Young Writers Society

for anyone who has been reading this story, including blues, how would you feel about a chapter from waite's perspective?

I'll take it 😌

Even if it will humanize him as a villain? Even if it doesn’t explain who he’s working for and what forces are at play? Even if it’s just 5k words of him lusting after Haller?

ESPECIALLY if all that

Waite: well time to pick a new alias
also Waite: i guess i can keep my name
also also Waite: huh i guess i could just choose the human equivalent to my given name

Week 23 - 6.3 - Haller's Perspective - 1080 words

“I can hear the shock in your silence, my friend. No one would ever imagine that poor, terrible, philandering George Hagstein could have ever been in love. Much less imagine that someone would be willing to love him for more than an hour at a time.”
The reaper was carefully watching George’s movements out of the corner of their eye. No, they had to admit, they wouldn’t have associated George with love of that kind. It wasn’t to say that men like them couldn’t find love and happiness if they so sought it. There were many sorts of confirmed bachelors in the world.
“I don’t wish to be cruel in my thoughts of you, George, but I just have never imagined you to be one acquainted with matrimony.”
“It stops being cruel when you know that must be what every one is thinking of you.”
The man turned from his spot on the stool to look over in the direction of Haller’s gaze. They could see little traces of moisture beginning to collect in the reddened tissue. He may not have been their best friend on the planet, but they could certainly find an ounce of compassion for someone so obviously disturbed.
“Clearly it is not everyone who thinks that of you and your reputation. If that were true, then how would you have ever convinced Mr. York that you were worth his attentions?”
Haller made sure to smile once more, stepping out from behind their counter to return the position of structural support. They thought of stooping or kneeling until remembering the tendency of stiffening in their joints. The reaper produced a barrel of equal height to the stool and found a place in front of their customer.
“George, do you wish to tell me what has your eyes so red and your breath so short? Surely there must be more occurring than love for another to drive you into such a physical state.”
Without warning, the other man fell into their chest. This surprise was followed shortly by a building fit of hysterics. Even as their human persona, Haller did not imagine that they were the most approachable individual. This event would only add more confusion to their observations of how they were perceived among this population of beings.
“Oh, I don’t even know if I can bear to say what my problem has become.”
They did their best to ignore the heavy tears that were soaking through their shirt and passed a few concerned fingers through the man’s mussed hair. Haller mimicked the attentions that a parent might give to a child in need of comfort. Or what a stable hand might offer to a carriage horse that was experiencing anxiety. A series of just, gentle motions aimed at reducing all risks of harm.
“I know that I’m not well known for my compassion, but I will attempt to understand what is troubling you, my friend.”
“This is a problem that I do not know if you can understand. You do not seem the type of man to have the difficulties that I am currently experiencing. Especially not with the way you and Monty perform together in public situations.”
Haller had been tempted to make another joke. This time it likely would have been about physical conditions as an extension of the man’s personal problems. It was a line that the reaper had often spoken in public houses when men complained about the nature of their relationships with their wives. Not being sure of the appropriate time and place for such a comment, they reserved themself to continuing the appearance of being comfortable with comforting.
“Whatever you think you see in the way that Monty and I present ourselves in public should not influence your ability to tell me of your own problems.”
“I just have not experienced love for so long. I’ve made myself into such a terrible reputation over the years. All to cover my loss and now I know not what to do.”
The potential death of the mysterious, briefly mentioned husband provided some much needed context. Still, in their thoughts, George just didn’t seem to be the kind of person to have a husband. It was a terrible thought to have. To think, even for the slightest moment, that George might not deserve to discover love twice in a lifetime. However terrible it might be though it did not stop the reaper from letting it possess their mind.
“George, if you feel so strongly about Mr. York and you are in the position to enter into another long term situation, I suppose do not understand what your obstacles might be. It’s true that I have rarely loved in my life, but I do believe that I know how to recognize it.”
They had met many men and women on their time on the planet that would have died to have had such a match. If Monty were here, he might have gone so far to say that a husband would be wasted on the likes of Hagstein.
As if knowing their inner thoughts, George suddenly asked, “Do you love him? Monty, I mean. I know that you are attracted to each other - that’s obvious to any observer - but love is an entirely different manner.”
If only Monty were here.
“I think that might be a question better suited for when my partner is here to give his answer to such an inquiry.”
“Oh. That’s quite similar to the answer that he gave me when I asked the same question of him.”
But then again, it may be better that Monty were not present for such a conversation. Then they might not have avoided the topic of what sort of relationship they truly held with Monty. From George’s impression, it seemed that the reaper and the lawyer had already crossed over the threshold. And Haller just did not know if they truly were the marrying kind.
“I’m sure, George, that there will come a time in the future that will be appropriate for a set of couples to attend a dinner party. At that time, you are more than welcome to ask the question of love to any of us that seem open to sharing their knowledge.”
Turning back to the problem sitting before them, the reaper stood from their own position, reached a hand out to their friend, and asked, “Would you like to stay and join me for a cup of tea?”

chapter 7.1 - monty goes to lunch with someone that isn't haller and is very uncomfortable the entire time

:eyes:

7.1 - bonus points for awkwardness because it’s your ex and his secretary
His secretary who is your current partner’s ex husband but you don’t know that yet but he definitely does

Week 24 - 7.1 - Monty's Perspective - 1158 words

Montgomery was immediately overcome by the poor decorating choices as he made his way through the lobby of the hotel. It was perfectly in nature for Oisean to choose to sleep at an establishment that was making its best effort to be as unfashionable as possible. In his experience, particularly in his experience of sharing rooms with the aforementioned man, money was rarely a sign of taste. The mismatched wallpaper and eccentric, at best, furniture pairings of this first room was enough sign of that.
One of the few things that caught Monty’s eye for attention was the absolute absence of activity in the space. There was no clerk sitting behind the counter. No boy waiting to take bags at the door to the storeroom closet. And likely no sign of a char staff based on the amount of dust upon the side table that he made the mistake of touching.
“Lord Bridger is waiting for you in the tea room if you would care to follow me,” Lawrence said, arms sticking out in an awkward fashion. He was making some sort of attempt to direct traffic through the main corridor of the hotel, but the lack of guests had Monty seeing no need for such an action.
“Lead on, Lawrence. I’m not very familiar with this hotel.”
“No? I was under the impression that it was quite popular.”
“It may be with travelers, but my companions and I tend to spend our time in the establishment owned by the York family.”
It wasn’t to say that this hotel was not popular. No, it did have its time and place with political or military people visiting from Norfolk. As much as it had its popularity with people of the higher class who came crawling, dust baked and mud caked from the western expanses. Those sorts of people who wanted to explore another part of the world as long as the promise of a hot bath remained.
Monty imagined, as he stepped into the room that held the incredibly elegantly dressed Lord Oisean Bridger. The man, once again in the manner of his usual fashion, was laid across a settee. Lawrence moved from his side in the doorway to the edge of the couch. He couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the colorful robes that were draped around Brig’s broad shoulders. It seemed especially bright, even for Brig, when compared to the plain suit that Lawrence was wearing.
“Monty, my darling! I’m so glad that Lawrence managed to find you.”
Brig brought himself from the couch in one fluid motion, robes falling, in a striking contrast, to replace the lazy position that the man had held. Monty allowed himself to be taken into a tight embrace.
“Yes, I did manage to find my way here to your humble, temporary abode. How are you finding Mecklenburg, by the way?”
“It’s quite different from what I’m used to, as you know, but I’m finding certain aspects of it to be very interesting.”
The first visible employee of the hotel had finally appeared with a tray of tea and bits of shortbread. Monty leaned up from his seat to direct the attendant as to the contents of his tea cup. He took a long, slow sip before saying, “I’m sure that a man of the world such as yourself would have roomed in worst places. I know I’ve paid rents in buildings with more rot and six legged residents.”
“It reminds me a bit of the last place I was in the army before becoming acquainted with you.”
“I know your station of military service was a bit different from mine, but I don’t think I could honestly compare this building to anywhere that I was posted.”
“Well, I don’t think I ever got around to telling this story to you,” Oisean paused, finding his own cup of tea as he laid back down on the sofa. Monty wondered how any man could so elegantly lie down and drink a cup of tea without spilling a drop.
“What are the horrors of this story then?”
“We lived in a farmhouse that had been too shelled out to support a family, but it was perfectly suited for a group of army officers. The one bit of luck for us was that the family had left behind a goat that produced milk and a collection of hens that attempted to produce eggs.”
When Monty had been in the service of the British military, he had often come across many people who could not reconcile their need for modern comforts with their postings to the ‘undiscovered’ portions of the world. There were, in his mind at least, very few portions of the world that one might realistically call undiscovered. Most of the places that the British called undiscovered, right in the moment they claimed it as their own lands, were really places that belonged to differing civilizations.
“I would’ve never imagined that you had lived so close to the life of the average man, Oisean. It seems far below your measure to collect your own eggs from sparsely laying chickens.”
He laughed then. With the beautiful laugh that could have been reason enough for the old Monty to go running back to him. Emphasis being on it being his old self. The older model that hadn’t had the chance to lie in the arms of a beautiful man. Or the one who would have never been brave enough to wear a corset to a public luncheon.
“I still can’t understand why you’ve moved out here to the edge of civilization,” suddenly said Oisean, breaking up the silence.
There was one word in there that bothered him though…
Civilization.
More specifically, the edge of civilization.
Monty didn’t think of Mecklenburg as barely civilized. He certainly didn’t think of it as completely uncivilized. No one could call a county with more than three drinking establishments an uncivilized place to live. Why would any man of refinement, like Hal, set up a shop of fine goods in an area where the only customers were bears?
But instead of voicing all of those opinions, Monty let those thoughts stew inside of his head. Those were comments that could be reserved for whenever he had luncheon with Hal. Well, if he had lunch with Hal. That would be an entirely different problem to solve when he finally came to the fix.
In an attempt to stay polite, Monty adopted a persona that Hal often wore at parties where men of their sorts would meet. He smiled once more, drinking his tea, lifting his voice as he asked, “No? What can’t you understand about my motivations for moving from the glittering parlor coal lights to actual coal country? Though I must admit that tallow candles do make me yearn for the sunnier weathers once more.”
With a nod, he motioned to the dark clouds gathering in the sky.

Week 25 - 7.2 - Monty's Perspective - 1073 words

Oisean followed Monty’s gaze to the signs of a storm on the horizon. Both men looked at the changing colors of the sky while their poured tea began to grow cold. Monty had forgotten how boldly his previous partner could stand when the spirit was with him. And surely the spirit must have been with him then as he stood before the window like a captain at the bridge of a ship. The man had never been a sailor, for as much as Monty knew, but he did often engage in the activities of men of the sea.
He began to walk around the room then. Leaving his post at the window, his cup of tea on a random side table, and his robes in a messy lump beside the couch. Lawrence made no move to tidy the mess. Instead, he stood off to the side of the couch with his own cup of tea in hand, eyes darting around the room to guard Oisean’s movements. Monty found himself somewhat comforted by the fact that even the man’s own aid did not know what curious behavior had overcome him.
Finally he spoke, giving no clarity to the situation as he said, “You know fair and well that I prefer whale oil to the newer lighting innovations. I don’t know that more than one of these will last into the new century.”
Monty twisted in his seat to find the man’s current position and saw his long fingers wrapped around a candlestick. If Hal were here, the man would be whispering to him all sorts of innuendos about other sorts of candlesticks. About what they might be doing to Monty’s own holder, the one tucked beneath all the layers of linen. The one that no longer had a single thought about Oisean’s fingers.
Before Hal, before happiness, before all of the light that had been brought into his life. Before all of that he had wondered about returning to Norfolk when the cold season began to sit in at Mecklenburg. Now though even as they flirted and danced with words, Monty was able to avoid being brought back into the whirlpool of Lord Bridger.
After preparing his best retort, Monty boldly said, “Innovation will come to take us all, some day, Oisean. You will not always be able to maintain yourself as a man of whatever you consider to be the golden age.”
“All I am is a civilized man who had hoped that he would find a different situation in this county that you have come to call home.”
Civilization, again.
That was still the keyword to him. Monty had never understood how a group of persons could be called ‘uncivilized’ just because they had a different structure of government. It wasn’t what he should have been focusing on in that statement, but it was further proof that he wasn’t meant to go back to the coast.
He rose from his own couch with a bubbling contempt for his former companion. In the corner of his vision, Monty managed to spot Lawrence retreating to the corner of the sun room. It was the first time that he had ever seen the man make such a wise decision.
“What sort of situation was it that you had hoped to find, Oisean? That I had become frustrated with the very basic, barely human type of living out on the frontier? So frustrated perhaps that I might return home to Norfolk with the likes of you?”
The moment that Oisean turned around to face him, fingers still curled around the (unfortunately) blunt object, Monty stared into his speckled amber eyes. It was well within his power to grab the attention of any man whom he might want. That Monty knew very well.
Oisean let himself be captured in the elegant trance that Monty was producing. He watched as the other man began to melt in his serious stance. The sunroom was beginning to calm itself like a bomb of which someone was carefully pulling out all of the bits and fuses. Finally releasing his hand from the candlestick, he crossed back across the room to take Monty’s hand in his own.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Monty. Not all of us were born with your natural humanitarian instinct and sense of absolute righteousness.”
The laugh that followed this statement was the final nail in the coffin of Monty’s possible return to Norfolk.
“Just because most men aren’t born with a sense of serving humanity’s best interests, doesn’t mean that they can’t grow into such a personality. So, if you would kindly take your blood soaked hands off of mine, I would be very much obliged.”
Many of the far off places he had gone to, in service as legal council to mislaid soldiers, had been just as civilized, if not more so, than the village he had come from in Scotland. It happened that Monty had been born as a very different sort of person. The kind of person that made him feel incredibly unhuman when compared to the people who had surrounded him.
Oisean, for all of the love he had given to him, had been one of the people to make him feel unhuman. That was something they had established in their many heated arguments that leaked out into the streets surrounding their shared cityhouse.
There was movement from the other end of the room. Once again, he spotted the secretary moving around in the background. Lawrence, choosing to reverse Monty’s ruling as a ‘wise man’, stepped between them. From the moment that he opened his mouth, the country lawyer knew how this situation was going to end.
“If Oisean’s hands are blood soaked, then your hands are certainly blood stained. Do you imagine that the little bit of work that you have done with these frontierspeople has completely made up for your own crimes? I see to remember that there was a formal reason for your exit from the legal service of His Majesty’s military.”
At that, Monty could restrain himself no longer. His fist moved in one fluid motion, wrist in the proper boxer’s position as his hand made impact with the secretary’s jaw, and the follow through of a satisfying thump as the man hit the ground.
“Dear God, Monty what have you done that for?”
“Well you can’t tell me that you don’t think he didn’t deserve it?”

Week 26 - 7.3 - Monty's Perspective - 1210 words

Oisean didn’t give him an answer. He sunk to the floor, hand clasped around the back of Lawrence’s neck. Monty didn’t run to his aid, but he did crouch down to watch Oisean’s caring motions. A handkerchief pulled from an invisible pocket. Blood soaking through the bright, white fabric stitched with his monogram. Even if further help had been needed, Monty expected that Oisean would have refused any of his offers.
“Why did you do that to him, Monty?” Oisean asked. He was again looking for answers that he wasn’t going to find in the lawyer’s cold demeanor. Monty simply stared back down at the pain struck eyes that were attempting to bore into his soul.
“I don’t think that you would enjoy hearing my answer to such a question.”
“I wouldn’t enjoy the answer? I don’t think I’m much enjoying this position of kneeling on the ground and holding a handkerchief to another man’s nose.”
He held up the crimson soaked cloth to further emphasize his point. Monty snatched it out of his hand, gripping it tightly in the fist that had punched the man now laying on the floor. The dark comedy in this follow up action struck Monty as he let the fabric fall to the ground.
“Then let me tell you, Oisean. Because he was acting a lovestruck fool and involving himself in matters that were out of his depth! You should be ashamed of yourself for taking advantage of him.”
A certain amount of confusion struck Oisean’s stressed features. Perhaps, it occurred to Monty, that Oisean had not realized that he was in love with his secretary. Monty had only jumped to the conclusion based on the interactions he had had over the past half hour, but surely no one could be as blind as these two men.
The time for repression leaves the conversation when you’re arguing with the man you used to love over whether your affection has moved onto someone new. Particularly with that someone new lying on the floor in distress.
“I don’t love him. Whatever gave you such an impression?”
It was a question that didn’t feel anything like a question. To Monty, it sounded more like the man was admitting to something that he wanted to hide. Monty shook his head in doubt, looking back down at Oisean with near disgust and explaining, “It’s clear that there’s someone causing you emotional distress. Who do you love, Oisean?”
“You. You absolute fool. I love you even though you so obviously despise me.”
To that, Monty had no answer. On their last meeting, almost five years before, Oisean had stated that he had no love left for someone who had hurt him so much. That was a day that he would never be able to forget. Coming home, announcing to Oisean that he was planning on going to Mecklenburg to join his uncle’s venture, and his former partner giving little resistance to the idea.
Monty had always been honest with himself about that matter. There could have been an incredible fight in front of the fire that burned in the drawing room. Instead, there was only a withdrawn, pitiful defeat that Monty interpreted as the culmination of all of the hurt that he had caused to the past love.
“What do you-”
His troubles of contemplation were soon answered as Lawrence’s eyes fluttered open and he was sent into a great coughing fit. This time, he did lend his hand is pulling the secretary up from the floor and onto one of the couches. While his nose was no longer bleeding, Monty briefly wondered if the man might have some sort of disorder. So much of it had run out after impact that it was now staining his tie with an inhuman-like color.
That was when he saw it. The brief glimmer of change at the spot of the injury. Just like he had spotted on Hal’s form after their incident of colliding with the bedroom floor. Like they were wearing some sort of cloak to make them appear like anyone else.
“Come on up, old boy. You’ve had a rather nasty fall,” Oisean was saying to him, digging around for more supplies. “I’ll go to fetch something to clean up that mess.”
Oisean shrugged on his coat and left the room in search
“You punched me. That’s a bit more than accidentally knocking your head about on the coffee table.”
“Well, that might be fair. With all things considered.”
The man touched his handkerchief to the dried blood on his nose, looking confused as he asked, “What sort of things would you be considering then?”
“How about the instance in which you are not human? The situation wherein I believe that you are purposely manipulating Oisean, and others involved with you, to find a mean to your own ends?”
Monty brought himself further over Lawrence’s lazing form as he put his accusations to the air. The man looked back up at him with only smugness.
“Not human? What sort of madness might that be?”
At that moment, their shared gentleman returned to the room with a cloth wrapped pot and a few well bleached rags. Oisean stepped across the room in a few fluid motions. He took his supplies, setting them about a table, and finding a position beside Lawrence on the couch.
“How are you feeling, Lawrence? Any better?”
The only reply he received was a painful moan.
As Oisean further tended to Lawrence’s pitiful cries of anguish, Monty found himself further retreating from the situation in the room. With ease, he found his hat, coat, and walking stick, placing them all appropriately about his person. He continued to survey the way in which Oisean and Lawrence were interacting.
How they were touching.
How they were both pretending that there wasn’t anything more happening between them.
Monty had witnessed this sort of situation before, but never as the impacted party. He should have known not to trust the way that Lawrence was acting in the street.
When he said, “I’ll just see myself out”, his theory was confirmed by the lack of acknowledgment of his closing. He needed no more notion to convince himself to leave the room and return to his original course of navigation.
On his way out, he passed by same hotel staff member. The man stood, rather uncomfortably, looking into the room with some amount of apprehension. When he caught Monty’s eyes upon him, the man looked frightened, perhaps wondering if he would be the next person to meet with a jealous outrage.
“Do not fear me, my friend, unless you have also been participating in an act of seduction against my mother.”
The hotel attendant smiled at this remark. Still silent but seeming assured that they would not be a target for violence. Monty took a coin from his coat to reinforce his assurance and headed back out the door.
It wasn’t that he was jealous. Jealously wouldn’t have driven him to accuse a man of being a monster from another world. Monty assured himself of that. No, what he really was experiencing was loneliness and regret. He stepped down from the porch, readjusted his hat and began his walk back to Hal’s shop.

"You’ve had a rather nasty fall" but actually he's been PUNCHED, iconic

Oisean: I must defuse this situation
Also Oisean: how about i gaslight my secretary after declaring my undying love for my ex husband

Week 27 - Monty's Past Life Interlude - 1.1 - 1099 words

As far as new years and new beginnings could go, the Gregorian year of 1762 was not starting out well for Montgomery Charles Magill. Here he sat now in a friend’s lodgings on the island of Manhattan after accepting an invitation for a celebration of Saint Padraig. Being himself a Scotsman, Monty had accepted the invitation more for the hope of escaping the doom that awaited him in Norfolk. As someone who was soon about to depart from the port city to begin anew in the country side, this occasion had been offered to him as a last ‘hurrah’.
Particularly among his acquaintances on the island that feared he may never return from the ‘savage’ frontier. If anything were to be described as ‘savage’, it should have been the Scotch that he had been served at the beginning of the dreary affair. It had started off well, very well in fact, but that start had been many hours ago. Before his inverted Celtic associates had fully pushed themselves into the mode of a feast. While he had sipped at the drink that could roughly be identified as Scotch, he had observed their rather reckless drinking habits. For anything that the English might say of the Scots being a rowdy lot, there were plenty of Irishmen on the old continent to bring about another coming of Samhain. Though, truly, Monty imagined that even the Devil himself might run away from a chaos such as this.
The hope for something good followed by a gradual decline into disappointment was remarkably similar to the way that the year had been unfolding for him. It was if some celestial cartographer had created a map for his year, but could never find themself such satisfied with the result. Prayers, as seen so far, seemed to have no impact on said celestial cartographer.
In the early hours of the first day of the new year, Monty had announced to the man he shared a house with that he would be vacating the premises. He gave little reason to Oisean for this and found no resistance in the partner that couldn’t be bothered to stand from his chaise. Monty made efficient work of packing his belongings into the trunks he had brought with them when first moving to the Bridger household five years previously. Certain realizations in the preceding months had left him with a strong desire to close that volume of his life. He just hadn’t been expecting his partner to give in so willing to the destruction of what they had built so far.
With his trunks firmly loaded into the delivery cart of a friend, Monty firmly slammed the door with a certain amount of satisfaction. The cart was owned by the owner of a grocery who had offered a convenient, temporary room to a grateful Monty. A new set of rooms would likely be in his future, but he couldn’t guarantee that they would be located within the port city.
On that night too he had toasted new beginnings with old friends. All while drinking something that had possibly once sat on a bookshelf next to a decanter of Scotch. Very much the essence of what you might expect when requesting a dance partner and being matched up with an enchanted bathrobe. That night though, compared to the current celebration that he was tolerating, had been far less discriminating about what he was consuming. Then he had been more concerned with the quantity and its effects.
Effects that were firmly felt when he woke up in the bed of his merchant friend. As a man well experienced with the law, Monty could have been more discerning about the boundaries that he had trod upon that night. There were many things for them to worry about. More than the natural facts that come with being men of their sort.
It was not long after he began his letting of this room that he learned just what he had to worry about. The dramatic events of his personal life starting from the first day were followed up by further declarations of war for the country that paid his yearly wages. This was news that had been announced in Europe in the months previous, but had only just now reached their ears in the colonies.
Montgomery, never being too keen on being a soldier and quite frustrated with the ten years of legal service he had giving to the British military, had taken this event as a sign to find a new career. With the number of conflicts sloping downward in these thirteen territories, he had begun to devise a plan that would allow him an exit from the army.
The one downside of his strongest plan was that it would involve Oisean. A man whom he had not spoken to for almost three complete months. That was such a matter that was causing him to continue to consume alcohols that didn’t agree with his constitution.
Filling his glass once more and searching for a preserved piece of something to mix, Monty was surprised by a looming form in the doorway. He knew that most of the members of the party would either be in the street or in the more proper rooms. It was only he and his lonesome self that had been drawn into the respectable, book line office space.
“If it isn’t too much trouble, sir, would you mind pouring one of those for me? I’m afraid the ale isn’t quite what I’m feeling up for at the moment.”
That voice.
It couldn’t be. Or more, it shouldn’t be.
Monty turned about on his heel from his position at the office window to find himself looking directly into Oisean’s eyes. The man took a step backwards, stumbling over the rug edge, and coming to the wooden floor with a menacing thud.
Out of something that he would surely regret later, Monty rushed to his former companion’s side and began to tend to him. He remarked on the few bruises and one concerning cut along Oisean’s forehead. To which the other man paid little mind. Likely too distracted with running his fingertips along the creases of Monty’s face.
“Montgomery, I-I-I didn’t know that you would be one to attend a function like this.”
He leaned up quickly, making an attempt to make contact with Monty’s lips. Monty helped him to his feet but made little effort to return such a thoughtless gesture.
“Nor I would think it of you, Oisean, but I would surmise it would be for different reasonings than my own.”