Terrestrial - Secret Santa for PuddinPop (male) (2/2)

[LeapYearKisses]

Hey @PuddinPop!  Happy holidays!   I hope you like this gift.  I went with original since it's been years since I've watched any SPN, but I stuck with a supernatural theme.  I'm not sure how urban fantasy this ended up... probably more straight fantasy, but I hope you enjoy.  Anyway, on to the story!  Both parts are done, but it's a significant chunk of text, so I'll post Part 2 in a bit.

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Anteira made his way down through the passageway, boot heels muffled on the moss-overgrown bricks that comprised the narrow walkway.  Just above his head, low enough that he almost had to duck to avoid them, vines swung lightly in the minimal breeze.  They grew thickly through a woven trellis, but the sun was at its peak and beat down through the verdant foliage.  A warm and unearthly green glow suffused the alley and made Anteira feel like he was out of place in some storybook world.  Trust an angel to live in such a place when the rest of the world got along with chipped paving stones and car exhaust.

He shook his dark curls out of his face and checked the number on the door to his left.   It was an unassuming door, plain wood with a curtained, round glass panel in the top.  Its cheery red paint set it off from the other apartments along this way.  Must have been painted that way before Nathaniel moved in, because there was no way the angel would have picked such a friendly color himself.  Anteira knocked on the door.  There was no answer, nor when he knocked again.  He tried the handle and found it open.

Presumably that meant it was safe to go in.  Unpleasant as it would be, he could deal with Nathaniel’s berating him; his message couldn’t wait.  He turned the brass knob and stepped into the foyer.  It was dim aside from the sunlight streaming in from the door behind him.  It took a minute for Anteira’s eyes to adjust once he had closed it again.

On the right was a small kitchen with a tiled floor and floral wallpaper.  The cabinets were handmade of dark wood, the countertops finely fashioned of stone.  The oven and all other appliances meant for cooking – including the pans and implements hanging along the walls – were covered with a fine layer of dust that made Anteira wrinkle his nose.  The small table in the center of the space was a mess of papers, quills, baubles, and ritual paraphernalia.  The only sign that anyone had been in the kitchen in the past year were the deep scores in all the woodwork, showing fresh and white in the gloom.  Anteira gripped the handle of his sword and stepped further inside.

“Nathaniel i Avis Ancilarum?” he called, quickly sweeping his gaze about the darkened living area to his left, which was similarly disheveled, books and furniture overturned on the floor.  “In the name of Her Majesty’s Royal Messengers, I charge you to answer me.”  His voice sounded dull to his ears as he carefully advanced to a hallway that led deeper into the apartments.  It was also dark, wall sconces covered in wax drippings but devoid of lamps now.  His boot came down with a crunch on a litter of broken glass and he drew his sword.

One by one he checked the rooms along the hall.  The water closet was empty and pristine.  A pantry full of spider webs and an empty guest room crammed with more books, foreign trophies, and instruments of magic were also devoid of people.  That left one more room, at the end of the hall.  Anteira pushed it open with his foot, sword at the ready, and squinted at the sudden influx of sunlight.

The insane hornet crackle of a bolt of magical energy whizzed past him into the hallway and exploded against the floor, throwing up glass and wood splinters and bathing the area in a sickly blue glow before snuffing out.  It left behind a reek of scorched hair and ozone.  Anteira shouted in anger and a sudden deep fear that he was in over his head.  Brandishing his weapon, he pushed into the room, hoping his rank would save him another brush with decapitation.

“I am Jaxal Anteira mik Malafease of Her Majesty’s Royal Messengers!  Any harm you do to me is seen as a slight against the country and you will be hunted to the ends of the earth!  Stand down!”

“Shit,” said a soft voice from the corner.  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Anteira, still tense, sword glittering in the new wealth of light, took a deep breath and squinted at the corner.  The bank of skylights above dazzled his eyes, but slowly he made out a low bed, piled with blankets, pillows, scarves and sundries.  On the bed in the middle of the nest-like chaos was the angel Nathaniel, or Anteira supposed so.  The angel looked nothing like he had last time Anteira had seen him. 

There were the wings for one.  They were folded haphazardly, the pure white pinions of one of them trailing on the ground amid the clutter.  Anteira guessed that the span of them unfurled would top twenty feet; here they were awkwardly bunched and taking up most of the corner.  He’d never seen an angel’s wings before.  Usually they were cloaked or transformed with glamours and other spells.  Nathaniel’s hair was also a luminous copper today, unnatural in its hue and luster.  It flowed down his bare back like a spill of precious jewels, longer than Anteira could make out.

Nathaniel was still holding out a hand which glowed faintly with the aftermath of the energy bolt, though he lowered it as Anteira took in his appearance.  “I felt like a change,” he said laconically, and sat up with a great shifting of feathers.  The impressive effect was somewhat ruined when he had to spit out a wayward strand of hair.

“Clearly,” said Anteira, not yet sheathing his weapon.  “Why did you fire upon a Royal Messenger?”  Was it to be a confrontation?  He’d had no inkling that Nathaniel, of all of the angels, had turned hostile to Her Majesty’s wishes.  Or perhaps Nathaniel had been expecting an attack?  These were uncertain times indeed.

“Like I said, I didn’t mean to,” replied Nathaniel, honeyed voice unrepentant.  “You woke me up.  It’s very rude of you to have done so.  I think it would be best for you to go.”  He nodded to the door.

Anteira hesitated and then slipped away his sword.  “Of course.  I don’t know what could have come over me.  I’ll take my leave of you then, Nathaniel i Avis Ancil-” He stopped and growled.  “Are you using a spell on me?”

Nathaniel blinked and frowned.

“Using a glamour on a Messenger is tantamount to deceiving the Queen herself,” snapped Anteira. “You know that!”

Nathaniel sighed gustily.  “Yes.  You weren’t supposed to notice, obviously.”  Still frowning, he shivered and so did the air around him.  When it was through, Anteira felt different.  It was if a lingering perfume had suddenly been cleared away by the wind.  “Is that better?” Nathaniel asked, and the change was apparent immediately.  His voice was low and hoarse, nothing like before.  “Because it hasn’t done me any favors.”

“What happened to you?” asked Anteira, striding over to the bed.  He wouldn’t say he was worried.  One didn’t usually worry about beings that could crush someone with a gesture.  But he was mildly concerned.  For the fate of his missive.

Nathaniel shrugged.  His golden eyes – these were familiar at least – were shadowed and his face was flushed.  His nose especially was raw and chapped, looking painful to the touch.  “I’m sick.”  A rough cough forced its way out of him.  “It happens.”

“Does it?” asked Anteira, bewildered.  “But you’re an angel.”

“Still stuck in a terrestrial body,” said Nathaniel irritably.  “For the time being.  Do you think I wouldn’t ascend and be done with this if I could?”  He raised an eyebrow, shuffling his wings.  His pale chest was well-muscled but sported goosebumps.  “It’s the fault of petty mortals like you and your Queen and those bastard sons of whores who-” He stopped suddenly, staring straight ahead.  His well-shaped nostrils flared.

“I don’t think angels are supposed to swear,” said Anteira dryly.

“Fucking hell,” declared Nathaniel, and then sneezed.  “Hrreschhiu!”  His copper hair fell over his face in a curtain, so Anteira didn’t see anything of the aftermath, but when the angel straightened back up, glaring, he was sniffling heavily.

Anteira stared for a moment, then mentally kicked himself.  “Should I bless you?” he asked, a tad gruffly.  This isn’t at all what he’d been expecting to find when he’d been sent out this morning.  “Do angels like that kind of thing?  Does it even actually do anything?”

“Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here?” snapped Nathaniel.  He reached around in the blankets for something, a tissue box perhaps, but couldn’t find it.  Grimacing, he resorted to pinching his nose in long, delicate fingers.  He started to massage it.

“Right.”  Anteira straightened.  “By order of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Azraen Kalathir min Braechik-”

“Skip all of that,” said Nathaniel, waving his hand dismissively and coughing again.

Anteira scowled but got to the point.  “Queen Kalathir is hosting a war council this evening and requires the presence of all House-affiliated parties, including Angels of the Light and Hearth, to attend to her.  The need may be quite dire soon for the assembly of a combat force equipped to take on Henthal in the North.  You, being of the Angels, while one of the youngest, are talented in the magical arts of electromancy, glamour, truthspeaking, and psychometry and therefore the Queen asks that you come to her side at your earliest convenience.”

“Next year, then,” replied Nathaniel nasally.  “Or the year after.  Or perhaps another decade or so.”

Anteira crossed his arms.  “You’ve always been a pain in the ass, but even you wouldn’t ignore a direct order from Her Majesty.  That would be treason.”

“You’re keen to dish out the damnations today.”  Nathaniel pushed his hair back behind his ears with a harsh sigh.  “Speaking of pains in the ass.  But in all truth, I won’t be able to go to her little war party, not today anyway, at the bare minimum.”  He coughed and rubbed his throat.

‘Why don’t you just put on another glamour?” asked Anteira.  “You looked fine when I came in.  I would expect you to neglect your duties over a thing like vanity.”

“Then you don’t know me very well,” said Nathaniel.  “But anyway, I can’t.  Things go sideways when I’m sick.  You saw it yourself, didn’t you?  I almost took off your head.  Despite how I may feel about messengers interrupting my sleep, I wasn’t intending to kill you for the offense.” 

“You won’t be called upon to use that kind of magic tonight,” said Anteira.  Good thing, too.  “Just pretty yourself up and let’s go.  I have others to see.”

“Asked you to make sure I moved my ass, hm?”  Nathaniel glared at him, and then shrugged.  “Fine, have it your way.”  Struggling with the blankets, he got out of bed.  With a labored shuffle, he drew his wings close to his back until it appeared as though he were wearing an unkempt but expensive swan feather mantle.  Anteira tried steadfastly not to notice that the angel had nothing else by way of clothing.

Nathaniel clasped his hands together in front of him, then lifted them above his head, murmuring to himself.  When both of his arms were extended fully, outspread as if leading a prayer, he shouted a word that Anteira couldn’t parse and slapped his palms together with a resounding crack.  As it had before, the air rippled, and when Anteira blinked he saw that the angel had changed.  Now dressed in a heavy velvet robe that made the angel seem taller, Nathaniel seemed fit to travel.  His face no longer bore a pallor and his wings had shrunk to fit tightly against his back.  His hair, still the color of afternoon sun, was elaborately woven about his head and ended in a thick braid to his lower back.  His eyes were piercing.

“Very impressive,” said Anteira.  “Come with me, now.  I’ll call a streetcar on the main road.”  He turned.

“Very well,” said Nathaniel imperiously.  He took two steps after Anteira toward the door and fell like a sack of potatoes.

Anteira rushed back to him, heart racing from the sound of a body dropping.  “Nathaniel?”  He touched the angel’s head, then cradled it and turned the angel onto his side.  Though the bulk of Nathaniel’s wings was invisible, Anteira could still somehow feel the feathers there, preventing him from laying the angel on his back.  Like before, it was as if somehow he could feel the glamour touching his mind when usually such magic was seamless.  It prickled like the crawl of sparks over a wizard’s staff.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, dropping his ear to Nathaniel’s chest.  The velvet robe felt gauzy and indistinct and he could feel heat radiating from the angel’s skin beneath.  “Light and Hearth, this is not what I signed up for…”  He was just trying to figure out how to avoid injuring Nathaniel by picking him up when the angel came to groggily.

“Didn’t work so well,” he said, slurring a little.  It was disconcerting to hear the rasp of his breathing under the melodious tones of his glamoured voice.  “Okay.”  He shivered and barked a cough before turning his face against Anteira’s leather-clad knee and sneezing powerfully.  “Hresstch!  Hkh… Hreisshiu!”  The sound belied his current elfin appearance.  Anteira grimaced minutely.

“You’ve convinced me,” he said.  “I’ll tell the Queen you can’t make it.”

“At least there’s that.”  Nathaniel shivered and sniffed weakly.  “I don’t want to see another war, anyway.  The last one… it was…”  He trailed off and Anteira wasn’t sure if it was because of the memories or because the angel was going to sneeze again.  Either way, he patted Nathaniel’s shoulder awkwardly.

“I’ll get you back to your bed,” he said.  “But then I’ll have to be on my way.  Can you manage?”  It was rather alarming how warm the angel was.

“As always,” Nathaniel replied, accepting help to sit up.  “The glamour… hh I’m going to get rid of it.  Brace yourself.”  He let it go and the air in the room swam dizzily.  Stray magic spun away from him like shreds from a tattered cloak.  Anteira felt a shallow laceration open on his arm.  The books, walls, and papers nearby gained scores like the ones in the kitchen.  “Bit harder than just the face and voice,” Nathaniel croaked.

With Anteira’s help, Nathaniel was able to get back into his bed-nest.  He looked wan in the late light.  The sun had just passed beyond the edge of the skylights now and the shadows in the room were growing.  Anteira looked around the walls but saw no candles or gas lamps.  When the sun sank, the angel would be left in gloom.  “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.  Again, it felt odd to question the angel, who had been around for centuries before Anteira was born and would be for centuries afterward.  But the expression in Nathaniel’s alien golden eyes softened slightly.

“Yes, child, I will be fine.”  He raised a ghostly white hand in farewell.

Anteira scowled.  “I’m 28,” he said.

“Shut up,” said Nathaniel, turning his back to the door.  “You’re all children to me.  That’s what happens when you live forever.”

“You’re being pretentious,” said Anteira, heading for the door.  “I hope you catch pneumonia.”

Nathaniel’s voice followed him down the hall.  “That’s something a child would say!  I win.  Hh, hh- Hretchsshiu!”

Anteira rolled his eyes, adjusted his sword at his hip, and left Nathaniel’s apartment.  Thank the Light and Hearth that angels walk among us and so bless our lovely Queen and her dwelling place, went the Common Prayer.  Personally, Anteira just thought they were obnoxious.

Only three more to visit today.  Sigh.

[htkid1]

I know this wasn't for me and maybe forum decorum dictates that I let the recipient be the first to comment...but... I loved it and can't wait for part two. 

[LeapYearKisses]

@htkid1  Meh, forum decorum might go either way, but I know I'm glad to receive any feedback!  I'm sure PuddinPop would be happy to know other people are reading and enjoying, too.  After all, the point of Secret Santa is to 1) make nice presents for people but also 2) fill the forum with nice things.  So thank you!  I'm glad you liked part one!  It's been a pretty rough couple of weeks and I've been kind of withdrawing from people as a result (whoops...) so it means a lot that you commented.

It's been about a day, so here's Part 2.  Again, happy holidays, @PuddinPop!

---

Clouds passed hypnotically overhead, streaming in the autumn winds like sheep driven over a dusky moor.  Nathaniel watched them through the skylights in his room and tried not to slip back into sleep.  He’d been having nightmares ever since the messenger had come, dark dreams of the last war.  It had been almost forty years ago.  The Queen had been but a small child, the sparkle of a new soul, and she would not remember what he had seen.  None of the humans remembered anything worth a damn.

He took a breath, listening to it rattle in his chest, and turned to his side.  This body was suffering.  It was only flesh and blood, weak to the world around it, permeable to invisible threats and sickness.  It had been a long time since he’d been ethereal, able to do what he wanted whenever he wanted.  So long ago had the first angel, Lamiel i Avis Selptis Primum, descended to the earth and made the deal that bound the others here.  Vulnerable.

Nathaniel shivered.

The meeting would be over by now.  He wondered how long it would take for word to reach him of its conclusions.  Would the angels once again be massing behind a royal hand to bring deliverance or death?  Or would he be safe to pursue his whimsies and put murder from his mind?  He lifted his hand and willed open a window, just enough to let in a pigeon with news.  The glass pane shattered.  Well, that would do, too.

He sighed, and there came a familiar prickling across his face, an irritation inside.  A quick breath caught painfully in his throat and he braced himself, letting his eyes fall shut.  His nostrils flared, his lip lifted in a reluctant snarl, and then he sneezed, heavily, into his blankets.  “Hresshuh!  Hh… Eschiuu!”  The effort momentarily made his head spin and he closed his eyes until the world settled.

“Goodness,” came a voice from the dark mouth of the hallway.

Though there wasn’t much that could hurt him, Nathaniel startled and rose from the bed.  Lightning skittered across the ceiling overhead as a Word of Power welled behind his lips.  It was incredibly ill-advised in his current state, but he couldn’t take chances if he’d been found by a fell being or a practitioner of Henthalik blood magic.  Evil images of the battlefield still lay behind his eyelids.

“Whoa!  Whoa, Nathaniel, stop.  It’s me, Jaxal Anteira.”  The intruder lifted a lamp hurriedly to illuminate himself.  He’d spoken true.  In the gas light Nathaniel could make out the olive skin, wiry black beard, and dark brown eyes.  The messenger was out of uniform now.  Instead of his smart black and blues he was dressed in a thick, undyed wool sweater and calfskin trousers.

The angel let the Word die on his tongue and the magic dispersed in a cacophonous wave of temporal static.  A sheaf of paper by the door caught on fire.  Anteira rushed to stamp it out while Nathaniel fell back into his blankets.  Curse Lamiel Primum for binding them to skin and bones!  Everything ached.

“That was dramatic!” said Anteira, shaking out his lightly-smoking boot.  “What were you expecting, a lich?!”  The lamp is his hand was trembling.

“I’ve no idea what to expect,” Nathaniel said, hating the roughness of his voice.  “Who would be so bold as to just walk into my house unannounced?  Oh, right.  Should have known it would be a mik Malafease.  You’ve already done it once.”  He snorted and then wished he hadn’t.  “Hh… Hrrischkh!”  Fuck, that hurt.

Anteira approached the bed, as he had that afternoon, and put the lamp on the bedside table, shoving aside a globe and ceramic cup.  “In my defense, you still haven’t locked your door.”  He took a deep breath to steady himself and then reached out to touch Nathaniel’s face.  The angel was too surprised to stop him.  “But then, I figured you might not have been well enough to move very far.”  He frowned.  “You are burning up.”

Nathaniel blinked.  “…I suppose so,” he said.  “There isn’t anything to be done for it.  I’m not going to die.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take some medicine,” said Anteira brusquely.  He pulled away and busied himself with a leather bag at his hip, producing several glass bottles filled with viscous contents, a small terrycloth towel, and a polished stone the color of the sea.  He tried to clear off the bedside table further to make room for it all.

Nathaniel watched him in mild confusion.  Bizarre enough that one of the Royal Messengers was off-duty in his dwelling, even more so that the man seemed intent to care for him.  The Malafease family was known to him, though he’d only met Jaxal Anteira two or three times during the past few years.  He recalled the man’s ancestors to be pirates and ne’er-do-wells that often caused trouble at the quays.  But of course, that was long ago now, before the city had made something of itself.  Now the humans sped around in mechmagical contraptions and used parchment for tender.  Still, Anteira looked just like his great-something grandfather who had been hanged off the bowsprit of His Majesty’s ship Wavebreaker.  The angel wondered if he’d ever been told that.

“Here,” said Anteira.  “Are you paying attention?”  In his extended hand he held the ceramic cup from the table, filled now with a dark red paste that had been diluted in white wine.  “Drink this.  It will bring down your fever.”

“Disgusting.”  But Nathaniel lifted the cup and drank.  The paste was bitter, the wine sour.  He choked it down.  It burned his throat.

“Yes, that’s the consensus.”  Anteira took the cup back and passed him the towel, which he had wetted from another bottle.  “Put this on your forehead.”

Nathaniel did so, trusting Anteira to know what he was doing.  The coolness of the cloth was soothing.  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, as Anteira tucked the blue stone under Nathaniel’s pillow.  A ward to draw out pain.  “You have no obligation to me.”  Even less so because of how uncooperative he’d been earlier in the day.

Anteira shrugged.  “I wasn’t going to do anything, at first.  But then I remembered how terrible it had been for me when I lived alone as a student.  My quarter of the city happened to see a particularly bad outbreak of influenza the year I went for my certification.  For six days I laid in bed and wondered if I was going to die before I could present my capstone project.”  He laughed a little.  “And whether it would matter, considering I had very little hope of graduating anyway.

“Of course, unlike a human you’re not exactly fragile, but I didn’t figure anyone else would be coming by to see you.”  He looked around for a chair in the room, but finding none settled for the floor beside the bed.  “I decided to come back with a few things.  It’s not much. So don’t get attached.”

“When you’re as old as I am, you find it very hard to get attached to anything,” replied Nathaniel, looking up through the skylights again.  It had clouded over completely.  “But thank you.”

They sat in silence for a moment.  Perhaps Anteira thought the angel had meant to be profound, but Nathaniel was simply trying to hold back another sneeze.  His chest rose and fell fitfully beneath the blanket, and though he pressed his tongue behind his teeth it barely relieved the lightest of the itching.  His face felt hot, his nose sore.  In the end, he could only turn to the side as the sneeze forced its way out of him, followed by several insistent fellows.

“Ihreshhuh! Hh… ih- Hresshuh!  Heshhiu!”  He gasped and buried his face in the sheets, fingers curled tightly in the coverlet.  “Hkkschiuu!”  The effort left him panting.

After a moment, he felt Anteira fixing the towel on his head.  “Bless you,” he said.  “I should leave you to your rest…  Is there anyone who will look in on you?  Stay with you, even?”  His eyes were kind and concerned.  Out of uniform he seemed a very different person.

Nathaniel shook his head.  His lover had disappeared during the war.  Though he hoped one day for a reunion, the possibility grew slighter day by day.  He had no one else.  But that was unimportant.  His body would sink but not decay and soon he would be ready again to do whatever was bid of him by the human Queen.  “Before you go, what news from the council?”

Anteira picked up his lamp.  “Nothing has been decided yet.”  His tone was carefully blank, but his expression was briefly frustrated. 

Nathaniel frowned.  “I see.  Send a pigeon if the word changes, will you?”  He coughed and pressed the towel over his eyes.

“Well,” said Anteira.  “I might.  But I’ll be in the area tomorrow evening.  I’ll just bring you the news myself.  …Take more of the red concoction when you wake up in the morning.”  He cleared his throat.  “If you want to, that is.”  He walked to the hallway door.  “Good night, Nathaniel.”

The angel sighed, but felt sleep coming more swiftly than it had before.  “Good night, Jaxal Anteira.  I’ll leave the front door open for you.”

[Hedgehog]

I already wanted to answer yesterday but also waited for Puddin to reply first. @PuddinPop - where are you? LOL
This is such a sweet story, LYK! Your descriptions of the angel and his angelic magic are marvelous! And I really love what a grumpy patient your Nathaniel is. Really nice. And somehow, I think those characters are too precious to live only for one short story. Somehow, I hope to meet them again.  

[LeapYearKisses]

@hedgehog  Thank you, hedgehog!  I got really into the magic.  It was super fun thinking up how it supposed to be powerful and impressive and then just fizzle out.  Nathaniel was a joy to write.  I like grumpy angels.  I'm flattered that you'd like to read more of them.  I don't think I'm done with this world yet, but we'll see what strikes my fancy.

[PuddinPop]

@LeapYearKisses I AM SO SORRY I AM LATE REPLYING TO THIS. I saw that it had been posted but wasn't in a position to read properly, and while I could have commented, I wanted to take the time to leave a substantial comment - instead of something half-assed - for the MAJESTY that is this fic, so okay, here I go.

Firstly, can I just flail about your descriptions? Because they are INCREDIBLE. You've created such a vivid world here, it's like I can see everything in my mind's eye. All the attention and care to detail that you've added has paid off so, so well. I am loving the whole atmosphere much.

Secondly, THANK YOU FOR TRYING TO INCLUDE MOST OF MY PREFERENCES. Who would have guessed I liked sick angels, eh?  But I seriously love mythical beings with powers having them hindered by sickness or sneezes, and you executed it so perfectly here <3

Thirdly, I LOVE BOTH ANTEIRA AND NATHANIEL SO MUCH. Ngl, I adore it when characters get pissy and grumpy when sick >w< not to the extreme, but pouty, and you did such a good job with that here~

Fourthly, your spellings, dude, holy shit. They are so awesome, like I can hear them so clearly. Good job!

Okay, I think that concludes my flailing, even though I could probably go on forever about how awesome this is.

Once again, I am so sorry I am late commenting, but thank you so much for writing this for me, LYK. it's such an amazing gift and I am so grateful for the time and effort you have put into this. I hope you have an awesome time over the holidays!  

[queenie]

This is so sweet, and great world building to boot!

[LeapYearKisses]

@PuddinPop  Yay!  I'm glad you liked it!  No worries about a delay.  I know how that goes, not being able to sit down to read.  I really had fun writing this, so I'm happy everything went over so well and that I did manage to meet your preferences.

@queenie Thank you!  I've been really into world building lately, so I'm glad it was a success!