usir | Mini-Event: Skywhale + Day of Lefkokó

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The Skywhale & Day of Lefkokó

🜙 The Skywhale

	After fierce retaliation and an increase in city-wide defensive power and measures, it seems as if the orc attacks have, at least for the moment, begun to subside. Along with the lessened threat of orc ambushes, the first storms of winter have died down to a gentle and occasional snow flurry, leaving the world peacefully blanketed in powder snow and a calm stillness. The City of the Free Peoples take this time to celebrate the final repairs of the airship, the Skywhale. With sail balloon once more filled and the engines working hard to keep the air within it warm, easier and safer travel is once more available. The Skywhale leaves once a day in the early morning to head for Didymos, and today is its maiden voyage since the repairs. Thalassa has changed greatly in the last century, blossoming into a massive port and military city, with resources and opportunities unavailable in the more eclectic Cty of the Free Peoples. Restless legs may find their chance to stretch to a new experience. Sail the skies aboard the Skywhale and see Thalassa's grand transformation to Didymos for yourself. Catch the voyage back before nightfall, or remain in Didymos until the ship's return the following day. There is plenty to see and do in the city by the sea. You can even see Logistykon's reef from aboard the Skywhale's deck as it swings around to dock. It is a grim but beautiful sight in the clear blue waters. While the threat of fire and orc ambush has diminished greatly, the City of the Free Peoples is filled with a sense of unease and discomfort as repairs on the city and attempts to put lives back together continue. Murmurs of discontent slip through the city streets, along with rumors that this is all Lykos' fault or accusations that the Captain might be hiding something. For every murmur of distrust, however, there are counters of the heroics and quick action that helped keep the city strong and beat the orcs back. There has still been no word from Krimnos or the airship, Valiant, that usually hails from the cliff city daily. Messengers have not made their wing from the city and those sent to the cliffs have not returned. It's not unusual for this time of year, but the absence is felt keenly by traveling merchants who need to get their wares to or from the city. A journey by horse or on foot would be risky, but the potential rewards for escorting a company up to the cliffs could prove significant.
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🜙 Day of Lefkokó

	No matter what city you find yourself in, the dawn of the 17th sees a change in mood and atmosphere across Idan. Snow has stopped falling and the sky is a bright, clear blue. The weather warms enough to cause water to drip softly from the icicles hanging off every awning and outcrop. Decorations of magical or crafted snowflake art and blue ice flames line city streets and building windows, and jovial merriment spills out into the streets. A sweet wine made from frostberries, warm honey-mead, and spiced apple drinks are offered in taverns, inns, and small shops or homes, a free offering to be had with sweet or spiced cheeses and spiced or candied nuts and fruits. It's a celebration that is far from unfamiliar, one that has been celebrated for centuries across Idan's towns and cities, though the methods and particulars of the celebration have always varied from place to place and people to people. December is the month of the White Raven, and in particular, this day is a day to honor him. Lefkokó, the deity of dance, freedom, madness, and cunning sits at the head of the cause of these festivities and his domains are the focus of the celebrations. Today is a day of dance, drinking, and games of skill and chance. A day to test your bluffing skills, show off, and take deep joy and pride in the liberties and opportunities available to all. Few work on this day, beyond the essentials, and everyone who is able to takes part in this moment of freedom and relaxed expectations or responsibilities. The cities are alive with music and dancing, and the taverns are a swirl of chaos amidst high stake games of cunning and chance. Clever minds clash over riddles, old and new, and as the day progresses a lack of sobriety becomes increasingly evident in the streets and establishments alike. As the sun reaches the highest point in the sky and the shadows dwindle to near nothingness, the aviaries of all three cities release the newest flock of rare juvenile snow ravens to their freedom, letting them take wing to the skies for their first ever flights. The flocks of snow ravens, the most coveted of magic familiars, fly off to the wildlands after practicing their acrobatic feats and visiting various areas of the city in search of food to give them energy for the journey ahead. Once they take their leave of the city, many begin to seek out hidden trinkets, magical herbs, and small, rare items across Idan with a precise and dedicated focus. Those who honor Lefkokó by celebrating in his name may be visited by his rare and clever emissaries later in the month with an offering of thanks from Lefkokó himself.
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🜙 A Warning.

	By the 18th the orc camp has been abandoned, the animals freed and the orcs, whatever was left of them, appear to have fled. Retreat is unusual, even more so for them to cut their creatures loose and flee without triumph or trophy, but this is something different. Many of the weapons, trinkets, and armors coveted by the warring orcs have been left behind, and the fires trampled and stamped out with apparent urgency. Tracks lead to the south a few miles and then vanish into snow in the direction of Lake Atéleio. It and the land south and west of it are consumed in a blizzard blown over from the sea, and tracking beyond that point becomes nearly impossible, though by this point it is assumed the Orcs have retreated to Spear Valley. Whether or not they will return is unclear. Those in the City of the Free Peoples on the 18th will receive another message, this one from a less mysterious source, addressing the coming dangers. Though the attacks have set preparations back a few weeks I would like to quell any worries. The Long Night approaches, but you are a city of strong, brave folk. The threats on the horizon will not be the end of this city any more than these raucous attacks have been. Supplies can be claimed from the defender's camp for any struggling to make the necessary preparations. Those who have lost their homes will be provided shelter and supplies. When the Long Night comes, keep your children indoors, your fires stoked, and your buildings shuttered. There is nothing to fear. Your defenders will keep you safe. -Captain Lykos Several hours later a second and then a third message is received across all kingdoms. It comes only to the couriers of the awakened. The first comes as an audio message: A dull scraping sound followed by the click and whine of metal dragging across stone and the dripping of thick, viscous liquid somewhere distant. It ends abruptly and a simple thought message, short and uncomfortable, follows it. silarclupes irom otnemem The message has no signature.

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ride the skies

He knew he would be on that first voyage if he could manage it, the idea of flight on something so ingenious like an itch he never knew he had. The top deck is cold, and the cold is a familiar fiend, one he bundles up against and finds himself smiling into as the winds catch at his him, tousling his hair.

The small white wolf at his side leaps up to place her paws on the railing, and Victor simply steps up behind her, his hands coming to rest on either side of her paws. "Have you ever seen anything like it, Makka?" he asks, his head lowered to speak by her ear. She hadn't, of course she hadn't, but there's a certain wonder in this that they both share, so acute they even find themselves laughing when the ship rocks in a strong crosswind, Victor bracing them both against the ship's side.

"Wow! Not quite like riding the sea, is it?"

Makka makes a hurrowling sound in her throat, tailtip twitching, ears flicking forward as she shoves her head back over the railing to peer down.

wake me up before you lefkokó

These were the kinds of celebrations he used to perform for, making use of his magic to enthrall and entertain. The energy of the crowd would feed into such performances, the challenge in the emotion he could pull out of them, the surprise he could leave them feeling, for better and for the more heartbroken. Victor's performances hadn't always been about happy things, but Lefkokó, that was. Dance, freedom, madness, cunning, those could be the cause of misfortune, but the day wasn't only focused on such things, as long as one was sensible about the games they played.

He missed the music. New music now, though some songs were familiar themes, a testimony to the strength of tradition across decades. He was always a quick ear, and now he listened and joined in the singing with the lusty crowds that pulled him in, a jovial smile or arm thrown over his shoulders inviting him and Makka to be part of the celebrations as if they all belonged.
i: If he spied someone he recognised from the tavern, he either offered them a mug of hot beverage (maybe the mead or the spiced wine or the apple cider), or he offered them a hand and a wink with a smile that said I know this is as silly as it seems, but maybe we can play along, just for a while.

"Join me for a dance?"

He wasn't any expert, but he was light on his feet, and the point to these folk-like traditions was to let the energy lead, not to fight it into court-like rigid behaviour.
ii: After the juveniles were released, Victor stood in one smaller square next to a broken fountain, Makka near his feet. Three of the juvenile ravens were across the fountain from him, feasting on crumbled bread he'd strewn around for them. He smiled, brief and nostalgic, before he stepped back and swept into a bow.

One of the ravens watched him, bobbing their head in turn. It was the only recognition he appeared to be looking for, because as he straigthened, he brought his hands up, cupping them together as he formed the magic in his mind.

He hadn't tried this particular magic in years. Wasn't even sure it would come to him as easily as it did before so much of his magic was invested into fighting, but he wanted it to respond like he remembered. Wanted it so badly that Makka whimpered, and Victor lifted his hands, setting free an illusionary raven that could never have fit into their limited space over his head.

As the illusion flew, Victor began to dance, face turned skyward, the sweep of his arms more emphatic than the movement of his legs in his half turns or spins, evocative of flight. Which was entirely the purpose, as the illusion dipped and twirled and joined in acrobatics that corresponded to Victor's movements on the ground: not exact copies, but the source of inspiration that guided.

The watching ravens cried out, hopping around on the ledge of the broken fountain. The one that had bobbed their head beat their wings to catch the air, diving toward the illusion, then banking away. It became a game, a dance between illusion and reality without the dramatics of so many of his shows from his youth. He kept it simple, the dancing flight of a snow crow that matched and complimented and spun away from the acrobatics of the true snow crow, first just one, then after a long moment, all three.

The dance came to an end with the illusion dropping back down to Victor, seeming to merge with him as he dispersed that magic, refracting light off himself and dazzling the whole of the small square and the ravens within it.

They cry out from where they wheel in the air, their playmate now gone, and he held up one arm as an invitation. Only one raven takes it, backwinging as it landed, talons cruel and careful as they grasped Victor's arm. The snow raven regarded Victor with one eye, then scooted up his arm, up to his shoulder, in dangerous reach of their powerful beak.

The snow raven reached out, preening part of Victor's bangs. Then they side-marched back down his arm, and with an expectant air, Victor smiled and closed his eyes. "As you like, snowbird," he said, dipping his arm and then lifting it skyward, helping throw the raven back into the bright midday skies.

The birds all wheeled away, soon gone as if they'd never been there at all.

As the last wingbeats fade away, the sound is replaced by someone’s slow clapping behind Victor’s back.

“Quite the performance,” the scarred tiefling who’s the source of unasked for applause says, plainly, without inflection or mocking. It’s just a statement of fact, so far as he’s concerned.

“Those birds will remember a send-off like that. They’re clever beasts.”

Victor looked over his shoulder before he turned, executing a purposefully dramatic flourish of a bow for the sake of the applause. When he stood, he raked his fingers through his bangs, flashing a crowd-ready smile at his tiefling observer. Not because there was a crowd, as there decidedly wasn't, but because it was the same easy expression he'd started wearing when the magic stopped feeling as beautiful and warm as it once was.

He felt warmer than he had for a long time, cavorting with ravens who were untouched by the particular magics that were part of his life. That was one gift he could give them.

"Clever and playful. You can't convince most creatures to engage in anything like that for the sheer fun of it, especially after they've been fed." Makka shook herself off, dipping down into a stretch before wandering closer to Victor. Victor offered her a hand without looking; she pressed her head into his palm, walking forward so that he was made to stroke down her neck. "People included."

Edited 2018-12-18 07:32 (UTC)

Daud shrugged. “Putting some drink in them seems to change their minds. Although it would probably be considered sacrilege or something of the sort to get one of those birds drunk.”

He looked out over in the direction the ravens had flown into, head cocked... and his lips curled in sudden amusement, sharp eyes picking out white forms winging their way back — more of them.

“Though you might want to be ready for an encore. They’ve got brought back some friends.”

"Might make it hard to fly drunk," he said, considering the possibility, the tip of his first finger resting against his chin. His finger fell away when Daud mentioned the encore, Victor blinking and quirking an eyebrow before looking in the same direction. The sight of a number of ravens flying toward them startled him into laughing, shaking his head.

"Think it's too late to make a run for it?" He didn't sound serious, and his relaxed posture paired with the relaxed posture of his wolf companion, was unconcerned. The ravens called out, a series of caws as they darted around each other, the lead few angling right for their small courtyard. He supposed the broken fountain would provide plenty of roosting space, if nothing else. "To think, the last time anyone wanted an encore, it was after a good wining and dining."

In that particular case, the innkeeper providing everyone in the company of the bard responsible for music that night a meal and a tankard of ale, wanting to keep them happy, and keep the business they'd attracted for as long as the sun hid away below the horizon. One of the last performances he'd given, with people he never saw again. Back before the war had felt as real as it did shortly after.

“In this case, I believe they’re also interested in the dining,” Daud observes. “But I can take care of that part.”

After a moment of rummaging, he produces a slightly squashed bit of bread out of a coat pocket and breaks it up for the birds, scattering it in turn. A burst of music and clapping a few streets over catches the tiefling’s ear briefly, and he tilts his head in its direction.

“Hm. That’s what was missing last time. Accompaniment.”

It's been so long since he's done anything to accompaniment. For a moment, Victor is as still as the broken fountain, head canted to the side, listening with all of his focused intent. Beyond the caws and jostling of feathers and the clack of beaks and swallowing of bread, there's the music, and the applause. Or perhaps just the clapping accompaniment.

He moves again, a hand resting on his hip and a relaxed grin curving one corner of his mouth upward. "It is a celebration for the ravens. Think it's worth accompanying them to the music? It looks like they've already accepted your tribute to their cause."

Victor gestures toward the empty landscape of where Daud's bread once lay scattered. Several very content ravens were preening the feathers of their wings, watching both of them with keen, intelligent interest. Time to play?

“Hm,” Daud grunts noncommittally, moving over to sit on the edge of the fountain that seems able to support his weight. “If they expect me to dance, they’re out of luck. I already did my rounds in there.”

He nods in the direction of the celebration, then pauses consideringly ... and lifts a hoof to tap it against the stone base of the fountain, light but swift enough to deliver a sharp, staccato clack.

“But I can provide a beat.” Slowly and without much fanfare, he taps a pattern out against the stone with his hooves, interspersed with the occasional clap. It’s hardly what one would call inspiring overall, given how stony faced he looks throughout, but hey, at least an effort’s being made?

"How could I say no to that?" David reacts to the question with a bright-eyed smile, taking the offered hand if only to help him out of his seat on a nearby bench. He glances briefly to check that Waffles is still sleeping soundly under the table before joining Victor in the more open area, more than happy to let the music and the spirited atmosphere around them move him and distract him.

A vial rests unprotected on the outside of his shirt and flips around as he dances, leaning into his own energetic enthusiasm to keep his feet and body moving with the music. If it looks like he's genuinely having a good time, it's because he is. And he's even not doing too terrible at keeping rhythm though his dancing is more fluid and impulsive than the people around them and a few times people have to move out of the way because David's enthusiasm is greater than the allowed space.

It's going well in David's mind but then Waffles wakes up and realizes he's missing out on the fun. The full-sized golden retriever attempts to join in, dancing over toward David with tiny hops while balanced on his hind legs, his tail swaying back and forth with the music as if keeping rhythm. Not made for standing on two paws, the dog loses balance and catches himself with large paws landing on the nearest person's chest.

He's tried keeping track of people as they were at the inn, particularly if they had an animal companion with them. It's seemed like a reasonable enough precaution, and less out of any particular sense of necessity for remembering names (he's horrible with that, unless he's interested enough to recall), but faces and animals form a kind of familiar landscape.

Not that he seems concerned at the moment. He's simply smiling after pulling David out into the mess of moving bodies and letting go with jovial laughter, his own vial carefully tucked away close to his heart, Makka watching from the outskirts. She's safe and observing the crowd between checking on Victor, and the danger for now seems minimal. Dancing isn't a violence to protect against, even when it isn't coordinated and predictable.

Makka only twitches to move when the golden retriever hops into the mess of jumping, twirling bodies, and Victor comes out of spinning a young woman away toward her eager partner only to find two unfamiliar paws thumping against his chest, then raking down as he startles and catches Waffles' legs with his hands. "Were you trying to join in?" he asks, giving the dog a genuine smile because he's always been fond of dogs. "You might find it easier to keep up on four legs instead of two, but if you insist."

Not that Victor starts dancing with Waffles, but he does offer the dog a chance to decide if he's getting back down to the floor or going to persist in whatever he was doing that landed him here.

Makka's less certain where she sits, because Victor is hers, and because Waffles is not just a dog. Her ears flick forward and the fur of her ruff stands on end, but she tries to ignore it, far too smart for what she is, and shakes herself off. Not that she fails to study Waffles with intense staring, because while some incidental nail scrapings against clothing does no damage, she's well aware of what might.

Waffles seems pleased when Victor acknowledges him, resuming his pawing at the air hop dance for a few more minutes before the activity exhausts him and he goes back to flop on his side out of the way of feet. He regards the wolf sideways from his spot on the floor, tail thumping enthusiastically to the beat. He opens his mouth to make ridiculous growl-whine noises a few times, his paw waving over his face in her direction, and then just rolls onto his back pawing at the air.

David just shakes his head at the wayward canine and continues to dance, saying nothing to interfere. In his mind Waffles isn't something he can control any more than the rest of his magic, so he just lets the dog be a dog when he wants to be. After a while, when David starts to feel it in his legs and chest, he drops down into a seat with a smile on his face. He leans across the table to fetch his abandoned mug and takes a drink before looking for Victor.

"Seems like this holiday is one for high spirits." He never had the chance to celebrate it before his death, between the isolation of his childhood and the restraint of his teen to adult years, locked away in a temple. It's one he would have greatly enjoyed, he decides. Rather than regret, though, he's just pleased to have the chance to celebrate it now.

"Even the birds seem caught up in the spirit of it." Their aerial dances had caught his eye and held his attention until he couldn't find them to watch any longer.

Waffles' whole display earns a break in Makka's staring, mostly because at the point she keeps staring it turns into a challenge, and she's not challenging him to be ridiculous. She does get up as he rolls onto his back, walking closer with her body language held neutral, ears forward in a listening, but not tense, manner.

Victor finds a seat form himself again, downing whatever non-alcoholic spiced apple cider he's found. He answers after swallowing. "I think that's the idea! Always had been, from what I remember. It's for the birds, after all, and they have some sense of that!" However many of them might return having managed to survive their first grand adventure or not. Still, it was in good humour and good faith to support the celebration, so why not? Most of what their god stood for was fine by Victor. More than he could say for some sects of scattered religions the countries over.

He's glad for the familiarity, if nothing else.

"Have you never had the chance to celebrate it before?" he asks, leaning back, planting an elbow on the table behind him.

"They do seem very cheery." Many birds did, but the ravens in particular for such a harsh time of year. He wishes suddenly that he was back outside enjoying their aerial acrobatics but for now the warmth is more attractive. He has been cold plenty these past few days.

"I was never in the right place at the right time." The result of an isolated childhood followed by a sequestered young adulthood. Waffles' head drops heavily onto his lap followed by two paws and David instantly finds a treat from the table to offer the canine, absently stroking his soft, wavy fur.

"I could hear the music some years."

One perk of days like this are people are free with their drink and Billie is more than happy to stick around and pick them up wherever she easily can. As such, she already has a mug in hand when Victor approaches. They never spoke before but she hadn't exactly stayed out of sight. She made note of as many confused people with 'familiars' then as possible and she isn't surprised that others did the same.

At least, that's why she assumes Victor walks up to her. Either that or he's just randomly asking women to dance, which is just as much a possibility, considering. The offer earns him an amused snort and a quirked eyebrow. Perched next to her, a seabird — a tern, feathered black and white — makes a sound of her own, although it's tough to know if a cluck is amusement or not.

"You going to cry if I say no?"

She's not wrong, though it's more a mark for him reminding himself of the faces to try and remember, versus the plenitude of those he forgets. (A different exercise now than it had been. He's not picking and choosing the people he interacts with here like he did in a time and place where he belonged. There are different needs to meet, and too much unknown to not take note of those in the same situation.) Makka is fair to prancing at his side, all sparkling blue eyes and white fur, weaving past careless legs and feet with a flick of her ears.

"Only if I can find a drink to cry into that'd benefit from the salt," he says, and he winks as he says it; not quite the born flirt as some of his friends from a lifetime ago, but at ease and willing to be playful. There's nothing behind it, but who's to know that? "But my heart would ache for at least the length of the current song."

Here he presses his other hand to his chest, looking more amused than anything else.

"I could think of a few."

Plenty of drinks go with salt, though not really with tears. Still, the cheerful way he takes the question in stride earns him enough points to prove he isn't an obnoxious shit right off the bat. Seeing how she's been dead a hundred years and there just so happens to be a huge party going on—

"Watch my drink," Billie says, turning to set the mug down right next to the tern. Dierdre isn't quite as lively as Makka but a bird isn't quite as prone to prancing around as a wolf. She does make a scolding sound at Billie, though, as though not amused with being left to guard a drink, of all things, but all that earns her is a shrug before Billie faces Victor again and takes his hand.

Makka sits down and cocks her head to the side to watch as Victor flashes Billie a grin and guiding her out into the mess of mostly coordinated bodies. The music played on mostly familiar instruments is lively, and the accompanying dancing follows course, people linking arms and swinging around before switching partners and repeating the same motion with the opposite arms. There's clapping involved on a beat the crowd seems to keep time for, and as the line of people they're closest to shifts to make room for them, Victor quirks up an eyebrow and offers his arm to Billie.

"Time to spin a few circles!"

Joining in is a simple enough affair; the beat for people to lock arms and turn a circle around each other before letting go and repeating the process with their neighbours is about to hit, following the lull where all those dancing (and those watching) are clapping their hands and stomping their feet.

Billie isn't someone who gets out and dances often — or ever, actually. What she is, however, is quick to learn and even quicker on her feet and she's been watching the rest of these people dance around like idiots long enough to figure out how it goes. Besides, close combat and dancing can't be that much different. Well, apart from one being far less spontaneous and full of swords (which is to say dancing, that's dancing).

She manages to weave her way into the dance about as well as anyone else can and just goes with the flow from there. She isn't going to be stepping on any toes, at least. When the music hits the spot where people spin and Victor offers an arm, she hooks her own arm around his. He's about to be surprised at just how strong she is, so good luck trying to take control of that spinning away from her, Vic.

"It's not so different from the sea," says a voice downwind from Victor and Makka, "but I've certainly never seen anything like the view. Nor had the chance to touch the sky."

She is pink-cheeked and nowhere near as bundled against the cold as Victor is as she steps back from her precarious position leaning over the ship's railing, half hanging from the side as she's watched the bow slice through the clouds and let wind and moisture whip her face. Human, dark-haired, fair-skinned and freckled—and younger than Victor by a few years, by the looks of the two of them—the strangest things about the girl are her short-cropped hair, the bundle of fur wrapped around her neck and shoulders, and the piercing, mismatched blue and green eyes she's turned in his direction.

"It smells different, too, I suppose." She studies Victor first, then the wolf between his arms. "And I can't jump off to bathe in the sea. But this is the first ship I've ever seen in the air. Maybe it's different on other ones."

She has lovely eyes, he thinks, because heterochromia stands out as something so notable when the blue of one is made piercing by the overabundance of blue all around. Certain of herself, too, at least with regards to balance, given her position not long before. He smiles, stroking one hand over Makka's head and down the ruff of her neck. "If they can be anchored, which they are when docked, I could imagine that with a rope ladder and enough creativity and time, one could pull off jumping over the sides to bathe in rivers or lakes as well as the sea. Which is still more fancy than reality. From what I understand, there's only a few airships, and they're not prone toward private ventures."

Which was a shame, in several ways. He can imagine with particular clarity what it would be like to jump from such a ship for the sheer joy of a not-so-intimidating fall, and the strenuous way of climbing back inside again without the ease of a dock for boarding. Perhaps a good whimsy to show in illusion, if he felt himself inclined toward anything elaborate sometime in the future.

It didn't feel likely, not at the moment, but it was a warmer thought than he'd expected. Not quite as hollow as it had been for years before he died.

"At least some of the smell of salt should hit us soon, once we're nearer to the coast."

His own blue eyes are noteworthy themselves, though Katsa pays the wolf more attention than she pays to him. Familiars are not wholly uncommon no matter how odd the animal, though she wonders if this one is more dog than wolf. She remembers the behavior of wolves from the highlands long ago, their wandering packs in the snow and in the mountains. It strikes her to see one here now.

Casually, surreptitiously, Sparrow tucks her distinctively striped tail closer to her furry body. Katsa decides to ignore the wolf and considers Victor's words.

"Hm." That makes sense, she supposes. Few ships are disposed to private ventures, save those belonging to the wealthy and powerful if they lived near the sea. Katsa has never lived near it. She's only been on water once or twice, and it had taken plenty of convincing to allow her passage.

"I should like to see the sea from our height." She turns back to the railing and squints among the clouds, looking suddenly for the grey and blue of water below. "I wonder what it looks like. Do you think we could see the other side of it, from this high? What do you think is across it? Does it end at all? Does it move to look like mountains do from above?"

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Mini-Event: Skywhale + Day of Lefkokó

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lefkoko; i guess this technically takes place before their network thread so let’s play it by ear!

hahaha, sounds like a plan!

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Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo

'cause i'm not planning on going solo!

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that's an awful pun why would you ever

you have known me for how many years, when do i not pun awfully

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ride the skies

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