Hey. It's me. If some kid who looks like he got lost on his way to the Middle Ages asks you if you're my cousin, just go with it. Don't ask questions. Just do it.
[ Lalo rolls his eyes when he gets the text, feeling a surge of mingled affection and annoyance (as if he were somehow the reasonable one, here). Of course. Just been told not to ask questions, and what does he do? Varga is always having questions. That's the one downside of working with someone so smart. Smart people always have questions; always want to know the why.
Just like Lalo would, if the shoe were on the other metaphorical foot.
About five minutes after Nacho sends that text, there is a knock on the door. Better not to ask how he knows you're home right now, Nacho; there's no way to answer that that's going to make you happy.
The voice that speaks is familiar, mildly exasperated and a little tired-sounding (?), but still just as cheery as ever. ]
Ohhh, I dunno! I guess so. If you let me in.
[ If Nacho opens the door, there will be a smiling Lalo on the other side, nursing his non-dominant shoulder, pressing a hand and some old cloth to it to stem the massive tidepool of blood forming on Lalo's shirt. The whole time Lalo is very careful not to jostle the giant fucking arrow sticking out said bloody shoulder.
He didn't just leave the arrow in for looks, either. Remove it incorrectly, and you risk doing more damage or hitting a major artery. Better to leave it in until he can look at it in a quiet, sanitary place with help.
Lalo, for his part, looks a little worse for wear but still in good spirits. He'll even greet Nacho with his usual smile and a... ]
Hi!
[ Don't worry. They'll get to those questions in a bit! If this doesn't just pose even more of them. ]
[ ...what the actual fuck, Lalo?! Nacho doesn't bother to mask the shift in his expression at all this time, going from curiosity to mild but wide-eyed alarm.
That is, in fact, a lot of blood. He turns around immediately to dig around in his suitcase, searching for and finding the first aid supplies that are always part of his go bag. Lalo can come in and kick the door closed behind him -- it's only a few seconds more before Nacho's straightening up with a zippered case that would look to anyone else like a normal toiletries kit. ]
Who did this?
[ And what did Lalo do to piss them off? Nacho has absolutely no idea if it's the same person he's supposed to be telling that they're cousins, or how those two things would go together, but you know. Better to deal with the most urgent problems first.
He gestures for the older man to sit at the small table in the room as he opens the case, pulling out various medical supplies. Everybody heals fast in Hell, yes, but that doesn't mean he hasn't had to do a lot of stitches and bandaging over the years. ]
[ The door does slam shut as Lalo gives it a good kick.
Lalo heaves a loud inhale as he leans against the door with his eyes closed for a few seconds. Then, when his eyes pop open and he stands up again, a groan comes out involuntarily as he makes his way further into the room, and then, a little slowly, still nursing his injured shoulder, slides onto Nacho’s table.
He watches with faint approval as Nacho digs in his go bag. Of course Varga would be prepared. Lalo knew he came to the right place. For just a second, his smile softens, as much as anything about Lalo is capable of softening.
He’s still in good spirits though, if that were ever any doubt, humming to himself and kicking his legs a little. ]
You know the bastard I just sent you a message about? Yeah. That guy. Can’t miss him. Calls himself Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winter Something Something.
[ In case that’s not enough of a description, Lalo elaborates. Laughs a little, even. ]
Picture Tuco, but a gringo who dresses like he’s going to one of those—? [ Lalo finally takes his good hand off his wounded shoulder to snap his fingers, trying to think of the words. Turns out, Lalo doesn’t know what a renaissance faire is called. Why would he? ]
What is it called? You know, where the weird virgins go?
[ Nacho isn't sure what Lalo's getting at exactly, but the general idea comes across. The middle ages comment was clear enough in that regard, he's just more focused on pulling Lalo's hand away from the arrow and cutting his shirt free to see the wound than anything. ]
LARPs?
[ Goddamnit, this thing's embedded. Would've been much easier for them both if it had shot all the way through... Nacho hisses through his teeth as he moves to look at it from the side, trying to gauge how deep the point of the arrowhead might be. ]
[ Lalo has no idea if that’s right or not, but it sounds close enough. Varga gets the basic idea, which is all he needs.
Nacho isn’t the only one hissing. Lalo, for his part, winces and hisses himself while Nacho gets a good look at his wound. Alone with the only person he thinks he can trust, Lalo feels freerer to let on that an arrow embedded in your shoulder, in fact, hurts like a fucking bitch.
Not that his good mood is entirely just for show. He’s still half-grinning through the pain as he asks Nacho: ]
[ Lalo isn’t smiling anymore. In fact, he looks quite perturbed, like someone who just got a speeding ticket. Maybe still not quite the right response to getting shot with an arrow, but closer.
To the idea that he won’t like Nacho’s treatment plan, Lalo just sighs. ]
[ Nacho gives an unhappy hum of agreement -- he suspected it was too deep to extract without doing more damage, and Lalo's only confirming that. Great. ]
It can't come out the way it went in. Safer and less painful if I push it the rest of the way through, I've just gotta cut the end off.
[ This is gonna really suck, but he can make it quick at least. Nacho genuinely doesn't have the stomach for hurting people, not even a Salamanca. ]
[ Nacho is right. Lalo doesn't like it. Oh, he was half-expecting it, but that doesn't mean he likes it. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get his bearings through the pain, before he opens them again and lets that same shit-eating grin Nacho knows so well seep back onto his face as he tries to find some humor in this situation. ]
Hey. That's better than what I thought you were gonna say. For a second, I thought you were gonna say we should--
[ Mimes shooting himself in the head with a gun, using his good hand with two of his fingers pointed together at his temple, before taking the hand away.
The grin is still there, since this is Lalo's idea of a joke. Lalo might seriously consider that as a method to deal with his own wounds, if they were to become severe enough, but Nachito doesn't have the stomach for that kind of problem solving.
Nobody's perfect, apparently.
When Nacho says he needs to bite down on something, Lalo just nods. Throughout all of this, he remains remarkably cheery. ]
[ Lalo might be surprised to hear Nacho say that, since it implies if an injury was bad enough he'd be willing to deal with the death hangover rather than healing (or not healing, as the case may be, since sometimes Hell takes things that don't grow back) from whatever had happened... but then he's passing Lalo a leather belt from his closet and gripping the other man's shoulder to hold him steady. ]
Three steps: I push it through, break off the end once that won't risk the arrowhead shifting, then it's out.
[ He sets his other hand on the shaft of the arrow carefully, getting a firm hold on it as well. ]
Deep breath in.
[ That's all the warning Lalo gets, since as soon as he bites down and complies Nacho gives a sharp, forceful push. The arrowhead is lodged deep enough there wasn't much left to cut through, but it still hurts like a bitch when it bursts out the back of his shoulder. ]
[ Lalo is surprised and doesn't hide it, his eyes widening slightly in shock. He would have expected the Varga he knew to have some blah blah whiny bullshit justification about not killing his friend or some shit. But his surprise is also coupled with obvious, unforced, utter delight. Lalo is stunned into silence very briefly, but long enough for it to be noticable, before he laughs out loud, the grin splitting his face growing ever wider. ]
Nachito! I didn't think you had it in you! And here I thought Hell was making you softer, 'eh?! Atta boy!
[ Well, Varga always has been pragmatic. Lalo should've expected this. Secretly, though, he's relieved to hear Varga say an arrow isn't worth doing things the, uh, hard way. Lalo isn't scared to die, but a.) that doesn't mean he's suicidal, either; he's not going around volunteering for a dirt nap and the attendant hangover if he doesn't have to, and b.) imagining the smug, self-satisfied look on Ramsay Bolton's face upon hearing that his arrow did, in fact, kill Lalo after all, is enough to flip Lalo's stomach, albeit just a little bit. Ugh. No, thank you. ]
Three steps, huh? Damn, Nachito. You make it sound so easy.
[ Then Nacho passes him the belt, and anyone who has ever wanted to see the smug smile abruptly wiped completely off of Lalo Salamanca's punk-ass face would be happy to be Nacho's room right now. Because when Nacho passes him the belt, the grin disappears and the I-just-got-a-parking-ticket face returns. Lalo closes his eyes, accepts what is about to happen, and bites down on the belt. The hand attached to his uninjured shoulder clutches the edge of the table, fingers curling around the edge.
Deep breath in. Okay. He can do that. Lalo's chest swells with a deep inhale and then--
He feels it. The first thing he feels is the feeling of something piercing him, coming through and out of him, and then immediately after, the pain. Sharp, hot, shooting pain that's so intense it curdles his stomach and makes his eyes pop open and he looks at Nacho with an expression that can only been summed up as !!!
Lalo's fingers, curled around the edge of the table, turn shock white as his grip tightens until his hand shakes a little. He can feel Varga's hand on his shoulder-- a steady, unwavering, light pressure-- and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to just deck Varga right then and there just to get him away. Even though Lalo knows this isn't actually Varga's fault and is, in fact, very necessary.
Lalo doesn't yelp or yell, but once the arrow is poking out the other side of his shoulder, there is a multi-syllabic groan from Lalo through muffled by the leather of Varga's belt before he regains control over his breathing and closes his eyes again.
[ It's not blatantly praise or comfort, and could be interpreted as both or neither. Perhaps it's just a practical assessment of how Lalo managed to hold still? ]
That was the worst of it, keep breathing.
[ Compared to the sharp pain of the arrowhead being forced through, Nacho snapping off the fletching and making sure there are no loose splinters is barely noticeable. His grip mostly keeps it from jostling in Lalo's shoulder, and once he's satisfied the end he's about to pull through won't leave anything behind he reaches for a wad of gauze.
With no warning this time he pulls the arrow out smoothly, pressing the gauze against Lalo's shoulder and dropping the arrow to the table to grab another for the exit wound. Step three did sting, but compared to the agony of digging around to extract it from the front? This was definitely the less painful method. ]
[ Oh, Varga. Mysterious as always. Lalo has no clue how to interpret that comment, so he doesn’t try, taking it as simply, an assessment. Information. Something they both deal in frequently.
At the end of the day, Varga is doing what he needs him to do, and doing it well, which is all that really matters in Lalo’s eyes. Without any of the other Salamancas, or anyone from the cartel at all, it’s not like he can trust anyone else here. Even some of the demonic healers give him pause. Gotta be a catch to asking for their help, right?
It’s really just him and Varga right now. Lalo hopes it doesn’t have to stay that way. He can’t wait to see his family again. Minus Abuelita, of course; Lalo cannot imagine her doing anything to earn eternal damnation. But he’s sure Tio and all his cousins would enjoy Hell as much as he has so far! It’d be a great time!
For now though, it could be worse. At least he’s not completely alone, even if Varga’s kind of a wet blanket sometimes. But he’s smart and capable and a good confidant, and Lalo’s sure he can loosen the kid up in time. The crack about an arrow not being worth killing him over— implying other things are— will delight Lalo for days after this.
When Varga says that was the worst of it, Lalo gives a tiny, tired nod, his eyelids sinking down a little without fully closing as he shifts his gaze to stare ahead. His good hand shots Varga an “all good” thumbs-up before it goes back to gripping the table. He keeps his focus on keeping his breathing even, focusing on the sensations of his chest expanding out and collapsing back in instead of focusing he stinging pain.
Lalo hears the wooden crunch of the arrow snapping more than he feels anything, and doesn’t flinch. He does keep white-knuckling the edge of the table, though.
It isn’t until he hears the soft clink of the arrow hitting Varga’s table that Lalo stops biting the belt quite as hard. It isn’t until he feels his teeth start to recede from where they’d embedded themselves in the leather that he realizes how hard he’d been biting. But he doesn’t spit it out. He’ll let Dr. Varga take it, when it’s time.
He holds as still as he can, trying to make it as easy as possible for Varga to apply the gauze. The sharp pain of an arrow being forced through you is now replaced with the throb of just having an open wound and the sting of having the gauze pressed to it. ]
[ After a moment Nacho dares to ease up on the pressure, and it turns out he was right -- nothing vital was hit. Lalo's barely bleeding, which is generally how it goes in Hell unless you cut through a major vessel. He gives a little nod of approval, leaving the gauze in place but reclaiming his hands for a moment to take the belt out of Lalo's mouth and wipe the blood off his fingers. He's gonna need clean hands and some input before finishing patching him up. ]
We heal pretty fast here so I don't think you need stitches, but if you want them I can do it. It still helps the scarring.
[ After all Lalo might want the bigger scar, Nacho's not assuming anything. ]
[ Lalo releases the belt without resistance, closing his eyes once more and breathing out a slight ’whooo’ of relief. Then he glances at Varga while the younger man washes his hands, his own expression uncharacteristically blank and unreadable for once, his voice softer than usual. ]
Thanks. Hey, sorry ‘bout the— [ jerks a thumb behind him with his good hand now that he’s not clutching the table anymore. He means the blood-covered arrow on Nacho’s table, for the record. ]
[ And then… that’s it. That’s it, that’s all you get, Nacho, before it’s back to business as usual. Lalo laughs out loud in amusement upon being told that people heal quickly here. How lucky for him! For Ramsay, too! ]
Shit, no kidding? Aw, man. Tio Hector would hate that.
[ Hard to effectively torture people when the wounds don’t stay closed, after all.
As to the question of stitches… ]
You know what? You’re the medical professional. I trust your judgement, Dr. Varga. Just let me know when I need to get down from here.
[ Lalo hmmms thoughtfully. ]
Guess I owe you, either way. So! What were those questions of yours?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text; un:lalo
Re: text; un:lalo
action-->
Just like Lalo would, if the shoe were on the other metaphorical foot.
About five minutes after Nacho sends that text, there is a knock on the door. Better not to ask how he knows you're home right now, Nacho; there's no way to answer that that's going to make you happy.
The voice that speaks is familiar, mildly exasperated and a little tired-sounding (?), but still just as cheery as ever. ]
Ohhh, I dunno! I guess so. If you let me in.
[ If Nacho opens the door, there will be a smiling Lalo on the other side, nursing his non-dominant shoulder, pressing a hand and some old cloth to it to stem the massive tidepool of blood forming on Lalo's shirt. The whole time Lalo is very careful not to jostle the giant fucking arrow sticking out said bloody shoulder.
He didn't just leave the arrow in for looks, either. Remove it incorrectly, and you risk doing more damage or hitting a major artery. Better to leave it in until he can look at it in a quiet, sanitary place with help.
Lalo, for his part, looks a little worse for wear but still in good spirits. He'll even greet Nacho with his usual smile and a... ]
Hi!
[ Don't worry. They'll get to those questions in a bit! If this doesn't just pose even more of them. ]
no subject
That is, in fact, a lot of blood. He turns around immediately to dig around in his suitcase, searching for and finding the first aid supplies that are always part of his go bag. Lalo can come in and kick the door closed behind him -- it's only a few seconds more before Nacho's straightening up with a zippered case that would look to anyone else like a normal toiletries kit. ]
Who did this?
[ And what did Lalo do to piss them off? Nacho has absolutely no idea if it's the same person he's supposed to be telling that they're cousins, or how those two things would go together, but you know. Better to deal with the most urgent problems first.
He gestures for the older man to sit at the small table in the room as he opens the case, pulling out various medical supplies. Everybody heals fast in Hell, yes, but that doesn't mean he hasn't had to do a lot of stitches and bandaging over the years. ]
no subject
Lalo heaves a loud inhale as he leans against the door with his eyes closed for a few seconds. Then, when his eyes pop open and he stands up again, a groan comes out involuntarily as he makes his way further into the room, and then, a little slowly, still nursing his injured shoulder, slides onto Nacho’s table.
He watches with faint approval as Nacho digs in his go bag. Of course Varga would be prepared. Lalo knew he came to the right place. For just a second, his smile softens, as much as anything about Lalo is capable of softening.
He’s still in good spirits though, if that were ever any doubt, humming to himself and kicking his legs a little. ]
You know the bastard I just sent you a message about? Yeah. That guy. Can’t miss him. Calls himself Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winter Something Something.
[ In case that’s not enough of a description, Lalo elaborates. Laughs a little, even. ]
Picture Tuco, but a gringo who dresses like he’s going to one of those—? [ Lalo finally takes his good hand off his wounded shoulder to snap his fingers, trying to think of the words. Turns out, Lalo doesn’t know what a renaissance faire is called. Why would he? ]
What is it called? You know, where the weird virgins go?
no subject
LARPs?
[ Goddamnit, this thing's embedded. Would've been much easier for them both if it had shot all the way through... Nacho hisses through his teeth as he moves to look at it from the side, trying to gauge how deep the point of the arrowhead might be. ]
no subject
[ Lalo has no idea if that’s right or not, but it sounds close enough. Varga gets the basic idea, which is all he needs.
Nacho isn’t the only one hissing. Lalo, for his part, winces and hisses himself while Nacho gets a good look at his wound. Alone with the only person he thinks he can trust, Lalo feels freerer to let on that an arrow embedded in your shoulder, in fact, hurts like a fucking bitch.
Not that his good mood is entirely just for show. He’s still half-grinning through the pain as he asks Nacho: ]
So what’s my prognosis, doctor?
no subject
[ There's absolutely a 'but' coming... ]
How deep do you figure it went? 'Cuz if I'm right you're not gonna like my treatment plan.
no subject
[ Lalo isn’t smiling anymore. In fact, he looks quite perturbed, like someone who just got a speeding ticket. Maybe still not quite the right response to getting shot with an arrow, but closer.
To the idea that he won’t like Nacho’s treatment plan, Lalo just sighs. ]
Let’s hear it.
no subject
It can't come out the way it went in. Safer and less painful if I push it the rest of the way through, I've just gotta cut the end off.
[ This is gonna really suck, but he can make it quick at least. Nacho genuinely doesn't have the stomach for hurting people, not even a Salamanca. ]
Lemme get you something to bite down on.
no subject
Hey. That's better than what I thought you were gonna say. For a second, I thought you were gonna say we should--
[ Mimes shooting himself in the head with a gun, using his good hand with two of his fingers pointed together at his temple, before taking the hand away.
The grin is still there, since this is Lalo's idea of a joke. Lalo might seriously consider that as a method to deal with his own wounds, if they were to become severe enough, but Nachito doesn't have the stomach for that kind of problem solving.
Nobody's perfect, apparently.
When Nacho says he needs to bite down on something, Lalo just nods. Throughout all of this, he remains remarkably cheery. ]
Yeah, yeah. Let's get it over with.
no subject
[ Lalo might be surprised to hear Nacho say that, since it implies if an injury was bad enough he'd be willing to deal with the death hangover rather than healing (or not healing, as the case may be, since sometimes Hell takes things that don't grow back) from whatever had happened... but then he's passing Lalo a leather belt from his closet and gripping the other man's shoulder to hold him steady. ]
Three steps: I push it through, break off the end once that won't risk the arrowhead shifting, then it's out.
[ He sets his other hand on the shaft of the arrow carefully, getting a firm hold on it as well. ]
Deep breath in.
[ That's all the warning Lalo gets, since as soon as he bites down and complies Nacho gives a sharp, forceful push. The arrowhead is lodged deep enough there wasn't much left to cut through, but it still hurts like a bitch when it bursts out the back of his shoulder. ]
no subject
Nachito! I didn't think you had it in you! And here I thought Hell was making you softer, 'eh?! Atta boy!
[ Well, Varga always has been pragmatic. Lalo should've expected this. Secretly, though, he's relieved to hear Varga say an arrow isn't worth doing things the, uh, hard way. Lalo isn't scared to die, but a.) that doesn't mean he's suicidal, either; he's not going around volunteering for a dirt nap and the attendant hangover if he doesn't have to, and b.) imagining the smug, self-satisfied look on Ramsay Bolton's face upon hearing that his arrow did, in fact, kill Lalo after all, is enough to flip Lalo's stomach, albeit just a little bit. Ugh. No, thank you. ]
Three steps, huh? Damn, Nachito. You make it sound so easy.
[ Then Nacho passes him the belt, and anyone who has ever wanted to see the smug smile abruptly wiped completely off of Lalo Salamanca's punk-ass face would be happy to be Nacho's room right now. Because when Nacho passes him the belt, the grin disappears and the I-just-got-a-parking-ticket face returns. Lalo closes his eyes, accepts what is about to happen, and bites down on the belt. The hand attached to his uninjured shoulder clutches the edge of the table, fingers curling around the edge.
Deep breath in. Okay. He can do that. Lalo's chest swells with a deep inhale and then--
He feels it. The first thing he feels is the feeling of something piercing him, coming through and out of him, and then immediately after, the pain. Sharp, hot, shooting pain that's so intense it curdles his stomach and makes his eyes pop open and he looks at Nacho with an expression that can only been summed up as !!!
Lalo's fingers, curled around the edge of the table, turn shock white as his grip tightens until his hand shakes a little. He can feel Varga's hand on his shoulder-- a steady, unwavering, light pressure-- and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to just deck Varga right then and there just to get him away. Even though Lalo knows this isn't actually Varga's fault and is, in fact, very necessary.
Lalo doesn't yelp or yell, but once the arrow is poking out the other side of his shoulder, there is a multi-syllabic groan from Lalo through muffled by the leather of Varga's belt before he regains control over his breathing and closes his eyes again.
Fuck. And this is the less painful method, huh? ]
no subject
[ It's not blatantly praise or comfort, and could be interpreted as both or neither. Perhaps it's just a practical assessment of how Lalo managed to hold still? ]
That was the worst of it, keep breathing.
[ Compared to the sharp pain of the arrowhead being forced through, Nacho snapping off the fletching and making sure there are no loose splinters is barely noticeable. His grip mostly keeps it from jostling in Lalo's shoulder, and once he's satisfied the end he's about to pull through won't leave anything behind he reaches for a wad of gauze.
With no warning this time he pulls the arrow out smoothly, pressing the gauze against Lalo's shoulder and dropping the arrow to the table to grab another for the exit wound. Step three did sting, but compared to the agony of digging around to extract it from the front? This was definitely the less painful method. ]
no subject
At the end of the day, Varga is doing what he needs him to do, and doing it well, which is all that really matters in Lalo’s eyes. Without any of the other Salamancas, or anyone from the cartel at all, it’s not like he can trust anyone else here. Even some of the demonic healers give him pause. Gotta be a catch to asking for their help, right?
It’s really just him and Varga right now. Lalo hopes it doesn’t have to stay that way. He can’t wait to see his family again. Minus Abuelita, of course; Lalo cannot imagine her doing anything to earn eternal damnation. But he’s sure Tio and all his cousins would enjoy Hell as much as he has so far! It’d be a great time!
For now though, it could be worse. At least he’s not completely alone, even if Varga’s kind of a wet blanket sometimes. But he’s smart and capable and a good confidant, and Lalo’s sure he can loosen the kid up in time. The crack about an arrow not being worth killing him over— implying other things are— will delight Lalo for days after this.
When Varga says that was the worst of it, Lalo gives a tiny, tired nod, his eyelids sinking down a little without fully closing as he shifts his gaze to stare ahead. His good hand shots Varga an “all good” thumbs-up before it goes back to gripping the table. He keeps his focus on keeping his breathing even, focusing on the sensations of his chest expanding out and collapsing back in instead of focusing he stinging pain.
Lalo hears the wooden crunch of the arrow snapping more than he feels anything, and doesn’t flinch. He does keep white-knuckling the edge of the table, though.
It isn’t until he hears the soft clink of the arrow hitting Varga’s table that Lalo stops biting the belt quite as hard. It isn’t until he feels his teeth start to recede from where they’d embedded themselves in the leather that he realizes how hard he’d been biting. But he doesn’t spit it out. He’ll let Dr. Varga take it, when it’s time.
He holds as still as he can, trying to make it as easy as possible for Varga to apply the gauze. The sharp pain of an arrow being forced through you is now replaced with the throb of just having an open wound and the sting of having the gauze pressed to it. ]
no subject
We heal pretty fast here so I don't think you need stitches, but if you want them I can do it. It still helps the scarring.
[ After all Lalo might want the bigger scar, Nacho's not assuming anything. ]
no subject
Thanks. Hey, sorry ‘bout the— [ jerks a thumb behind him with his good hand now that he’s not clutching the table anymore. He means the blood-covered arrow on Nacho’s table, for the record. ]
[ And then… that’s it. That’s it, that’s all you get, Nacho, before it’s back to business as usual. Lalo laughs out loud in amusement upon being told that people heal quickly here. How lucky for him! For Ramsay, too! ]
Shit, no kidding? Aw, man. Tio Hector would hate that.
[ Hard to effectively torture people when the wounds don’t stay closed, after all.
As to the question of stitches… ]
You know what? You’re the medical professional. I trust your judgement, Dr. Varga. Just let me know when I need to get down from here.
[ Lalo hmmms thoughtfully. ]
Guess I owe you, either way. So! What were those questions of yours?