All standard disclaimers apply, Le & Lo not mine, no money made, blah, blah, blah.

Another slice of life...NC17 for slash, vampiric-style sex.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
(written w/the help of my dearest friend who wishes to remain anonymous)

27 decembre, 2000


Lestat re-entered the bedroom after having taken a turn on the balcony. He’d wanted to let Louis sleep for a while, and had become absorbed for a time in the somewhat heavy foot traffic below him, oblivious, as usual, to his state of undress, made all the more startling by the marks on his body. He stood above the bed regarding Louis with a contented air.

His lover was in a heavy post-coital doze, lying on his stomach with one hand curled, child-like, by his face. He looked so innocent, his mouth, lately the instrument of sweet torment upon Lestat’s person, now slightly open and his cheek pale upon the deep merlot satin of the sheets. A good color choice…the blood didn’t show *quite * so starkly. Some of Louis’ ebony hair was stuck to his neck and shoulder with drying blood, the rest of it’s inkiness obscured part of his face. Much of Louis’s body was also obscured, covered with the slashed top sheet he’d dragged over himself before succumbing to contented slumber. Lestat glanced around the room. One of the bedposts was broken…snapped in half when Louis, his foot shackled to it by a rather heavy chain, had pulled hard enough upon it in orgasmic ecstasy earlier that evening. His other foot was still captive, but covered with the sheet.

Lestat moved from the bed and went to the full-length mirror to inspect the extent of Louis’ handiwork upon him. His left nipple, pretty much *not* there, although he could feel the itch and pull of his preternatural skin reforming itself. Lestat shivered, remembering Louis tearing it from him and swallowing the bit of flesh. His torso was streaked heavily with drying blood. Random claw marks on his chest. One really lethal-looking rip over the femoral artery on his inner thigh…no longer bleeding, but still knitting slowly. Bite-marks on his lower belly and on one hipbone. He turned and looked at himself over his own shoulder. His back and his ass, also flayed.

Lestat heard the bell downstairs, and with another look at himself, he gingerly pulled on a pair of his ubiquitous silk drawstring trousers. As he walked by the bed, he pulled the sheet covering his sleeping lover, exposing most of Louis’ body. Louis did not awaken, but burrowed his head further beneath his arm and under the pillow. An athletic evening with the Brat coupled with massive blood loss had left him pretty well zonked. Lestat stood gazing at Louis, his eyes drawn to a massive purplish black bruise just below Louis’ right buttock, standing out starkly against the ivory of his skin. The bell clamored again, and Lestat reluctantly moved to the bedroom door attempting to pull his hair back. It was stuck to his neck, just as Louis’ was, stiff and matted with blood in places. He was also aware that his neck was bruised, although the wounds that had been there were already mostly healed.

Lestat stepped into the parlor, intending to check from the balcony on who might be calling at the rather late hour, and he saw a patrol car parked at the curb across the street. He grabbed the silk throw from the divan and wrapped it around his shoulders, and went down the stairs, wincing at what felt suspiciously like a groin pull as he descended.

*****

(STANDARD ISSUE WARNING: CAJUN-SPEAK AHEAD)

*****


Exiting their vehicle, Officer Cletus Thibodeaux glanced up at the dark balcony of l127 Rue Royale. They had been dispatched to investigate several complaints.

“What dat dese mens got goin’ on here, man?” Thibodeaux asked.

Officer Boudreaux consulted his notebook.

“Code 81, possible Code 89 and possible Code 102.”

“At’s uh cohde atey-nine, you? What’s dat??” asked Thibodeaux.

“That’s ‘wun a dem’ crimes agin *nature*, you. I don’ lahk dis not wun bit, me, mais no. ‘Spesh-ee-ally wit maybe uh code wun-O-too, crazy animal about, or is it keepin’ de wild things, that is? Sum wun say dey hear growlin’ an such. And de O-riginal call was dat typo o’, you know, Indecent bee-have-yur.” Said Boudreux. “Dese reports, de say dat loud carryin’ on and general nekkidness is de affaire du jour here de say.”

“Oh, coul on, I hain’t seen no wimmens here and t’about . Ah don’ like da look a dis, me, no.”
Thibodeaux muttered as they approached the door.

They rang the bell, and waited. After a little while they rang again, and as Thibodeaux raised his hand to ring impatiently a third time the door opened seemingly of its own accord.

*****


As Lestat moved, he adjusted his trousers, which rode startlingly low on his hips. He pulled them up a bit, covering Louis’ bite marks. As he reached the bottom step the Brat opened the door with a thought as he was still walking toward it. The officers at the door were not the two that he had become familiar with over time. Officers Chiasson and Dufrene would generally just have knocked and reminded him that he
A) Had promised to wear *some* kind of covering when he chanced to be on his balcony or
B) Could he and Monsieur Louis please try and keep the noise down, as the howling was upsetting the peace of the neighborhood.
Lestat would amiably agree, with Louis promising to try and *remind* Lestat and the nice officers would be on their way, until Lestat once again *forgot* to dress as he took the night air from said balcony.

Lestat was not familiar with *these* policemen, but he greeted Officers Boudreaux and Thibodeaux cordially, welcoming them in, and grinning insanely.

“Bon soir, Officers. Can I offer you something? Coffee perhaps?” Lestat asked. He was fairly bursting with hospitality. The officers declined, asking only for water. Lestat excused himself and went to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for the few glasses that they had there. He filled them at the tap, the silken throw he’d wrapped around himself, slipping from one shoulder, and trailing decoratively behind him.

He returned to the small downstairs sitting room, and handed the officers their glasses. Officer Boudreaux was gawking at the opulently appointed little room, and Officer Thibodeaux was squinting at what looked to be a rather fierce looking wound on Lestat’s torso as his the divan throw gapped open. He sipped at his water as he looked, and suddenly spat it back out as he realized the water was distinctly tepid…one might say…body temperature. Lestat stepped back, surprised.

“Y’all have ice?” Officer Boudreaux said mildly.

Lestat smiled.

“I * knew* I’d forgotten something! I myself drink *all* liquids at body temperature.”

His remark went unnoticed by the two policemen as he took their glasses back to the kitchen. He removed ice from the tray beneath the automatic ice-maker and crushed the ice in his fist, filling each glass. As he attended to his decidedly homely little chores, he’d stepped on the divan throw, and was even then dragging it behind him, having tucked an end into his pants.. It had rubbed away most of the blood that and his wounds were nearly healed…the lesser ones anyway. His left nipple was still extremely tender.

He went back to the sitting room, feeling absurdly pleased with himself. ‘Louis would be so proud,’ he thought, ‘I am dressed…and I am being cordial.’ It failed to occur to him that his hair was matted in pinkish dreadlocks, and his trousers had once again slipped down dangerously low, as the trailing throw pulled at them. One sleek hipbone was fully exposed, revealing some fairly major damage.

Lestat walked toward the men, holding their glasses of water, the throw trailing behind him. He smiled complacently, noting that both of them seem to have riveted their eyes to his *region* He wasn’t wearing underwear of any kind, (he never did unless specifically indicated by Louis…and all of those pairs were destroyed on general principle.) He was not too far off the mark. At least initially, for the two men, quite against their rednecked wills were initially checking out Lestat’s sinewy, well-muscled form, seemingly unable to tear their eyes from the feathery trail of golden downe that seemed somehow to shimmer in the soft light of the room. And the silky pants he wore clung so lovingly to his body, hugging his genitals…so at first, they *were* looking at him…and then they noticed the nasty wound he was sporting…it looked, to them to be particularly vicious. Officer Boudreaux wondered that Lestat was even still standing with such a wound.

Lestat (for once) was not reading their thoughts, basking as he was in their supposed attention, not realizing that this was not at all the case. They were staring in horrified fascination at the other wounds that they noticed now upon the young man.

Karol Boudreaux stood up.

“Misssta Lion-Court, can ya tell me how ya could possibly have gotten dat bloody tear dere?” he asked.

“And where is Missta Point DUlack?” Officer Thibodeaux asked. “It was, uh, brought to ar A-ttention dat we should mebe hab a sit-down talk wit ‘im.”

Lestat looked down at himself.

“This?” Lestat said, rubbing the wound and wincing slightly. “*This* my fine officers, is a love bite. “ He announced proudly. He was as pleased as a teen-aged boy with his first hickey.

Officer Thibodeaux was muttering under his breath about a domestic dispute, and asked once again just where Mr. Pointe du Lac was. He was, to be frank, a little put off, because he had seen people * dead* from lesser wounds than the one on Mr. Lion-Court.

“Missta Point DUlack?” Thibodeaux persisted. “Where might he be, you? The other member of dis here household. Your , uh, *friend*.” Cletus Thibodeaux winced as he said the next thing. “Your…*partna*?”

“Oh…you mean my lover?” Lestat said, still quite proud. “My consort? Louis…..my beloved Louis. *He* is upstairs. Asleep. “

Under his breath, but quite audible to Lestat’s sensitive ear, Officer Boudreaux is muttering
“Oh, me, dere’s gonna be de scene here, yeh, oh me. Sum a da scene already bin dun, yeah. Ah hate de calls like dis one, I do, yeah.”

“You be showin’ us Mr. Point DUlack, now, Mr. Lion-Court, yeah?” Lestat winced at the mangled pronunciation of Louis’ name…and the repeated slaughtering of his. He immediately forgot his annoyance, however, when asked to *show* Louis to them.
*****
(NOTE:THE OFFICERS ARE PRONOUNCING THESE TWO BEAUTIFUL FRENCH NAMES THUS: LIE-UN-CORT and POYNT DEW LACK. FRIGHTENING…NON??)
*****
“Why, I should *love* to show him to you. He’s the most beautiful creature….and clothing really *is* overrated…don’t you agree?”

Lestat pulled his pants back up over his hips and tightened the drawstring. He turned and the officers noted that the backs of his arms were purple, and his back was shredded as though he had been flogged. Incredulously they follow him, trooping past the discarded, bloody divan-throw, and they ascend the stairs.


*****

In their bedroom Louis’ eyes opened beneath the shroud of his hair and the pillow. Voices.
He heard voices other than Lestat’s voice.

Movement up the stairs.

Lestat…yes Lestat…but *others* as well.

Louis was suddenly fully awake, despite the loss of blood, and the admittedly strenuous sex that he’d had with his darling Lestat. He moved to pull his legs up under himself, and only the left one co-operated. The right one rattled like the ghost of sex acts past. He pulled himself upright and sensed that the blood beneath him was still slick.

Louis hopped to the wingchair, and hurriedly put on the Brat’s robe, hoping to cover Lestat’s *work* upon his body. He sat back down upon the edge of the bed, closing the robe as Lestat entered the room with his entourage. Louis sat next to the bedpost he was chained to, his leg folded up beneath him.

“Here he is. And is he not beautiful as I have said?” Lestat said jovially. He gestured expansively. “And as you can see…he is fine…MORE than fine, if I do say so myself. Makes me come my brains out. Did you know that we have had to re-do the wallpaper in here six times just this year?”

This was far more than Karol and Cletus EVER wished to know.

Louis turned to look at them up and down from beneath his lashes.

“Whatever do you need, Officers?” he asked politely. “More vice film clips?” His voice is low and sultry….and if this did not move the officers, it most certainly had an effect upon Lestat. He was positively *beaming*.

“Girlyman do so love his cher, no?” Thibodeaux muttered disgustedly. “And no wimmens in dis place. Dis ain’t right, no. It *ain’t*.”

“I *would* stand and greet you officers but I am afraid I have developed quite a relationship with this bedpost.” Louis said, calmly.

The officers both regarded him blankly, with identical Homer Simpson ‘D’Oh!” looks on their faces.

“Wood yew lahk to explain that to us, Mr. Point DUlack?”

Lestat was still beaming as he watched the cop’s reactions. He was SO pleased that he was playing with his nipples… especially the exquisitely tender, newly–formed one. Louis motioned for them to come around to his side of the bed. Officer Thibodeaux sidled edgily around the bed, while Officer Boudreaux stayed where he was to keep a wary eye upon the manic Mr. Lioncourt.

Lestat was practically vibrating with his excitement, as he watched Thibodeaux focus and then re-focus his eyes on Louis. Lestat can *see* it when the realization hits the Officer that Louis is indeed shackled to the bed.

“What’s up wit da chains, man?” Thibodeaux asked flatly.

Lestat snorted laughter, and Boudreaux’ hand moved to his belt.

“Two of them, mon cher. TWO!”

Lestat’s thought sounded in Louis’ mind, still connected as they were. Louis narrowed his eyes at the Brat, who looked back at him with his eyes widened innocently.

Louis turned his head from Lestat and looked at Officer Thibodeaux.

“Clearly I am shackled to this bed.” Louis said, his head tilted to one side.

“Ah kin see dat, Mr. Point DUlack. Can ya tell me de reason for dem irons?”

The irons in question were serious. Heavier than the ones used in most prisons.

“Clete, I’m sure dis is none a r bizniss, is it, no?’ Boudreaux said.
They turned to leave the room.

Louis smiled.

“Why yes, I *can* tell you the reason I’m wearing a manacle. I *was* wearing two, but I broke one.” He said, a reminiscent note in his voice. Lestat’s tongue was nearly bitten off as he tried desperately to contain his hilarity.

“Dirty bizniss, this is, no. We’ll be goin’ now, misters.” Thibodeaux said uneasily.

Lestat moved, and playfully blocked the door, closing it. Both of the officer’s hands moved to their gunbelts.

“Don’t you wish to hear the explanation? *Why* he is chained to this bed?” Lestat inquired.

The two men simultaneously and emphatically said “NO.”

“Do go on, my love, “ Lestat said, ignoring them. Louis acknowledged him with a sweep of his lashes.

“You are *sure* you don’t want to hear how he chains me in such a position where my hips are at the exact…no the *perfect* angle for penetration? And are you quite certain you don’t wish to hear how I scream and moan and beg while he is doing it? Not to *stop*, oh no, most assuredly NOT…but * more*. ALWAYS for more.”

Louis smiled benignly at the two cops, standing there, with blanched faces. The red had run right out of their necks.

“You don’t wan to see *this*, officer Thibodeaux? Officer Boudreaux?”

Louis stood, and let the robe fall from his shoulders. There was a chunk of flesh missing from the muscle of his shoulder. It’s provocative, despite being half-healed. He was also missing a swatch of hair from behind his ear. When Lestat noticed that, he felt in his pocket, and there *is* six or so inches of Louis’ raven hair there.

Louis’s ribs look as though Lestat has drawn his nails along each one, slowly. There are bits of skin hanging from them here and there.

“I am however, in possession of both my nipples. Can *you* say the same, my love? Louis asked, looking to the Brat.

“It’s here *now*, mon ange.” Lestat smiled, plucking idly at himself. *Deliciously painful, I might add.”

“It wasn’t for a while though, was it?” Louis said, his eyes locked with Lestat’s

“Non. I believed you swallowed it? Took it into yourself?” His eyes, caught by Louis’.

Both Officers were looking Louis up and down.

“What’s that *stuff* on your belly, boy?” Thibodeaux asked, squinting.
Without looking down, Louis rubbed at himself. His eyes were still locked to Lestat’s.

“The red stuff is blood.” He licked his fingers. “His.”

Lestat smiled, preening a little, basking in the caress of his lover’s eyes.

“The white stuff is honeycomb wax.” Louis went on.

“From the candles, Officer.” Lestat added helpfully.

Officer Boudreaux looks closer at Louis’ belly, fascinated.

“What’s dat udda stuff? Dat dark stuff? What’s dat…dat* can’t* be….” He poked at Louis. “Oh, no…dat’s…”

“Skin. Mine.” Louis finished for the mute, stricken officer.

Lestat stepped away from the door and opened it. The officers stood rooted to the spot and then Boudreaux spoke.

“Okay, unchain him from da bed, you. He’s goin’ to the lockdown ward at Our Lady of the Lake.”
He moved toward Louis’ chained leg. “And *you*, “ he said briskly, “Dey gonna put *you* away, crazy man.”

“I’ll only leave if *he* will, “ Said Lestat, feigning ‘girlyman’-ness. He went and sat down in the wing chair and picked up the newspaper. It was the Times-Picayune, so he was finished with it in under a minute.

Louis sat calmly on the bed, seeing to himself, pulling off bits of burn skin, wax, and caked blood from his body. The damage looked horrific, although pale new skin was forming as he pulled away the burned bits.

“Where’s da key at?” Thibodeaux demanded.

Lestat had dropped the paper to the floor and sat, filing his nails.

“There isn’t one. “ He said. He held his hand out and gazed at it for a moment.

“Whaddaya mean dere’s no dadblame key? Dere’s *always* a key. “ Officer Boudreaux was losing his temper.

“Non. No key. “ Lestat said. He continued filing.

“There’s got to be a key! Ya mean he stays chained to this bed alla time?”

“Non, cher. There *is* no key. “ Lestat said in a mild voice. “He can get out if he wishes. And we *aren’t* mad, you know. I wouldn’t however, try and remove him from this house.”

“What you gonna do…you GIRLYMAN!” exploded Officer Thibodeaux

“ *I* won’t do anything. “ Lestat replied. He trimmed a nail with his incisor, showing them just a little fang. “ *I* won’t have to.” The blonde resumed filing the *clipped* nail.
The two cops approached Louis. Lestat kept on filing, crossing his leg and bouncing it restlessly.
When they were within four feet of him. Louis looked up at them, unconcerned. He pushed his hair behind his ears, and went back to cleaning himself, cat-like.

“Gentlemen, I think you had best make a go of it…or leave. “ Lestat said in an off-hand way. “Because, really, you’ve interrupted our love-making and I must tell you, Louis is MOST unmanageable without a proper morning fuck, aren’t you cher?”

Louis looked through them, to Lestat.

“WHY are they STILL here?” he asked.

“They think that I am holding you here against your *will*…abusing you.” Lestat said in a coaching voice.

“Not *again*” Louis said, irritated. “Didn’t we settle this already with the Fifth Ward?

“That was with Officers Dufrene and Chaisson, Louis. *These* are different officers.” Lestat explained. He nodded at the cops archly.

Officer Boudreaux ordered Lestat to unchain Louis from the bed.

“Can’t. Can’t do it. And where *are* Officer Chaisson and Dufrene? THEY are familiar with our circumstance. Besides, he’s chained to the floor there, too. You can *see* what he did to the bed on the other side. Most unsatisfactory. It disturbs the angle of penetration. And if are disturbed like that, in the act of love-making…if I cannot satisfy Louis because something like the angle of penetration is WRONG…well perhaps THEN you would have, as you say, a ‘domestic disturbance’ on your hands. Lestat was flicking quite heatedly at his nails. “He *is* rather *demanding*.”

”You’ve spoilt me so. “ Louis said, continuing to clean himself.

“Stimulation must be JUST so.” Lestat said, grinning lazily at his beloved. Louis looked up at him and flicked his tongue over one fang.

Lestat drew in a deep breath, and closed his eyes in remembered bliss. “The *tightness* of his ass…” he murmured.

“Let’s get this straight…” Thibodeaux said.

Lestat opened his eyes and raised an inquisitive golden brow.

“Missta…” Thibodeaux was trying to finish,

“That’s Monsiuer.” Lestat interrupted

“Point DUlack….”

“Excuse me. It’s Pointe du Lac” Lestat said, running the name elegantly and sibiliantly over his tongue. Louis was cleaning his nails with his teeth.

“Louis, my love. My heart’s own, I *believe* they are addressing *you*.

Louis looked up with a start.

“Are they? I thought they’d left.” His robe fell the rest of the way open as he looked up at the officers. His groin area resembled the scene of a hit and run…a fatal one. One of the officers, Louis cannot seem to tell them apart, runs from the room, gagging dangerously. Lestat looked at Louis questioningly and then barked out a laugh. Louis smiled…he didn’t quite know what had made Lestat laugh, but he liked the sound of it. The other officer called after the first, asking if he was alright.

From the hallway came Officer Thibodeaux’ raving, for it was he that had rushed from the room. He was babbling about blood and slashing and, and, and…he was NOT coming back in that room.

“Well, how mm I gonna get dis sick in the head sonofabitch to da ward?” Boudreaux said. He reached for the radio on his shoulder to call for backup.

“You’ll need more than *backup*, Officer. “ Lestat commented. Boudreaux paused.
“Why don’t you ask *him* Officer? Why don’t you ask *him* why he stays? Ask *him* if he wishes to leave?” Lestat had his hand beneath the silk of his pants, idly stroking. He’d been rubbing the swatch of Louis’ black hair across his belly, and the sensuous feel of it had roused him.

Karol looked at Louis.

“You here a ya own free will, boy?”

“Of course I am. “ Louis answered. The officer looked about wildly.

“What’s *wrong* wit ya? You’re chained to a bed. Ya look like the victim of some kinda ritual, oh I don’t know…*torture* and yet ya make no move to leave?”

Louis yawned, stretching. He looked at Karol Boudreaux, and pulled his robe closed when he saw that the mortal would not be able to look anywhere else unless he did so.

“I’m not certain you know what *torture* is. For myself. And my lover. “ He gestured languidly to Lestat. “But we do. And very succinctly it has nothing to do with anything we do while we are together. In the past it has had to do with when we were apart. You seem to have *some* grasp of the word ‘ritual’, though I am sure not in the manner that * we* do. Let me ask you this.”

Louis has been gazing unblinkingly at Boudreaux. The officer could not look away, he felt powerless, though nothing physical was holding him.

“Have you ever known…KNOWN that you were where you were supposed to be? Not because somebody said so…oh no. But because you KNEW…you knew in your heart that where you had come to and who you were with was the *only* place, and that this creature…this being was the only one you could be with? That you could not live, did not *want* to live, that you would willingly choose death over leaving that place and that person? That this person was your soulmate?”

Louis held the mortal rapt. Behind the officer, Lestat left off his filing, and he, too was held rapt by his lover’s words.

“Have you ever known this, Karol? Do you know it with your wife now? Have you ever known it with any other being at any other point in your life? I will tell you why I think you have not. If I am wrong, I want you to tell me, and I will go with you to the *ward* as you call it.”

Officer Thibodeaux had re-entered the room, and he stood, his large frame filling the doorway.

“Think, Officer. Think back. Do you have it with your partner, here?” He gestured to Cletus, who dropped his eyes. “Or *do* you know it with your wife now? Perhaps with another lover from your past? Non?”

Louis closed his eyes, and armed his hair back from his face. He opened his eyes again.

“”I think that *if* you have this…or *ever* had this, you *would* understand that ‘torture’ is being away from that soulmate. That the ritual, the *sacred* ritual of lovemaking, no matter how odd…how wrong it may seem to some, those of us who *have*…or *have had* that relationship recognize it for what it is. Worship.”

Karol Boudreaux found himself dissolved suddenly in effusive tears.

“Because you know not what torture is to us, and neither do you understand the ‘ritual’ of our bonding, our lovemaking. And thus, you cannot possibly understand our passion for one another, nor the forms it takes. If you knew it for what it was by recognition in your own life you would not come here, passing judgement upon us. And certainly, you would not try and separate us. I can tell looking into your eyes that you do not nor have ever known this, So. Now, you should leave. You should not interfere with that which you do not understand. “

Louis ended quietly, never having raised his voice. Lestat stood up, gazing at Louis, his eyes brimming and his heart full. Cletus swiped his large hand across his eyes and retrieved his weeping partner. They left without another word.

The shackle fell away from Louis’ ankle with a thought from Lestat. Lestat released the drawstring and let the pants fall away from him He sat down beside Louis on the bed, and sighed when Louis pressed his cheek against his neck. Louis slid out of the robe and they moved backward upon the bed and lay down together. Louis drew Lestat close, stroking the tangled blond head.

“I have *told* you, my own, to please try and remember to put something on when you go outside. I don’t know how many policemen are employed by this city, but I have no wish to explain things to all of them two by two.” Louis said chidingly. He hissed a little as he felt Lestat reopen his nearly healed shoulder wound.

“I didn’t think anyone saw me.” Lestat murmured, lapping at the welling blood.
Louis smiled, and pressed his shoulder to Lestat’s mouth.

“They *always* notice, cher.” Louis said, closing his eyes as Lestat licked at him. “How could they not?”

Lestat released the wound, leaning from the edge of the bed to grope for a blanket. Louis watched him, one arm under his head, admiring the play of muscles in Lestat’s back. The Brat found a blanket, intact as it had fallen from the bed early on in the evening, and he covered the two of them with it.

“I’ll remember the next time. I remembered when I answered the door before. I even gave them water, Louis. “ Lestat settled in with his head on Louis’ chest, smiling when he heard Louis’s startled laugh.

“You won’t remember, ‘Stat. And I love you for it. “ Louis murmured. He could feel Lestat’s breathing even out, and knew the Brat was actually dozing. He lay still, listening to Lestat’s soft breathing, slowly stroking the pale hair. After a time, he too, fell asleep.

Fin