The Conciege
patreon
ROTLE- Chapter 57- Palm Open
🕑 Added 2024-10-03 08:07:19 +0000 UTCPower has always been the gift of the strong. With the weak, power was simply relative. Most people would have you believe that power in general was relative. But it was not. If you were an ant in a battle against termites you could argue relativity. But anyone who had seen two elephants get in a fight up close, or two gorillas batter at each other in pure unadulterated violence knew that power was not relative.
At least Aiden thought that.
So, it was always confusing to him when the weak tried to live in the relativity of their power. He understood the reason, very much so in fact. When you stood against those who put your power under the world of relative, it made you feel a certain level of power, it deluded you into thinking you were powerful and not just relatively powerful.
The weak did not attack the strong. That much was true, and there was a reason for this. But even the Order believed that the weak needed to work together to make each other stronger until they could attack the strong. Until power was no longer relative to them. Until they became one of the strong.
The weak were supposed to understand more than anyone why violence was not always the answer. And yet, amongst each other, the strong held—even if more volatile—greater peace between each other than the weak.
However, the weak were always more than eager to claw at each other’s throat.
So, yes, Aiden Lacheart understood why the weak fought so eagerly amongst each other at the slightest offense. But why the larger population of the weak refused to understand why it was not right continued to confuse him.
And, often times, it angered him.
So here Aiden was, seated in a bedroom he’d never been in, upon a bed he’d never been on.
He’d been pulled in here by Lord Naranoff himself after Belle of Sinora’s very unhelpful declaration of challenge. Amongst those within the room where Valdan, Belle, Lord Naranoff, Nella, and the Magus, Estabel.
The princess had tried to be a part of it, but Lord Naranoff had been happy to educate her in the most discreet of voices on how her station was above such a squabble and how his station only paid attention to it because it was his duty as host.
And downstairs a [Saint] waited for whatever decision would come out of this.
Whatever decision would be made, all Aiden knew was that he had now garnered the attention of a fucking [Saint].
Good fucking job.
With his head in his hands, he half listened to the conversation going on around him.
Lord Naranoff, it seemed, was also not in the best of moods.
…
This cannot be happening to me.
Lord Naranoff ran a hand through his hair. It had been kempt once. Cut to medium length, he’d kept it in a nice perm, with gels of different kinds that kept it intact with a side pathing. Like his daughter, he hated such extravagant primping but knew to conform to the occasions as they came.
Now, the hair was an unruly mess. Although Nella would call it a handsome bed head. She was always quick to compliment on such things.
Lord Naranoff currently stood in one of the guest rooms not far from the hall where the ball was being held. It was simply a floor above the ball, a simple room with a simple bed and a simple painting of some made up horizon where the sun set dramatically. Personally, he’d always felt the painting to be a little lackluster—poorly made.
A simple wooden chair he was surprised still hadn’t broken sat next to a boring table with a candelabra, and a soft brown carpet coated the ground.
But the aesthetics of a room designed for an unimportant guest was the least of Lord Naranoff’s worries right now.
He ran his hand over his hair. Again.
“This is madness,” he muttered before he could stop himself.
“My Lord, I assure you that it is—”
“Be silent, soldier!” he snapped, cutting the young squire off. “You are the very reason for this madness. You had your options. You had time. You had place. By Newtan’s beard! You could have done this while he slept! Taken his life quietly!” He pressed his lips into a thin line to prevent himself from saying more rubbish than he’d already accidentally said. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “But no. You spat directly in my face with this one.” He turned away from her, looked to the ceiling and laughed in self-mockery. “I thought this was already done with. I thought this madness was put to bed.”
Belle stood at attention. “It was not, my lord.”
“He bested over five of you who’d challenged him,” Lord Naranoff pointed out. “How in the name of all that is unreasonable did that not put this to bed.”
“Because he did not take my challenge.”
Lord Naranoff’s eyes narrowed. “And why, pray tell, did he not take your challenge, Belle of Sinora?”
If his emphasis on her name to show his disdain affected her, she did not show it. “Because he refused to fight with our skills.”
Lord Naranoff spun, maddened to extremes. “And yet he bested trained soldiers. Are you telling me that I am raising squires who cannot hold their own without using their skills? Is this how far my own army has fallen? I hold an army of people who fall over themselves without their skills at their aid? What next? Will I raise knights as stupid as the brainless?”
Belle had the decency to be chastised. She did not meet his eyes when she answered. “No, my lord.”
Lord Naranofff pointed at young lord Lacheart. The boy—because he was just a boy—sat silently on the only bed in the room with his head in his hands. He hadn’t said anything since they entered the room. He hadn’t said anything since Belle had dropped her challenge.
Quiet people in crisis were people to worry about, Lord Naranoff had learned over the years. A quiet boy in crisis is a boy to worry about. Always.
“Do you take pride in what you have done, soldier?” Lord Naranoff asked Belle. “Is this something worthy of pride? What, are you out to seek revenge for your colleagues he defeated? Colleagues who challenged him, might I add.”
“This is not about pride, my Lord.” Belle stood at attention, ever so defiant. “It is about honor.”
“Honor!” Lord Naranoff spat. Honor was always used by those who had never graced the battlefield and seen men die in the most dishonorable way in the name of the very word.
Honor was a terrible thing.
It did not mean that honor was not real, though. It just meant that he could not take the word seriously when it came from a child who had never been faced with the true choice of upholding honor or letting it down to what was necessary.
Very few people had ever upheld honor even when dishonor was an easier and safer action to take.
Belle had no idea what honor was.
Still, she stood at attention, met his gaze, and nodded. “Yes, my lord. Honor.”
It was the height of stupidity.
“And what is this honor?” he asked her. “For what reason has picking a fight with a boy become honorable.”
“Your son made a choice at the risk of his own title,” she began, only for him to cut her off by turning away.
Again, he ran his hand through his hair. He used both this time. It was all he could do not to pull at his own hair.
“My son,” he laughed darkly. “Even from a dungeon cell many miles away from me he still reaches forth with his hubris to ruin my peace of mind.”
“My Lord, Sir Derendoff is not a dishonorable man,” Belle protested, her stoic military demeanor slipping. “Sir Derendoff is a—”
Lord Naranoff rounded on her like a whirlwind. “There is no Sir Derendoff, you misguided fool! There is none alive under his command that does not know that he has been stripped of that title. And just so you know, young Lady, continued reference to that fool using his title is not loyalty to him but disloyalty to the crown. I will assume that you did not know better and pretend I didn’t hear you.”
Belle’s lips pressed into a firm line. She fought with her clearly blind loyalty to his son and her loyalty to the crown.
Lord Naranoff was disappointed to see that. He was raising soldiers that were loyal to the crown, not loyal to his stupid son.
Worse, Belle was actually a promising talent. She was over level thirty at just age twenty-six and her growth was continuing at a steady pace. She was probably the soldier with the highest potential amongst his son’s subordinates.
It was a sad thing to know that his son’s arrogance had corrupted her.
“Is this truly a fight you cannot let go off?” he asked her, his voice slightly imploring, more for the sake of his image than her. “Is your concept of honor that rigid?”
Belle straightened up. “Honor does not bend. If it bends, it is not honor.”
“How about we just have it happen in the arena?” Nella spoke up, interjecting. “We could keep it away from too many eyes; control those that witness it.”
Lord Naranoff dismissed the suggestion with a simple gesture. “She called on the gods in the presence of the priests. By law, my place is only established by the right of host. The regulations of the duel will be under the supervision of the church. And they will not bend to the rules.”
Nella went back to her thoughtful silence. Unlike his son, her thoughts were always turned towards solutions, not necessarily peaceful solutions but the best solutions for the situation.
If only Derendoff was this smart.
Still, Lord Lacheart had said nothing. The Magus from the Mage Radiant offered him curious looks as they spoke, as if she was waiting for him to say something.
As for Sir Valdan, he simply stood next to the boy, silent. He was like a man awaiting the decision of his friend. A man that would support that decision no matter what.
It was an odd thing to see a [Knight of the Crown] behave in such a way to a young Lord he had no obvious connections to.
“And you will not accept a fight without skills?” Nella asked.
Belle shook her head. “He would only use it to find a space to wiggle his way out. I have seen him train with Sir Valdan on multiple occasions. A fight with only armed and unarmed combat would merely leave us as equals. It would do no good.”
Lord Naranoff thought he heard the knight Valdan snort. But when he looked at the man, the man remained expressionless. His poise remained one of a waiting man.
“Since she is the challenger, can she choose to have the duel away from prying eyes?” Nella asked.
Lord Naranoff gave it a thought before answering. “If she pleads the case to the priests, I am sure it is possible.”
Belle bowed her head even before Lord Naranoff turned to her.
“If it is what I need to do,” she said, “I will bow and put my head to the ground to request discretion of viewers to the priests. Believe me, my Lord, it was not my intention to bring you shame in anyway.”
“You challenged my guest in view of my other guests,” he pointed out. “You also went as far as to call upon the gods in that challenge in the presence of the priests, inevitably insinuating that you do not trust my authority to be a fair and just judge. The shame is already done, child. And you’ve done it in the greatest way possible. A mere soldier challenges the guest of a Lord.” He shook his head in dismay. “The bards will have a field day with this one.”
Belle closed her eyes, pained. It was obvious that she hadn’t thought this far. She had allowed her devotion to his son blind her. And blindly, she had done far too much.
“You say that you are willing to apologize, Belle of Sinora,” the Magus, Estabel, said. “Is this true? To apologize and make certain requests?”
Belle’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Yes, Magus.”
“Put your eyes in order, Belle of Sinora,” Estabel said dismissively. “I don’t know what you are truly capable of, but understand that I am a Magus of the institution. I hold the title at a younger age than most would imagine. But while I may look it, I am not that young.”
Belle was smart enough to obey.
“As I was saying,” Estabel continued. “I seem to have taken a rather unhealthy interest in the young lord. Not necessarily in him, but in what he has experienced. That said, it would not be to my pleasure if he were to suddenly up and die. So how about we all save face. All of us except you, of course. You will adjust your challenge and correct it to first blood or first strike or whoever surrenders. Whatever other options you people may have, I don’t really care. Just anything that will keep the child alive enough to grant me answers when this entire thing is over.”
“I apologize, Magus,” Belle said, “but that cannot happen.”
Estabel smiled sadly then shook her head. “Such ardent determination to kill a child.”
“Then this fight must be to the death. Is that it?” Lord Naranoff asked. “To the death?”
Belle nodded once. “Yes, my Lord.”
A solemn silence settled over the room at her words. Lord Naranoff had nothing to say, and it seemed like no one else did. It had been decided. There would be bloodshed tonight. Unless the young lord was willing to shame himself and turn down her challenge.
A single statement cut through the silence like a sharp knife.
“Aight, bet.”
Everyone turned at the sound of the voice and found Lord Lacheart finally looking up. His eyes were focused on Belle. Lord Naranoff had no idea what the words meant. But they were said in such a tone of finality that he didn’t need to know what they meant to comprehend what they implied.
No one had asked for his opinion throughout the conversation because he had looked like he was unwilling to talk. Some people were like that, coming to decisions by themselves.
And Lord Aiden Lacheart had come to his decision.
“I spared a man who had challenged me to death once,” he said, voice cold as steel. “It was my mistake. I tried to teach where there was no need for a teacher.” He rose from the bed, the action slow and gentle, yet oddly worrying. “Once more, someone has looked me in the eye and told me to the death.”
“Young Lord Lacheart…” Lord Naranoff started but could not bring himself to continue.
Valdan leaned closer to the boy, voice low. “Aiden,” he began, but Lord Lacheart cut him off.
“No, Valdan.” Rage stained his voice now, a silent rage that did not lend its power to sound, but it was sharp, nonetheless. “I have done everything in my power to be what I had to be. I have stayed away from greater sins than most people will ever know. I have lived my life in a lesser way than I would’ve liked.”
Belle stood straighter. “I will face you with honor. Of that I can promise you, young lord.”
Lord Naranoff dropped his face in his hand. Could the woman be any stupider?
“Honor?” the young lord spat in so much derision it stained even the air. “What do you know of honor? You are but a child grasping at words to justify delusions too great for even your own mind to comprehend. Honor, you say. What honor compels a person of your age to challenge a person of mine to the death.”
“It is necessary,” Belle bit the words out.
“Necessary.” The young lord hadn’t moved from where he was standing. “That is the word you should use. Necessary.” He pronounced every syllable. “Necessary is the same word that leads raiders to pillage and steal and kill and rape. Necessary is the word the weak use to justify taking the life of a harmless child. But you call it honor because you do not have a brain that works for itself.”
“Oof,” Magus Estabel muttered to the side.
The young lord cared nothing for it, continuing forward. His eyes were wide now, livid with rage and decision.
“Hold your honor to the chest, child,” he said, voice calming. “Because that is all you have; an empty word. It has compelled you, and compelled you are. It has brough you here, before me. To me. It has dictated your path.”
He ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably. He turned away, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if confused at the inability to comprehend a stupid decision someone who should know better had made.
“I don’t get it,” he said, finally turning back to her. “You are weak. What do you not understand about that? How do the weak not understand that they should always be the underdog? How do they not understand that they should not seek out fights except fights that are designed to help them grow? How do you not understand that this is not hubris or pride or arrogance but sheer fucking STUPIDITY!”
Belle opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off with a raised hand.
“It matters not. This,” he pointed between the both of them. “This will happen, child. I have chosen to deem it so. You will go downstairs. You will take your axe from my hands. Then you will stand in front of me with the weapon in your hand. And that, right here and now,” he pointed at the ground vehemently. “Is all the honor you will get. Once that is done, you will have no more honor. When they tell stories of what happens next, your honor will end with you standing with an axe in your hand to face a child. Then it will be a tale of disgrace and humiliation, a story without honor so that others will listen to it and know what honor does not look like. You will fight and claw and grab and grovel for every inch of time you will have before the end.”
He took three simple steps and was in front of her, the length of an arm was all that stood between them, and Lord Naranoff inched closer to them just in case. He would’ve liked to say that he saw murder in the boy’s eyes, but he could not.
All he saw was death.
“I will not see you in an arena,” the boy continued. “I will not see you in the presence of a chosen few. I will see you on the same grounds I stood upon when you challenged me. In the presence of the same people who heard you challenge me. You will fight me with your skills, for all the good they will do you. However, by right of a duel as official as this, I will not tell you my level. You fight me, guessing it until the very end of the duel. Know this and know peace.”
Valdan took a step forward but stopped.
“Somebody is going to die tonight, Belle of Sinora,” Aiden Lacheart said with a finality. “Pray to the gods that it is not you. Because I know that I do not need them for it to not be me. So, pray, child. Pray that in the stories they tell of today, the one who dies tonight does not die like a dog.”
His words ended simply, and a sad expression crossed his face. He looked as if he’d just realized that he’d talked far too much. But he was unapologetic.
With that, he turned and, with no words to anybody, left the room. The door closed quietly behind him.
The room was quiet again.
“I didn’t know Lord Lacheart could use so many words,” Nellas said into the silence.
Estabel folded her arms. “And I didn’t know a young child could make anger look so good.” She turned to Belle. “Are you sure your conscience will allow you do this? Also, aren't you older than the child? Why did he keep calling you a child.”
That last piece of information seemed to really bother the Magus.
Belle’s expression was stone.
Lord Naranoff was uninterested in any of that. The boy had been rash and had made a rash decision. Anger helped no one in a duel. If the child was to give himself a chance at success, he needed to control that anger.
“Sir Valdan,” he said.
Valdan paused on his way to the door. “Lord Naranoff.”
“As per the rules of a duel, the challenged has no reason to disclose their level as long as they are within the fifty-level mark of the challenger,” he said. “As you seem to be the closest person to the young lord, and a man of reputable honor, can you vouch that the boy is below level fifty?”
Valdan sighed like a man tired of a farce but nodded. “He is not yet level fifty.”
“Then I believe this duel will hold.” He shot Belle a scathing look. “I hope that honor lets you sleep at night after this is done.”
Belle looked slightly saddened and bothered. “The consequences are ones I’ve always been ready to bear.”
“Sir Valdan.” Lord Naranoff turned to the knight and approached him. “A moment of your time.”
Valdan did not look happy to give it.
When Lord Naranoff got to him, he guided him to the door and opened it.
“Can you speak to the boy,” he said in a whisper. “Anger, as you know, is not a proper tool to face a duel. Though his anger is understandable, he will need control if he is to stand a chance. I understand that he bested a handful of my trainees, but Belle is not like them. She stands at least ten levels above the second strongest. And with her skills, she is more than just formidable. I have seen what she can do.”
“I understand. Even I have never seen him this thrown into rage. I will speak with him,” Valdan replied in an equal tone of voice. “However, there seems to be a misunderstanding.”
Lord Naranoff’s brows furrowed. “And what is that?”
The knight gave Belle a sad look. “You are worrying about the wrong person.”
Then he too was gone.
…
Valdan caught Aiden halfway down the flight of stairs. He did not call out to him and try to catch his attention from the distance. Instead, he caught up to him and grabbed him by the hand.
He spun Aiden to him and said, “Do not kill her.”
The flame of anger was still in Aiden’s eyes. It was a cold simmering thing, waiting to flare up and consume everything.
“Why?” Aiden asked. “Why should I spare her when she does not need to be spared?”
Valdan searched the boy’s eyes. He saw no falsehood to Aiden’s fury. He saw control, though, the rage ready to be wielded like a weapon. But it made little sense to him. Aiden had always been mature about certain things.
When the soldiers had challenged him, he’d been happy to duel them. He hadn’t been angry then. So, what was different now.
“Why are you angry, Lord Lacheart?” Valdan found himself asking. “This is unlike you.”
“Unlike me?” Aiden snorted.
“Yes,” Valdan insisted. “You said mor words in that room than I have ever heard you say in a single conversation. I half expected you to start the duel there and then. Why does this have you so bothered?”
Aiden’s anger flickered, dimmed slightly. His jaw clenched, tightened.
It was clear that something had been different here.
“Was it the honor?” Valdan asked, remembering the boy’s words about pillaging and stealing and raping. “Were you wrong where you come from in the name of honor?”
“Valdan.” Aiden’s voice was cold. “Honor is not a word used carelessly. In the years of my life and the things I have seen, the honorable are the ones that use the word the least.” He took a step closer to Valdan, eyes searching the knight’s. “A sense of honor that would lead a woman to kill a child in its name is not even up for debate. There is scarcely anything that would justify what Belle of Sinora has chosen to do today.”
“You forgave the other men, though,” Valdan pointed out.
“Because even if they did not know it, they’d made a mistake.”
“Then forgive Belle’s mistake.” Valdan’s hold on his arm tightened. “Mistakes can be forgiven. She does not know better.”
“She had a chance at that duel. She saw what happened and chose to go forward.” Aiden shook his head. “She cannot be forgiven. If I leave her, she will only come again, and again, and again. Until one day her honor tells her that it is honorable to take my life in my sleep. This ends tonight, Valdan.”
“Leave her with her life, Aiden,” Valdan implored. “Do what is right. You know what I ask is right.”
Aiden’s eyes hardened suddenly. “There seems to be a misunderstanding here, Valdan. I am not a good man.”
“Then are you bad?” Valdan challenged.
“No. I am neither good nor bad. And that is where the problem lies. People spend their lives never understanding a simple truth. I am neutral. In stories told back home, there are those that are called morally grey. Do you know what that means?”
“That they would do anything they want without the guide of morality?”
“Perhaps. But it really just means that they will do what is necessary.” Aiden shook his head and removed his arm from Valdan’s grip. “I am necessary, Valdan. And what is necessary is for everyone to see what happens when you challenge me to the death. If someone does not die, no one will ever learn. I showed a man mercy once.” He pointed an angry finger in the direction of the room they’d just left. “That child saw it and saw weakness. She will not get to experience it again. Some mistakes change lives. Some end them. A life must end tonight.”
Valdan’s expression saddened. His next words were said in a whisper. “And you don’t need the gods to know that it is not yours.”
Aiden mirrored Valdan’s expression. “I will see you downstairs, Valdan.”
As he continued down the stairs, Valdan watched him go. He was a young boy with too much life in his eyes. Personally, Valdan wasn’t one to pry into people’s lives simply because he didn’t like others prying into his. But whatever Aiden’s world had done to him, it had left him broken on some level.
The boy was going down a dark path. If the world left him alone, he would most definitely be fine, but that was not how the world worked. It came after you with everything it had. Valdan had seen it turn good men into monsters.
If he was to save Aiden from himself, he would need to know what demons Aiden was fighting. He would need to talk to Lord Lacheart the older once they returned to the palace.
For now, he only had to worry about the aftermath of the duel. For all of Lord Naranoff’s words, Belle might have stood a fighting chance if this duel had happened a few days ago. But not tonight. Because not only was Aiden stronger, but his enchantment skills were also vastly so.
Not too long after his recovery, Aiden had used one of his skills in front of Valdan. What Valdan had seen told him that the young lord had likely gained a skill that allowed him to enchant himself without the handsigns.
When Aiden had moved, all Valdan had seen was the boy clap. It was either a new skill or the boy had grown so strong that his hands now moved too fast for Valdan to see the hand signs.
Accept her demise and move on, Valdan tried to convince himself. This sin is not one you can save him from.
He knew it as sure as he knew he loved Melvet. But even if he tried to save the boy, what would he do if Aiden went astray.
You will have to follow him.
Valdan shook his head in refusal but not disagreement, and he spoke words he was beginning to find himself saying these days.
“I will not leave my king.”
The words were losing the weight they once had. Valdan’s loyalty was shaking.
“I will not leave my king,” he repeated, walking down the stairs.
His voice had far too little conviction in it.
…
Belle stood at the center of a very large crowd.
Lord Lacheart had handed her axe over to her in the most respectful manner she’d ever been privy to witnessing. Then he’d walked away from her.
Now, he stood opposite her.
They stood in a dome of shimmering golden light. After a conversation with the lord, one of the men with the announced high priest had opted to officiate the match. All there was to officiating such a duel was to give the starting command. That was all.
The man must be powerful because he had cast the dome that currently contained all three of them and stood unbothered within it.
“This duel,” the man said with the detached emotion of the powerful. “Will be to the death.”
He looked between both of them.
Lord Lacheart was unfazed. He stood where he was, armed only with a sword at his hip. A sword that he did not draw. With one hand behind his back, he held his other hand at his side, palm open.
It was an odd stance.
Pray that in the stories they tell of today, the one who dies tonight does not die like a dog. Lord Lacheart’s words came to her.
He had gone the extra mile to say he hadn’t needed the gods. Whatever Derendoff had seen in the boy to want him dead might just be that. What was the possibility that the boy was a heretic?
Heretics do not discriminate against age.
He’d also refused to share his level. Chances were he already had the title as well. The thought made Belle feel better about what she about to do.
It is necessary, she told herself. It is honorable.
The man that stood between them, ensuring they kept a distance of at least fifteen paces between them raised his hand.
“To the gods, a life is offered,” he said. Then he dropped his hand. “Fight!”
Belle swung her axe in a one-handed grip the moment the words left the man’s mouth. Her interface flashed in front of her and she ignored it, already moving forward.
[You have used class skill Lumberjack]
The axe swing cleaved the air, cutting through the space between them like a physical thing. Belle had a feeling it would not suffice to kill the boy, so she was already on the move.
What she was about to do was necessary, but it didn’t mean that she had to like it.
So, she would be fast, quick. She would end this painlessly.
The cut met Lord Lacheart and the boy merely stepped to the side, unfazed. His stance remained, one arm behind him with the other obvious at his side.
The cut shattered against the dome of gold, the crowd make amused noises. Belle ignored it as she came to a stop right in front of the young lord. She was half a step behind the slash.
With as much power as she could muster, she swung. She would cleave the boy in two and be done with it. It was all the honor she could give him despite the hubris he’d spouted.
Suddenly the world shook terribly. Belle’s vision blurred as pain erupted in her head. A loud sound boomed through the entire hall, bringing silence in its wake. Pain flared in her face and Belle staggered back, confused.
Did he… she tried to focus but her vision cleared too slowly. Did he just slap me?
Her grip on her axe slackened, her swing never having been completed.
Then you will stand in front of me with the weapon in your hand… the words echoed in her mind from a place she did not know. And that, right here and now, is all the honor you will get.
Anger flared from deep within Belle. With it came her pride as a subordinate of Sir Derendoff. She would not allow this.
Tightening her grip around her axe, she tried to swing only for her interface to grant her an update of what had happened.
[You have been struck a powerful blow!]
[You are stunned.]
She staggered again, her body hunching over.
Lord Aiden Lacheart just stood there, towering over her, an arm behind his back and the other held out at the side…
...Palm open.
Comments
IdolTrust
She got Rick James bish slapped
Mr. Iron
Aiden is taking her to slap-a-hoe school. Sounds about right. Tftc!
