Searching

The inn was illuminated with an orange glow, the cheery faces of pub-goers bright and flushed red by the strong alcohol. The sound of laughing and loud conversation, the happy resounding sound of clashing mugs in a friendly manner all filled the inn. The bartender was busy cleaning glasses as he watched over the inn, his large bushy mustache hiding his smile.

Cyril carefully walks into the inn, his limbs still ached from his recent adventure, he is wearing a sleeveless shirt, which shows the fresh scar on his arm from the undead sword, and loosely fitting trousers, along with leather boots and no gloves. He has his cleaver at his side despite the lack of any armor or proper combat clothing. His hair is medium in length, and he has a neatly cut beard with side burns and a mustache.

Cyril sits down at a table near a window in the inn, staring up at the starry night calmly. He doesn't have a drink, nor does he get one, instead he sits in silence staring up at the stars and listening to the conversation and noise of the inn. His fingers lightly drum on the soft wood of the table as he waits for anyone to talk to.

Adding to the boisterous noise, suddenly a bout of laughter rocked the inn. A group of farmers had congregated around the game master's table. His tall green top hat was visible above the heads covered by bandannas and dirt. He too was chortling, as normally he willed himself to sobriety but at this time he decided that just once he'd let himself have a pint or two. The cause for his mirth was not the alcohol so much as the players that sat around him. A game of Keystone was organized on the table, a few of the blocks missing. Various colored chips decorated the spots and numbers, stacked high. Only two more players remained seated around the table, eyes set on the dice.

Icarus sat with the pair of dice in her small hand. Her garb today was the remains of a quest. She donned white trousers, white and flowing, with dark blue boots covering her feet. A brass colored chest plate covered her petite torso, with a white over shirt tossed over her shoulders. A veil remained intact around her face and hair, only letting the dark brunette curls peek out beneath her lower back, and nothing but bright gray eyes examining the room, the rest of her face left to the imagination. Her hands, fingers slim and bare, cradled the dice, rocking them back and forth in her palm. She tossed them onto the table, watching almost in slow motion as they tumbled across the stones, knocking a few chips aside.

The first die landed on a five, sitting pleasantly as the counterpart tumbled a few extra times...

"Six!" She shouted suddenly, a hand pumping into the air. "Eleven! That's the last keystone! And game!" The other man scowled, shoving the stool back and knocking it over, storming from the table as Icarus reaped the chips to her side, chuckling amidst the cheers of the crowd. She stood up on the stool, her eyes scanning the room. They fell on the stranger who had just arrived, not speaking to anyone, and slouched onto a table by himself, drinkless and friendless. She pointed a finger at him and called.

"You! With the cleaver! Fancy a game of Keystone?" The whole bar turned to face the man who she was talking to, eyes boring into him. It would be a disaster to say know. The beautiful girl on the stool only smiled with her eyes, what showed of her cheeks rosy from drink.

Cyril looked over at the call of "You!" only to see the almost the entire population of the pub staring at him intently. Cyril looked at the girl who was pointing at him, he felt his face start burning up at all the attention, he really wasn't good with attention. Though he couldn't help but smile that someone had noticed him, just a man with a cleaver, he thought quietly as he stood up carefully, trying to avoid making himself look like a goof.

He said clearly, obviously not having taken in any alcohol, "I have nothing better to do." As he walked over to the Keystone table, checking every face that was staring at him, mainly the girl who was pointing though, with her curious veil and rosy cheeks. He wasn't entirely sure how to play the game as he didn't get involved in them often, he wasn't usually a fan of gambling, but he figured that it was worth a shot. Maybe the game wasn't all he was thinking of though as he sat down at the table.

He looked over the game carefully, taking in all the information he could about it before nodding slightly and extending a hand to the girl, "Cyril is the name, and I guess Keystone is the game.", he chuckled quietly as he said this.

At first Icarus felt a pang of guilt. She didn't like making people feel uncomfortable. But she knew that if she drew the stranger into the crowd that she could make him enjoy himself. And she hated seeing people who were hermits. She just wanted to spread the wealth that was happiness. She hopped down from the stool and met the man in the middle of the crowd, who had parted and started cheering as soon as the man stood from his seat. Her veil remained in place though through the slightly translucent fabric a broad smile could be seen.

"Of course you've got nothing better to do," she replied, taking his hand with her own. It seemed petite and small in his large hands, though she gave the firmest handshake she could muster. "Icarus," she responded, raising an eyebrow at him, "And we'll see how much of Keystone is your game. Have a seat." She gestured to the stool at her side, and sat herself at the one adjacent to it, watching intently as the game master reset the board. She raised a finger and pointed at the gash on his arm.

"Someone was having fun before they came here?" she teased him a bit, taking a drink from her pint and setting it down on an empty coaster.

Cyril just remained quiet for a while after sitting down until Icarus asked him about his arm. Cyril looked down at the scar and nodded slightly, his face noticeably grimaced at the memory. "I was in Wraithmarsh recently, a hollow man got the best of me." He says confidently, trying not to sound like he's bothered by the large crowd staring down at the two of them, or the memory. He watched the game master reset the game quietly, he is still trying to piece together exactly how to play, but he's sure he's got the idea of it.

Cyril smiles slightly as he waits for the game master to explain the game, or at least tell them to do something. He isn't as bothered by the crowd, he's blocked them out. All he sees now is the game, the game master, and the fair Icarus, with her white veil and rosy cheeks, not to mention the radiant smile that could be seen through the veil.

They weren't quite the center of attention anymore. The pair at the table were still surrounded by the crowd but they had decided to begin buzzing about themselves, and the sound of clanking mugs signified that perhaps they'd lost interest in the game. After all, they had been watching a while. Icarus didn't mind the crowd's losing interest, and she arched her eyebrow at him. "Wraithmarsh, eh?" she mused, the dice rolling in her palm as the game master continued to set up the board. "I ran into a rather queer fellow who was bustling around in Wraithmarsh recently. Maybe you two ran into each other?"

"Place your bets," the gamemaster began, outstretching his arms to the open board.

She nudged him and gestured to the game as she began placing chips on various numbers, colors, and patterns. Keystone was similar to a modern day craps, with your bets being placed on how well you think the dice will roll: Whether it'll be a pair, it'll add up to seven, the number will be odd or even, the dice will be three consecutive numbers in a row, things like that. "These are the Keystones," Icarus pointed, knowing well that Cyril looked a tad lost at the game table, "When a 10 and 11 are rolled, the game is over. And when a 3 and an 18 are rolled, game is over, because the "keystones" are missing and the board "collapses" Do you understand?" It in itself wasn't a hard game to explain, most of it was just luck anyhow and it was easy to catch on once you started.

Cyril watched the game board as Icarus explained it to him, wondering if he had looked obviously lost. His face was slightly red as she explained the game, he didn't like being found looking like he didn't understand something, he was usually a well read person. He nodded slightly and placed two small bets on 3 and 18, he wasn't exactly sure how to play the game but he figured to do the easy thing and let it unroll in front of him.

After he had placed his bet he looked at Icarus, "Do you know this 'queer fellow's name?" He asked her, quite confident that it was Novier but unwilling to risk revealing his name to someone he didn't really know. He was tempted to tell her about Novier to get more friendly with her, but his thoughts nagged at him not to tell her just yet. Extremely self-conflicted, he sat staring at the table, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for her answer.

Icarus had already placed a few chips around the board. Icarus always bet on at least one keystone number, usually 10 or 11. She knew that the numbers would be rolled eventually. She watched at Cyril placed his own chips, remaining sparse as he was a beginner. It was a good tactic, no use in betting all your money before you realize what the game is about. She looked up at him as he asked her the question of who she had spoken to.

"Erm," she thought for a moment, drumming her fingers on the table, "It was at the gypsy camp a few days ago...I want to say it started with an 'N'...oh jeez, my memory is terrible." She chuckled, scratching her head. She didn't want to fess up that the gypsies had gotten her a bit intoxicated at the time as well, as she didn't want her new friend here to think she was some alcoholic. "But Wraithmarsh doesn't seem like the type of place to just wander through. It's quite desolate, though the ruins of Oakvale have always been interesting to me."

She stood up a bit above her stool and tossed the dice, watching each one of the three tumble a bit before coming to a stop. "Six! Two! and Four!" the gamemaster called out. Icarus blew out a puff of air, as she hadn't bet on the number 12. "Shame. Maybe next time!" She nudged Cyril with a laugh. "The very first bets you place stay through the entire game, but every round you make new ones that expire when the round is over." This time, she placed some chips on the number 5 and for a double to be rolled.

Cyril watched the board closely, when his turn arrived he grabbed the dice, tossing them onto the table lazily. "Two! Three! Two!" cried the Gamemaster. Cyril looked over the board, sighing quietly before placing a bet on 11.

Cyril then looked at Icarus, "Well, I guess it was Novier you were talking about, he has a mask, bright blue eyes." Cyril then looked around the pub, "We went to Wraithmarsh to find something, to rule out some rumors...he told me there would be treasure and renown, though all I really got out of it was nightmares and a rash." Cyril then drums on the table lightly, "And now I'm here to relax a little...it's working, at least." Cyril smiles slightly, still thinking about Wraithmarsh.

Icarus tossed her arms in the air as the double rolled out before her. "Yes!" she cheered, collecting the chips and scooping them next to her bosom. She nodded at his description, remembering now the piercing blue eyes that had caught her off guard and the mask only caused her curiosity to spark. "That sounds like him," she concluded, scanning the board and deciding her next bets, "he was quite mysterious..and a bit standoffish. Didn't like to chat much either." She couldn't help but chuckle a bit, noting his small battle wounds as proof of his misadventures in Wraithmarsh.

"Well, losing your money to a fair lady is a great way to unwind," the gamemaster piped in as he handed the dice to Icarus' outstretched palm. She laughed and tossed the dice again, though the merry mood was soon pulled to a screeching halt.

"Bandits!" a farmer cried, bursting into the pub, as if his screaming didn't merit enough attention. Icarus didn't even pay attention to what numbers had landed on the table. She turned her head sharply to the farmer and pushed her way through the crowd, tugging a bit on Cyril's shirt before proceeding. Just as she had made her way to where the panting and panicked farmer stood, hunched over with his hands on his knees, a loud explosion was heard. Looking through a window, Icarus watched as one of the wealthier farms burst into flames, bits and fragments of the building's frame falling and illuminating the sky.

"We got problems," she said, turning to Cyril. He seemed like the type of bloke that would be helpful in this situation.

Cyril smiled when Icarus cheered, he was enjoying himself despite losing. He hadn't bet a lot so this game wasn't really for profit, just fun. To him anyways, Icarus seemed really intent on winning. "He's quite the talker when you get to know him, though it's usually dark, mysterious things. Things that make you think." Cyril said cheerily. When the Gamemastered commented, Cyril responded, "Not any fair lady, mind you, but probably one of the prettiest ladies in this pl-"

That is when the man cut him off. Cyril stood up, watching Icarus march over to the man. When she turned to him Cyril grabbed his cleaver, saying grimly, "Lets go." He gestures for Icarus to lead the way, he isn't much of a leader, more like a good henchman or strong follower.

While Icarus hadn't had the time to properly respond to his talk of Novier, she would have stated yes, he seemed quite mysterious, and a bit gloomy, and not many positive things came out of his mouth in the short time they were together. Icarus disappeared from the front of the room for a second, going back behind the bar and retrieving her assets from where they had been safely stored. A katana, mostly silver and shiny, emerged, and was strapped to her back. A bag, which was presumed to be full of potions, was tied at the belt around her waist.

Nodding curtly to push past the crowd, she met up with Cyril again, gesturing with her head to head out towards the fire. The day that was once warm had fallen victim to the night, and a cold chill passed the pair. The wind was filled with the soot and the stench of the smoke from the farmhouse. "Let's cut through this field," she suggested, raising a hand to the one before them, the wheat towering above Icarus, though she figured Cyril would have to crouch a bit. "We can have a somewhat element of surprise. That is, if they haven't beaten us to the fields." Hopping the small fence, she disappeared into the wheat, the ruffling of the stalks the only indication she had been there, as she made her way to the burning farm.

Cyril nodded when she suggested to go through the field, he did indeed have to crouch slightly, which hurt his back, but it was better than getting shot from a distance. Cyril didn't mind crouching through the field, at least he had a nice view of Icarus' backside. He wasn't exactly quiet though, but he tried his hardest. He was worried about the fight up ahead though, he didn't have any armor, all he had was light clothes. Which were better for speed, but he wasn't very fast anyways. He continued to follow Icarus though, trying hard to pry his eyes from her behind, but they kept wandering back...

The bandits of the region had severely diminished over time. No longer the feared rogues of the area, they were merely petty thieves, pinching gold from traders and setting things on fire, causing only property damage and a nuisance at the most. Yet this seemed a higher scale of organization and maliciousness. Icarus peered through the stalks, resisting emerging just set. The barn was ablaze, warming her face against the cold air, the ashes clouding her vision. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the area for any sign of the bandits. One figure stood silouetted against the fire, arms crossed, as if he were the brains of the operation.

Gesturing to Cyril, she pointed to the bandit leader. "I'm betting he didn't do that with his mind," she whispered to Cyril as he caught up to her, pointing to the bandit, "So there has to be other bandits around." Sure enough, a couple more emerged from the barn, carrying crates of what looked like produce and gold. She turned to Cyril again, smiling coyly. "Well, you can take those guys out if you want, I believe in you. They look relatively harmless, just ugly." She outstretched her arm towards the bandits. "After you."

Cyril nodded to Icarus after her kind words and gesture. He slowly walks out of the field and towards the bandits, his cleaver in hand, his grip white knuckled against the cold metal. He wasn't exactly sure what to expect of the bandits, but he was sure of himself and his ability to take them on. He charged toward them, not letting out a sound other than the sound of his feet hitting the ground as he ran. He quickly slashed at the nearest bandit, collapsing him and the crate to the ground. The other bandits quickly unsheathing their weapons and starting towards Cyril. Cyril blocked the first attack from a bandit, but another got him from behind, slashing a cut in his back. Cyril shouted in pain and quickly spun around on his heel, cutting the bandit's chest open, causing him to fall down on his back, screaming as he held his chest. Cyril took another cut to his leg from behind, falling down to his knees. The bandits all laughing at him.

Cyril wasn't on his A-game today, that was clear. The remaining bandits surrounding Cyril and laughing at him, waiting for the chance to kill him, but they seemed to be waiting for their leader to give them orders as Cyril stand on his knees, watching the bandits, unable to swing his cleaver due to exhaustion, unable to run because of his cuts. Cyril tries to find Icarus between the bandit's legs, hoping she'll be there to save him...

Charging in stealthily wasn't Icarus' go-to method, but she nodded curlty, as Cyril managed to pull it off beautifully. Though, it wasn't easy watching him be overcome so soon. He was still exhausted from the fun times in Wraithmarsh, no doubt. She stepped out of the field, holding her hands about six inches apart. They began to glow blue, first at her fingertips, then spreading to her hands and up her arms. The power of the Will tousled her hair, combined with the wintery wind of Oakvale. A bandit spotted her, erupting with a rude, "Oy, lookit this bitch!" and pointing like a child at her as she remained still. A few began to charge at her, though she didn't move.

As they were only a few feet from her, the ball of flame that was slowly growing between her hands engulfed her fingers. With a forceful push, her arms forced the fire towards her assailants, engulfing three bandits simultaneously, their clothes easily feeding the fire. Their screams echoed in the night as they tore at the clothes that were literally burning into their flesh, their hair and grease catching aflame as well. Sidestepping them, Icarus removed the kitana, darting forwards and slicing through a bandit's Achilles' heel, watching him fall to the ground almost instantly. A slash through the throat silenced him quickly, the blood squirting and staining her pants. And then in the instant that she had appeared, she disappeared, melting into the smoke and shadow of the fire.

It was only when the bandit leader felt the crossbow against his back did he realize she was back. "You have lots of explaining to do," she muttered darkly so that only he could hear her. She kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the ground. "You alright, Cyril?" she called over to her companion, who in the momentary distraction had no doubt slightly recovered.

In the heat of the moment Cyril had in fact managed to get to his feet. Tired though he was as he nodded quietly to Icarus, wonderfully grateful for her rescue. He was tempted to limp over to the bandit leader and deliver him a swift punch in the side of the head, but he resisted the urge, it would only make his back worse. Instead he limped over to Icarus and the leader, standing over them quietly as he watched the scene. The chilly wind stinging his back and leg, but he dare not show his pain in front of Icarus. He's supposed to be a hero, not a man who's taken down by a couple bandits.

He watched quietly, waiting for Icarus' next move quietly. His faced noticeably cringing up once in a while, a form of wince to the stinging chilly winds on his wounds.

The bandit responded only with a hoarse chuckle, no doubt from smoking tobacco and the smoke of the barn behind them, still illuminated. "Hows it feel, lad, bein' rescued by a lady? Pretty lady-like yourself, eh?" he taunted Cyril as the Hero approached Icarus, the crossbow still pressed against his back. He gulped, though, when he felt the pressure lift temporarily and resume against the back of his skull.

"Never mind my friend here," Icarus spoke to the bandit, pressing the crossbow hard against his head. She knew very well that the force of the bow would very well penetrate the hard bone of the skull, and he would be a goner in an instant. "We just need to know why you're here."

"You can't ask me why, lady, 'cause I couldn't tell yeah. I don't know. You'd have to ask someone else." He coughed after his last sentence, hacking up phlegm and promptly spitting it into the grass, "You'd have to ask The Sparrow about that."

Though the crossbow never waivered something flickered in Icarus' eyes. Sparrow was a name she hadn't heard in years. The evil Hero who obliterated the entire company inside of a bar and disappeared without a trace. The one that her brother, so obsessed with finding her, had taken down the path of evil and was now locked up in the Bargate Prison, his own sanity in question. "Sparrow hasn't been seen in years. Where is she?" Icarus demanded, the bow forcing the bandit almost onto all fours. His hands, held up next to his head, started to shake from being held up so long.

"Lady, youse askin' the wrong bastard," he cursed at her, though he started to laugh, "She's everywhere. Always watchin'...waitin'...buildin' her army." Icarus turned her head to Cyril, concern lining her face. "Do you know of Sparrow?" she asked him, knowing that with the bow in her hand the bandit wasn't going anywhere, so she could spare a few seconds of distraction.

Cyril watched the bandit in disgust as he spoke, not bothering to respond to the comments he made. He wasn't worth his time. After the small interrogation Icarus looked up at him and asked him if he knew Sparrow, which of course he nodded slightly.

"I know her, just from stories and myths though. I don't know where she is or what she really has done."

He was slightly disappointed at his sudden lack of knowledge, he loved to know things, it made his wounds sting more fiercely, maybe it was just the wind picking up though, he wasn't sure. He continued to watch Icarus and the bandit quietly, more Icarus than the bandit. She was a much more pleasant sight, even in her current commanding and violent stature.

"Ok, here's what we're going to do." She forced the end of the crossbow harder against the bandit's head, this time forcing him onto all fours, "The Oakfield guards are on their way through the field now-there, I can see them-and they'll decide what to do from there. I won't strike you down here, because I'm almost certain you know more valuable information than you're giving off."

As if on cue, the guards appeared through the field, swords and revolvers ablaze ready to fight. A bit disappointed in the appearance of only three living bodies, only one whom they would legitimately fight, they went to the bandit and released him from Icarus' crossbow, promptly kicking him up to his feet and leading him from the area. The barn, in the mean time, had crumbled a bit, the wind having died and giving the flames nothing to feed off of. Only a few embers remained as Icarus turned to the sight.

"There's nothing we can do about that now," she sighed, sliding the crossbow into it's holster on her back again. She turned to Cyril, immediately retrieving her hands from her sleeves and stepping to his side, placing her hands on his wounds. "Now hold still, this won't hurt," she ordered, and her hands began to glow the faint blue again as her healing spell slowly began to patch up his gash.

"Sparrow was one of the most promising Heroes of the Guild," she began, her eyes not meeting Cyril's, but instead focusing her Will on the wound, "Somewhere along the line she turned sour, as some Heroes do. But she became the most notorious evil Hero in the land. There were only few cities that hadn't been touched by her wrath, Bowerstone being the last one. Until she annihilated an entire bar-full of patrons for the hell of it. Luckily, at the time, I was in the cellar, so I'm still here." Why she had the need to include the part of her own life story into her little lesson, she didn't know, but she kept going, "After that night Sparrow disappeared off the map for years, and no one has seen or heard of her. Until now, evidently."

She removed her hands, herself a bit exhausted from her extensive Will use. The wound was healed, albiet scarred, as she hadn't mastered it completely. "It's good enough," she admitted, patting the scar lightly, "With due time I can fix that too."

Cyril smiled as he listened to Icarus talk and heal him at the same time. She started talking about how she knew Sparrow he frowned slightly, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "I'm glad you were lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, otherwise I wouldn't be alive right about now." He considered that fact for a moment, shuddering slightly. "That and it would be a much more sad world if you weren't around to spread smiles and fun." When she patted his scar he looked at it and shook his head slightly, "I don't want my scars gone. They're part of who I am and if I take that away I kill part of myself." He pondered this thought for a moment, recovering his tall stature slowly as he did so. "I don't think anyone would like it if I killed part of myself..." He pursed his lips slightly, "Thanks for saving me, I don't care about what the bandit said about being rescued by a lady. The fact that I'm alive is all that matters."

She chuckled at his response, waving it away. "Oh please, if I weren't here I'm sure you wouldn't have rushed into this whole mess to begin with." She kept her eyes on his newly formed scar, listening intently to his words. In a way she agreed with him. Scars told the stories of adventures that words can't describe properly. He had another tale etched on his arm here now, something that some sweet lass later down the road would point at as she clung to his arm, asking him flirtatiously how he got this one.

"Well I'm glad your pride wasn't hurt," she responded, patting him on the back as they made their way from the farmhouse. She paused a moment, glancing back at the building they failed to save, though the bandits didn't get away with what they were trying to take. As a guard opened up a crate, it was filled with food and ammunition, evidently the owner of the barn was an owner of the ammunition stall.

"I wonder what Sparrow has planned..." she mused to herself as Cyril and she took the path from the barn around the field, back towards the Sandgoose.

Cyril walks down with her, pondering quietly about the value of scars. They start conversations and spike curiosity, but they are unsightly and destroy your natural beauty. Then again, scars are part of your natural beauty after they are obtained, aren't they...

When Icarus looked back at the barn he couldn't help but frown, she feels bad for not being able to save the property, but it was an inevitable loss. "Don't worry about the barn..." He said reassuringly, "It'll be rebuilt, and none of the stuff inside was stolen, though some might have burned." He pursed his lips, watching Icarus for a response, but his thoughts quickly trailed off to how the moon reflects off her face, it made him intrigued for some reason. The way light can change someone's perspective of something. If you show someone an apple they think it's an apple, shine light on it the right way and it's the most delicious looking apple in existence, shine light on it the wrong way and it's the most repulsive fruit ever created. You could assume it works the same for people. Shine light on them the right way and they're absolutely astonishing, shine light on them the wrong way and they're ugly and undesirable, but somehow the light always shone on Icarus the right way. Cyril made a slightly puzzled face at his thoughts, they had never really occurred to him and he began to find a special level of deepness to the entire thing. Perhaps his poetic side would come out eventually and he could write something about it...

The pair stood outside the Sandgoose. While the fire was burning it had almost warmed the area around them; now burnt out the lack of a fiery glow made the town seem colder. The bar had calmed down and went back to their gossiping and drinking, though the tone was much darker now, no doubt muttering about the attacks.

"I s'pose," she replied sadly, watching the now black barn, the frames creating a dark shape against the moonlight, "I just wish we could have done something sooner." She glanced up at the wall clock that sat outside the Sandgoose, ticking past 1 AM. "I think I'm going to go back in for a drink," she admitted, rubbing the temples just past her eyes with both hands, letting out a sigh. She couldn't shake the fact that even though they'd stopped the bandits, the barn was still lost. Win one, lose one. There was going to be someone who was disappointed in them. That's how good deeds worked, there was always someone bitching about it later on. "You're more than welcome to join me, unless of course you want to get some rest. You have had a pretty long day."

[Sorry it seems so short!]

Cyril watched Icarus, listening to her intently, "There was no way for us to get there sooner, don't worry about it." When she offered him to go back into the pub with her, he couldn't help but respond, "I'd love to come in with you." He was tired and rather weak from the wounds which were now healed, but he enjoyed Icarus' company and loved conversation with the cheery woman.

When they went inside and seated each other at a table, Cyril got drinks from the bartender, bringing them back to the table, setting one in front of himself and the other in front of Icarus. He paid for both, he sipped his pint slowly before saying, "You ever wonder what the world would be like if we were all blind? Other than dark of course." It was a weird question but he was full of weird views like that.