turnbull family. This was unexpected. I am working to accept this news. I know that you will be happy.

Should I have sons, one will indeed be named for you.

I will update you again soon.

All my love.

Myra

Title: Disseminated
Fandom: Due South; Arch to the Sky
Pairing: Turnbull/Vecchio
Rating: PG
Words: 543
Timeline: Right after Out.
Summary: Rumors fly as everyone tries to adjust.

Prologue


"I heard she punched him in the nose."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently he walked out of here with it bleeding all over his uniform. And he was crying."

"Sounds like him."

( Read more... )

The last little while, Steff and I started trading little ficlets via text while she's away. They are random and short, and we enjoy them. Here are some of mine:


Turnbull hadn't stopped blushing like a stoplight since the call.

God only knew how a couple could carry on an argument still dressed like that, but it hadn't seemed to slow them down.

"Didn't know they made fishnets in that size," Chase said mostly to himself.

Turnbull turned redder.

"Didn't know you could do that with a--"

"No," came the rare and rushed interruption.

( Under here, and the last one may just mean what you think it means )

Chase, Guy, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky; G; 195 words

"...really?"

"Yes, sir."

"Laurent."

"Indeed."

Mike Chase leaned waaaaaaay back, glancing behind Turnbull to get a good, long, disbelieving look at Guy Laurent.

It took a moment for Guy to notice, and when he did, he tipped Chase a lazy salute as though he was expecting to be watched.

Chase's eyebrows climbed, and he leaned slowly forward again to look back at Turnbull.

"I assure you, I have asked myself many times if it was merely an elaborate hallucination on my part, but he was, indeed, a short-lived RCMP recruit."

He couldn't begin to fathom how the Hell that chronic miscreant could've cleared the requirements to make it to Depot, but Chase was suddenly picturing one or two uptight instructors he didn't care for having to deal with the man. Guy Laurent, drunken destruction incarnate, stuffed in a uniform and shoved into a troop, looking for all the world like any other recruit. Sheep in wolf's clothing. Chase had to think winding up that jack in the box resulted in a fantastic punch to the face for one of those old guard types before it was all over.

"How--"

The question unfinished, Chase was laughing before he knew what hit him.

Guy, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky (Nipawin, probably '94); G; 331 words; 25. disguise.

I have always enjoyed Halloween.

It isn't that I'm usually one to dress up. It's that the women tend to come in the most fascinating flavors on this day, and one would be foolish not to open that particular box of chocolates. If I do say so myself, I'm well-suited to gold and white. Now and again I catch a glint from the gold that tints my cheeks. This toga makes aspects of my anatomy feel surprisingly free. These sandals are uncomfortable. And I wear makeup far better than a straight man should.

I've outdone myself this year. The only hint that I haven't fallen from the heavens, aside the wire that bears my halo, is my sunglasses. The bar is packed; even Renfield has come, to my surprise. I wasn't aware he was off. Perhaps he is humoring me. I like it when he humors me; attempting to figure out why is always a fascinating venture. He doesn't look as though he's been here long, and doesn't look at all like he is going to stay.

I catch his eye, and he does the Renfield equivalent of a double-take. Blinking rapidly at me, as though what he sees is the trick of a speck of dust.

Yes, Mountie. I am an angel for the evening. And I have yet to find my devil.

I weave my way through the room toward the door where Renfield lingers. I pull a set of devil's horns from my pocket and offer them out, notched between two fingers, along with a lazy grin.

"Opposite night?"

Renfield is blinking again, this time at my offering. It's a moment before he takes them, though he makes no move to put them on.

"Perhaps," he answers with the smallest huff of a laugh.

Over my sunglasses, I wink at him before I slip back into the crowd. He is gone, when next I look.

Turnbull/Vecchio; Wizard!Verse; NC-17 (serious pornography up in here); 890 words; 12. All or none. Or "Incendio". Or perhaps "Constable Walks Funny" in honor of elf_fu.

For and inspired by sl_walker. I blame her. Entirely. Yes.

Descendo - Partis Temporus - Avis - Obliviate - Wingardium - Incarcerous - Incendio - Imperius - Nox - Lumos

Some days this job ain't bad.

Ren suits every color, and I figure a little of every color's out here today. Mostly green. Blue sky. Whenever he talks about Canada I can't see anything in my head except a whole lotta snow, I guess it's just automatic, but Hell if summer doesn't suit him. Everything does.

Thing is: we came here for a reason. There's a guy from out East that's got information for us, the kind of info that you give in person once you've warded everything and pointed wands at each other's necks and made sure you're both who you look like you are. But this place is real pretty. And we got here way early with some food and a blanket and time to kill. With us, that usually means one thing. ( You are protected, in short, by your ability to love. )

Mark; ds_zombies 'verse; R; 340 words; 15. Slumber.

Mark's gut twisted as his self-preservation tried desperately to cast for another way out.

His apartment building was swamped. Several pieces of furniture sat piled by his front door, and they did nothing to drown out the sound of what scratched from behind it. All his curtains were drawn, like somehow the damn things could make it up the fire escape.

It'd been forever since he'd slept.

Sick desperation kept him awake, kept him pacing, kept him watching from stories up as the world around him died. It was almost all he did. A few hours back, he'd taken it in his head to start throwing shit out the window. Cookware. Knick-knacks. Empty beer bottles. Furniture that wasn't barricading his door. A souvenir curling stone had disintegrated on the pavement below. It was a strange little game that gave him no satisfaction when he did manage to hit one of the infected on the street below. He hadn't run out of things to throw. Just ran out of will to throw them.

He was thirsty.

The disgusting things never stopped ravening. They could smell him. He knew it. They could smell everything.

The pills had been sitting out for a long time now. He lost track of the hours, maybe it was days, they'd been sitting there beside his last shot of Jack. How many times he stopped just to stare at them.

It was a big bottle. He'd go to sleep. Just... go to sleep.

He was so tired.

Something bashed at his door. Rattled it. That happened sometimes. Sounded like a body slamming up against it.

He couldn't... couldn't sleep...

There was another impact. This one was more stubborn than usual.

A chair fell off the pile. Mark didn't look up to see it fall. Just looked at his pills.

He was... so tired...

When the pills were gone and his mouth tasted like liquid fire, he shattered the bottle off his front door.

The shards glittered and fell like rain.

Turnbull/Vecchio; G; 140 words; 27. Falsely accused. A gift for sl_walker; may it make you smile.

"I did no such thing."

"You did!"

"My answer is emphatically negative and will not change."

"You were claiming your territory!"

"Now, Ray, simply because that woman complimented your choice of attire--"

"Complimented? That's what we're calling it?"

"--complimented-- does not mean I feel the need to 'claim' my 'territory'--"

"Oh? So a thirty-second ruthlessly polite lecture about the stitching of my collar where it just so happens there's a big red mark on my neck right under where you're pointing ain't claiming, huh?"

"No, Ray."

...

"It is a very fine suit with a very fine collar."

...

"Ray."

"Admit it."

"I was only making polite conversation."

"Rrgh, you dog!"

"I still fail to see how comparisons to canines help the matter, Ray."

...

"I may perhaps have felt a certain possessiveness in that moment."

"Uh-huh."

"She might've at least made an effort to appear less obvious."

"Pot. Kettle. Mountie."

"I'm your cookware, in any case."

Frannie Vecchio (Zuko), Frank Zuko; Wizard!Verse; R; 1137 words; 07. Defining moment.

Been working on this one for weeks, probably for obvious reasons, but it fit the prompt and I finally finished it. Thanks and ♥ once again to l0stmyrel1g10n for the beta, canon-check, and patient hammering out of canon points with me.

Descendo - Partis Temporus - Avis - Obliviate - Wingardium - Incarcerous - Incendio - Imperius - Nox - Lumos

He always looks so damn peaceful like this.

Not a thought in his pretty little head, my Frankie. All those angry lines on his face are gone when he's this way. Sometimes I come up here and transfigure his face back the way it's supposed to be. Spattergroit's pretty ugly. Lasts a while. Robs your voice. It's a nice excuse to give the outside world for a silent husband.

I've never cast an Unforgivable before. ( More )

Turnbull, Myra; Arch To The Sky (age 6); G; 450 words; 09. Milk and cookies.

Myra's younger brother was seated primly at the table and was in the process of making a crumbly mess of a cookie in a glass of milk.

It wouldn't do any good to clean up the mess until he was done, and besides that, the phone conversation she was carrying on was becoming very distressing very quickly.

She paced the kitchen, phone to her ear and the cord stretched across the room, those big blue eyes of Renfield's following her even as he fished a large chunk from the glass.

"It's just not normal, Myra."

"Define normal, Gordon," she replied, as close to a snap as she generally ever got.

The soggy chunk of cookie was dredged from the deep only to be dropped on the floor. Myra pinched the bridge of her nose and chose to ignore it. The hiss of the pot on the stove had her scrambling to take the lid off and keep it from boiling over, tucking the phone between her face and her shoulder.

"Normal. You're twenty years old. You shouldn't be over there every day playing Mum to your little brother. I never get to see you. Half the time when I do, he's there. Where the Hell is your mother?"

"You know what?" Myra slammed the pot lid down on the stovetop. Behind her, she heard Renfield jump; there was a tell-tale tinkle of glass and rush of spilled liquid. She sighed down the phone, practically hearing Gordon's eye-roll. "My mother is none of your business. I don't know who you think you are, Gordon, but just because we go out sometimes doesn't mean you get to--"

There was a heavy exasperated sigh down the line. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Fine. Hang on a second, Renfield's spilled his milk." Absently she righted the empty glass before petting the boy's blonde hair by way of apology for the scare. His lap was soaked. He looked more distressed by the loss of his cookie relics than the wardrobe issue, however.

"Yeah. Listen... I don't think this is going to work."

Myra was dipping a rag in dishwater when he said it, and she nearly dropped the phone. "...sorry?"

"I don't think it's going to work out. Maybe look me up when you have more free time, all right?"

She took the phone from her ear and stared at it. She glanced over at Renfield, who was currently picking smaller soggy cookie pieces off the table and eating them.

She looked at the phone again. "Fine. Suit yourself."

After she hung it up, she pressed the dishrag to her own forehead, breathing out.

Thatcher, Turnbull/RayV; Wizard!Verse (sometime before the second War); G; 648 words; 23. Canadian Wildlife.

Descendo - Partis Temporus - Avis - Obliviate - Wingardium - Incarcerous - Imperius - Incendio - Nox - Lumos

"What is this, the Canadian wildlife reserve? What is that rodent doing in my consulate, Turnbull?"

Ah. Yes. Well.

That is a difficult question to answer, isn't it?

The answer is that he wants to be and that I had not intended to be caught, but this is not an answer I can offer, for obvious reasons. It is late in my shift. Why she has chosen to bother me now is beyond me. The Inspector's nose is positively wrinkled, and I breathe away the adrenaline spike of her whip-crack of a tone and equally as abrupt appearance. There are days I could swear the woman can apparate, and wonder if perhaps her school letter missed her when she was a child.

"--he is not a rodent, sir. He is a mink; they fall under the Mustelidae family, more commonly known as weasels--"

"Answer my question, Constable."

I tip my chin up, giving no ground to the fantasy of a well-aimed wingardium to leave her hanging from the chandelier. The warmth wrapped about my neck shifts, and I feel him tighten around me, watching her as well.

"He is mine."

"He's yours."

"Yes, sir."

( More )

Fraser, RayK, Dewey; Arch To The Sky (takes place during canon, stands alone); G; 627 words; 24. Classic.

"I'm telling you, Frase, the look on his face is gonna be classic."

"I'm certain it will be." Whatever that means. "What I don't understand is why you feel the need to..." Fraser gestured, hand open and flat, as he tried to phrase it delicately.

"Time-bomb his desk?"

"...well, yes, Ray. Though I fail to see how exactly it's a time-bomb, as it would be very clearly offensive in the immediate--"

"Look, look, look, Frase." Ray Kowalski gestured off toward Huey's desk, giving Fraser a toothy grin. "Sandor says Tony's got some kinda really funky foot problem, right? I dunno what it's called, I don't wanna ask too many questions in case knowing means I can't eat his pizza anymore, but the point is that his socks are choice. Choice, Fraser, for a primo stench to curl your nose hairs from like ten paces. It matures the longer it sits out there."

Fraser's eyes widened a fraction, and he merely stared.

"So here's the trick. You stash it in his desk somewhere he's not gonna think to look, maybe someplace underneath in one of the little gaps, you know? Shove it up there good. Then, you sit back, and you wait."

"You wait."

"You wait. First day, maybe he doesn't notice so much, except he sniffs his armpits and thinks he needed to shower better this morning." Ray leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on his desk top. One hand wound through the air in a rolling gesture as he explained. "Next day, maybe he's thinking it's the guy next to him that's got the hygiene problem. Annoying, but no big deal, right? But the third day, that smell's getting worse and the guy's thinking maybe he left his lunch in the desk last week or something and it's starting to fester. So he starts looking. But he doesn't find anything, 'cause I'm that good."

( More )