Van and Isolde plan some alone time together, and just end up alone.
Location: Hanger Deck, Deck 6 and Engineering Storage, Deck 5, Battlestar //Galactica//
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 904
It is late according to BSG's clock, somewhere between shifts so that it is quiet on deck. She's inside one of the Raptor's, the hatch gaping open to reveal the woman in her bright orange deck coveralls, seated at the ECO console, running diagnostics. She has her elbow perched on the side of the cockpit while code rolls past, her eyes following each line hypnotically. She is humming some sort of Tauron rock tune, puffing her cheeks to create a semblance of drums. She even occasionally taps the side of the console where the snare drum would roll.
The alert pilots don't technically have to be on the flight deck, they have a perfectly nice lounge to wait in, after all. But it has already been established that Van tends to go above and beyond. And so he is haunting the flight deck, keeping carefully out of the way of the deck crew going about their work. The sound of drumming fingers draws him to the side of the Raptor, and he peeks in, watching her work through the code -- and her drum solo -- for a long minute before he notes, "No, sorry, you'll never make it as an ECO wearing deck oranges."
The invasion causes her to jump slightly in her seat, and she turns around in the chair to look at the pilot. Her mouth twitches slightly, smiling at him in a casual way that just gently touches her dark eyes. "You mean I have to start wearing your drab colors to fit in?" She shakes her head, leaning back in the chair slightly as she looks back at the code. "Just doing some quick diagnostics... I think that we sometimes get paranoid... a small hiccup in the code, and people think the Cylons are hacking in."
"Yes." If Van has any compunction about calling the flight suit or duty greens drab, he's not letting it bother him now. "Camouflage and all that." He ascends the Raptor's ramp, advancing to the cockpit so that he can lean over her shoulder and study the code himself, "You mean like the DRADIS on my Viper going out just as Mince spotted Cylons on his screen?" One hand drops down to her shoulder, and he shakes his head, "Most of us know that sometimes it's just a glitch. But pilots tend to not like any situation they don't have control of." He thinks for a heartbeat, and then qualifies, "Except for the ones who don't ever like to be in control."
"And you always like being in control," Isolde murmurs, looking up at the hand to her shoulder to meet his eyes with a small smile once more. She shakes her head a bit, looking back at the console. It comes to the end of its dianogstics, offering a soft beep. She sighs a bit. "Well, there's something up here... but I don't think it was the Cylons frakking round with our ships." She starts to scroll back up slowly. "I think it might just need a good scrub and a reboot, and it might be okay." She doesn't sound sure. Her gaze flicks back up his way, asking casually, "You on alert?"
Van pauses a moment at her murmur, his cheeks heating, but he nods, clearing his throat, "I do." And the question draws another nod, much less embarrassed, "I am. Fish is supposed to relieve me in six minutes." As she starts to scroll up through the code, he narrows his eyes, studying the text as it sweeps by, "Did someone hack in something that should have been simple and forget a parenthesis?"
"Gods, would they do that? If I found out someone did that, I might lose my shit." Isolde starts to laugh as she goes back down through the code, now squinting at each line to check to make sure the code strings are properly closed. She waits several moments before offering, "I'll be off my shift in thirty." She looks up at him, brows arched silently.
"Hey, we mere mortals sometimes forget to close code-strings properly when we're typing fast." Van hurriedly adds, "But it wasn't me this time. I don't touch the Raptors, or anyone else's Viper, and I always run code-tweaks past the deck crew." He watches the code in silence for a long moment, then nods at her offer, "Oh good, then I'll have time to shower so I don't smell like flight suit." His fingers squeeze her shoulders lightly, "Did you have something in mind, or were you thinking just spending some time on the Obs Deck?" He nearly -- oh-so-nearly -- mentions the tool room, but holds back.
Isolde laughs at his quick plea of innocence, and she shakes her head. "I'll find it if it's a code issue, but my guess is, it just had a gremlin in it." Then she glances up at him, turning slightly in the chair to face him more fully as he offers some ideas. Her mouth quirks a bit. "I had something in mind, but depends on how much downtime you have, and if this is your sleep shift." She glances up his way.
"Well, I'll have to sleep at some point during it." Van shrugs slightly, "But I have two watches off." As she turns the seat toward him, Van shifts out of his lean forward, slipping between the chairs to settle down in the pilot's seat alongside her instead. "So you'll have... about an hour, hour-and-a-half of 'awake Van' between the time you get off work and when I turn into a pumpkin."
"Turn into a pumpkin?" Isolde starts to laugh. "Is that some kind of Picon thing? You stay up too late and you turn into a pumpkin?" Her head tilts slightly, brows arched with curiosity. She turns her seat to face his, knees gently touching his own. Her smile is light -- a carefree thing. "I tell you what... if you get a couple meals from the mess to go, I can put together something for us to do for an hour-and-a-half."
Van's eyebrows lift sharply, "You never heard Ashlee and the Stepmother? I thought that fairy tale was everywhere." He twists his own seat slightly to return the knee-nudge, "Ashlee's father remarries to a horrible woman, and then dies, and the stepmother makes Ashlee into the maid for her and her daughters, including sweeping up the ashes," hence the name. "But there's a good fairy who gives Ashlee a gown to go to the ball to meet the prince, and a carriage that was made out of a pumpkin, and if she stays after midnight, the carriage turns into a pumpkin." He pauses, considering just how incoherent that sounds, "There's a glass slipper too, and mice." Her offer spreads a faint smile across his lips, "If you want me for the full hour-and-a-half, you're going to have to keep me entertained. I really do tend to turn into a pumpkin shortly after my watch."
Isolde listens, brows arched, to the quick retelling of the fairy tale. She starts to laugh after a moment, shaking her head. "No, that's not a Tauron fairy tale, at least. But, it's good to know that you turn into a Cucurbita after a certain amount of downtime." The Tauron offers a toothy smile. Then she rocks forward, hands bracing on his thighs to deliver a quick, but soft kiss to his cheek. "Okay, Ashlee... you get the meals, and meet me on Deck 5."
"Cucumber?" Van sounds confused, "Oh this is one of those..." he goes quiet as she leans in, one hand brushing up her forearm. He starts to lean forward to chase after the techie, but thinks better of it while they're on-duty and sitting in a Raptor that anyone can look into. "...Tauron words that you use to talk about other people behind their backs. And yes ma'am, do you have any requests for meals? Sadly, I don't think I'll be able to get surf-and-turf. I think it's... burgers? Or is this one of their specials...?"
"No," Isolde laughs. "It's the genus for all vegetables that are considered gourds and squash..." Because, hello, agricultural colony. Then she shakes her head, smiling at him. "Anything is fine... and... maybe get a dessert?" Says the woman who only partakes in sugar now and then. Then she starts to stand up, turning her chair as she does. She offers him a small, almost shy smile. "Deck 5... don't be late."
Van blinks, "Oh." There's a beat pause, and then he drawls, "Neeeerd." His eyebrows go up slightly at the mention of dessert, but he nods his head, "I see your plan. You're going to get me buzzed on sugar so that I stay awake." As the techie gets out of her chair, Van puts an entirely unnecessary hand at the small of her back, then rises up after her, "Well, if you don't want me to be late, you'll have to let me know where on Deck Five you want me, Izzy."
Isolde smiles over her shoulder at him, taking a step forward to give them a little space. "Frame 234," she offers more precisely. "I'll meet you there." Then she grabs up her tech bag. "I need to go check Meatball's helmet... she was complaining about an odd feedback when she was out on a run. It's probably a hardware issue, but..." She offers a small shrug. "I'll meet you in about thirty?"
Van's hand lingers at the small of Isolde's back even as she steps forward, "Frame 234." The mention of the fritzing comm causes the pilot to grimace slightly, "Hurray for new ships and gear?" His other hand waves back and forth like he was waving the most sarcastic little pennant ever. "234 in thirty minutes, aye-aye." Glancing behind him, he leans forward to press a light kiss to her cheek in turn, then moves to shepherd her out of the Raptor and follow after.
"Hurray," Isolde says flatly, though she smiles. Then she allows herself to be shepherded out. When she hits the deck, she offers him a polite, more professional nod, and starts to drift off to finish up the last of her shift. She starts to smile after a few moments, glancing over her shoulder to see if Van has departed yet.
Van returns the nod, although that sober gesture brings the faintest of blushes to his cheeks. He glances over toward the Viper area as she starts to wander off, then back to Isolde. By the time she glances back at him, however, he's headed back toward the alert lounge.
FORTY MINUTES LATER
Isolde is late, by about ten minutes. She doesn't come rushing down the corridor from the nearest stairs, but emerges around a corner within two-thirty-four, looking a bit frazzled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she is saying as she nears, dressed in her off-duties with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail.
Van has a series of to-go containers stacked at his feet where he stands between a pair of ribs in the hallway. The pilot has a book in his hand, cracked open, but he seems anxious, even nervous in his greens. When Isolde appears, apologizing, Van breathes out a sigh of relief, "Thank the gods. I was starting to wonder if this was all a way for techies to laugh at the poor fish-out-of-water." There's a joke there, but it's washed away somewhat by nerves. Glancing back down the corridor, he adds, "I'm not sure what I was going to say if someone asked if they could help me." There in the corridor, he's not quite sure how to greet Isolde, and so he awkwardly settles on... just smiling faintly, tucking a bookmark into place, and closing the book.
"Getting everything set up took me longer than expected," Isolde says, a little out of breath. She smiles up at him, expression sheepish and body language awkward. She steps forward, offering his wrist a small squeeze. "Well, cm'on... you got me here now, so that'll help." She nods for him to follow her, hands sliding into the pockets of her pants as she starts to retrace her steps deeper into the frame.
Suspicion grows on Van's face at her words, "Getting everything set?" It's not bad suspicion, just... wary. Even if it comes with a faint smile. The squeeze at his wrist helps. The book is set atop the food containers, and he gathers them up, moving to follow Isolde deeper into the engineering portions of the ship. "Well of course, because you're right at home... pretty much everywhere that has a computer. Or wiring. Which is most of the ship, isn't it?"
"Yes," Isolde laughs over her shoulder to his second question. "I rather like this girl." She then starts to take him into what appears to be the storage cubicals of engineering. It is neatly organized like any technical storage with the most frequently required parts in the first storage rooms and the least required parts in the back. She takes him about half-way through the corridors, pausing at a storage room that has its roll-up door propped open with what looks like... a shoe? Isolde leans down, curling her fingers under the door, and removing the shoe with the other. She pulls up the door, and ushers him in.
Inside, there are several shelves in boxed parts -- some about the size of a Viper engine. They are all marked with alphanumeric designations. At the back of the room appears to be a more open area with several large crates on either side of... a very cozy little nook. Isolde has used emergency lanterns to create a warm lighting. There's a roll-out mat, a blanket over the top, and an overturned box for a table. All very comfortable and makeshift.
Van follows along without comment, although the further they wind into the depths of the engineering storage, the further his brows rise. The glow of the lanterns causes Van's smile to spread past 'faint,' and he steps forward to set the boxes (and his book) down onto the overturned box. Nerd that he is, he glances up and about the room, looking at the crates for... all of five seconds. And then his attention settles back on Isolde, "Very cozy." The words are spoken quietly as he steps close, his hands stretching out toward her hips to draw her close for a slow kiss.
Isolde waits anxiously for his assessment, and then she blushes when he offers those simple words. She fusses with the seams of her pants, tugging at them while he sets down the book and boxes, and starts to assess the room for... all of five seconds. When his hands come to her hips, hers immediately come to his shoulders. The forward draw requires little coaxing as she settles against him, lips tilted up to accept the kiss with a soft murmur of satisfaction against his lips.
Van sinks into the kiss as readily as she rises up to it, one hand slipping up her side to the back of her neck, for all that it pretzels up their arms a little. After a long, luxurious minute or two, he lifts his head, loosing the pressure at the back of her neck, and smiles, "Hello." The greeting is a soft murmur, his fingers stroking the back of her neck.
"Hello," Isolde breathes against his lips. She smiles warmly up at him, head tilted slightly. "So... I thought... we could eat... and then maybe talk..." She bites softly at her lower lip, looking a touch shy. Her fingers trail down his sides as he coaxes her nerves at the back of her neck. "No one will come looking for us here... unlike the tool room." She lifts her eyes up to meet his.
"Oh right, food." The shy look causes Van to lean forward again, although this time he just presses the kiss to the tip of her nose. "That sounds great, Izzy. People might start to wonder where we are if we spend too much time here, but a little bit of time away from... well... everyone... sounds nice." Evidently, she isn't 'everyone' to him. Shivering a little at the trail of her fingers over his jumpsuit, the pilot lets his hands slide down her arms to squeeze her hands, loosing one so that he can turn aside and move to sit down alongside the box.
Isolde closes her eyes slightly at the kiss to her nose, and then she nods with a wider smile. "Very nice..." Then she looks a bit shy as he starts to guide her to the boxes. She settles down with him, folding her legs under her lotus-style. She reaches for one of the food boxes. She is just about to open it when she gasps, "Oh! Almost forgot." She rolls slightly, reaching across him for a small bag tucked against the table-box. She pulls out a slender bottle of what looks like wine -- but it is clear and almost colorless, like perfect ice.
Van reaches out to shift his book off the boxes as they settle down, the pilot sitting cross-legged directly in front of Isolde, their knees just barely touching. It's a little too close for comfortable eating, truth be told, but he doesn't show any inclination to back up just yet. When Isolde reaches for the bottle, he twists out of the way, his hand bracing at her back. When she straightens up again, he slips down along her arm. The bottle gets an interested look, "Is that ice-wine? Or something more potent?"
"More potent," Isolde says with a bright laugh. "Tauron drink from the mountain regions. They call it snow wine because it is cold-fermented in the snowy regions." She then pops it open, and offers him the bottle. "I forgot cups." She then settles back with her food box, starting to open it. "Good offerings at the mess?"
Van nods slowly, reaching out to take the bottle with a slightly wary look, "Well, I forgot to get drinks at all, so you're ahead of me." Taking a cautious sip, the pilot's eyes widening slightly as he swallows, coughs, and hands the bottle back, "Smoooth." Looking over the boxes, he nods slowly, "Burgers, but the sides looked pretty good. And there was pie. Apple, I think." He pauses a moment, and then asks, "Miss Asa, are you trying to get me drunk?"
Isolde takes the bottle back, and sips from the snowy elixir herself. She smiles at the familiar taste -- a slight sweetness just on the edges of the smooth burn. She shakes her head at him. "Picons... have no appreciation for booze." Then she listens to the menu options, and she laughs. "Okay... dry burgers and good-looking sides." She then looks up at him, nose wrinkling pleasantly. "And apple pie." His question draws a light giggle from her, and she quirks a brow. "Do I need to get you drunk?"
Van leans forward to steal a quick, twisting kiss in response to her giggling question, "Depends on what you want out of me. Some things will definitely take a lot of alcohol." Laughter touches his words, even if it's quiet, but he reaches to open a few more of the little white boxes, one of which has burger fixings in it, one of which has a pair of plain burgers, one of which has a collection of pasta salads, beans, steamed veggies with a dipping sauce -- all in separate sections of the box --, and one of which is set aside, presumably with the pie in it. He also managed to abscond with a couple of sets of utensils, although given who he is, he probably means to return them afterwards. "And you're right, I've never been much of a hard alcohol guy. I always preferred beer."
The interrupting kiss draws a soft murmur from Isolde, and then she sinks back into her seat with a happy touch to her expression. "What are those things?" She asks, tone nonchalant. The mention of preferring beer as her nose wrinkling though. "Yuck," she replies to his comments about beer. "I never could enjoy a beer. Not really." She starts to pick around the foods with her fork, carefully separating bits from each other in an unconscious manner. She doesn't require too much separating as Van has done most of it for her. She glances up toward him
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Van shakes his head at Isolde's claim about beer, "I seem to recall a certain someone stealing my beer, even if it was virtual beer. Of course, that was Picon brewed, and we all know that everything made on Picon is superior." The words come out accompanied by a light chuckle, the pilot leaning forward alongside her to start assembling himself a burger while she's disassembling the sides. "You liked that well enough to climb into my lap and give me a big old kiss to claim it. Unless you're trying to tell me that you put up with the beer to get a kiss, in which case... deep move, Izzy, deep move."
Isolde smiles up at him as she continues to break the sides down into their macro-ingredients. She shakes her head slightly at his memory of the event. "I would put up with a beer to get a kiss from you," she says agreeably. She then starts to put together her own burger now that the sides have been adequately disassembled. She doesn't speak again until she is sliding a bit of tomato and curl of onion onto her own burger patty. "I really just liked climbing into your lap to claim a kiss." She looks up at him, cheeks flushing a bit.
Van smiles a little crookedly at the first comment, finishing off his burger prep and drawing it into the open top of one of the containers. And then her blushing words draw a soft laugh from him, "Is this going to be like that Caprican commercial? What would you do for a Big Bear Bar?" Wiping his hands on one of the copious paper towels he brought, Van leans forward to brush his fingers across her cheek and claim another kiss, slower than the last, with just a faint curl of his fingers against her cheek. "I liked you climbing into my lap too. Even if it was Virtual."
Isolde laughs at the mention of the Caprican commerical, and she shakes her head. "Gods, I hope not." She is about to finish her own burger assembly when she is interrupted by the touch to her cheek and the soft kiss to her lips. Her eyes flutter shut, and she focuses on the exchange between them, breathing out a little sigh in the wake of the kiss. She looks up to his gray eyes, smiling faintly. "Isn't virtual now... Though we really should, for once, get through a meal..." Or should they?
"What would you do-oo-oo, for a Van-kiss?" The pilot's imitation of the jingle is... not particularly good, but at least he's smiling broadly. He glances aside to the meal spread out on the crate, clearly torn, "Can you absolutely guarantee that we'll have time to eat if we don't eat right now? Because you and I both need the food. Whether it happens right now or later."
Isolde starts to laugh at his observation of their time and the food spread out around them. She then looks up at him, her brown eyes softer in the warm lantern light. "We could work up an appetite." Not that either of them need it with their current schedule and almost no time for good meals with the ship being at Condition Two.
Van turns his body away from the makeshift food prep station at her suggestion, his smile broadening still further as he teases her, "Yes? And you have some plans on how to work that appetite up?" Even as he's asking the question, Van shifts slightly in his seat, spreading his weight a little, clearly expecting her to be clambering into his lap in a moment.
The techie smiles shyly at the pilot when he asks after her thoughts. She tilts her head slightly, eyes thoughtful as she considers this all thoughtfully. Then she starts to set aside her meal items, turning toward him as she pulls herself up onto her knees. She doesn't so much as clamber as sweep, pulling her leg across his lap to settle into it with ease. "I did say that this is place no one is going to disturb us..."
Van reaches out to help draw her into his lap, his fingers gathering in bunches of her duty-green pants. When she is settled in, he smiles a very self-satisfied smile, his hands running over her hips and back around her waist to the small of her back. "What if someone needs... whatever those are on the racks?" His voice has a little teasing lilt to it, coming against the skin of her neck as he leans in close.
"That's a pretty big 'if'," Isolde murmurs when he breathes those words against her neck. "But, I guess then we better make sure we enjoy the time we got." Then she turns her head, gathering up his by his cheeks so she can press a sharp, hungry kiss against his mouth. She gathers her knees under her, stabilizing her position in his lap as she touches a hand to his cheek, her other arm sweeping around his shoulders.
"Sounds..." his words are cut off by the kiss, and one hand curls around her hip, thumb tightening at the point, while the other hand smoothes up her back. His tongue flirts with her lips, teasing out hers, and then he slowly starts to lean back, and back, and back, until he's laying on his back, his arms still holding her close. When he takes a breath, he murmurs, "...like a really good plan to me."
Isolde settles against him, arms tightening as he lowers them down onto the ground. She has supplied a mat and blanket to help cushion their decent. She settles atop him, fingers sliding through his shorter hair, tugging at what little purchase she can make. She smiles down at his murmured words, and she nods. "I thought so, too..." Then she settles another kiss to his lips, this one deep and needy with a hint of anxiety -- just a hint though.
Van somehow senses that anxiety, and while he indulges in the kiss, he slowly eases his head back, his hand slipping from her back to brush over her cheek. Whatever he decides in that moment of studying her features from inches away, he lifts his head once more to draw her into another kiss, rolling slowly away from their crate-table to sprawl out on their sides. His other hand keeps a tight hold of her hip, keeping her close after they roll and starting to draw her hips into a slow motion against his.
The response to her anxiety causes her to relax -- slowly, and surely. She feels the tension leave her as that second kiss soothes her, and their rolled bodies sends her onto her side, and one leg drapes across his hip. She snuggles in close, feeling her heart quicken as his hips move with hers. She bites softly at his lower lip, soothing away the bite with a brush of her tongue against his lips.
Van slips one arm under her head, looping it around her back, and his other hand takes free reign to roam across her body, drifting from the back of her knee, up along her thigh, over her hip, and across her side and back. His fingers flit here and there to drag his fingers tight across her clothes, to tease beneath the hem of her blouse to find skin there, and generally to spread caresses across her form. His leg curls with hers, locking them close, and he takes the opportunity to indulge in a long, slow series of kisses that simmers for minutes that stretch into comfortable, stirring eternity.
Isolde releases a slow, soft sigh against his lips in response to his traveling hands. She closes her eyes focusing on each glorious moment where his fingers spark her nerves. She bites softly at her lower lip during the break of the kiss, but when it resumes once more, she releases a soft groan of delight. She tilts her head against his lips. When he starts to tease with her clothes, she releases a low, simmering chuckle. "You'll need to let me up a bit if you want me to shed those..."
"I don't want to stop kissing you though," Van's words are murmured against her lips, but with a little sigh, he does lean back. His hand comes up from her hip to brush fingertips across her cheek, "You know we don't have to go any further than we have before, right? We don't even have to go that far if you don't want to." He pauses, hesitating a moment, "It... might be better if things get complicated with chains of command." The Picon sounds resigned more than anything.
"Don't stop kissing me then," Isolde offers. Then when he seems to slow the progression with words and him being a Picon, the techie draws back a bit. "Do... do you not want to?" She frowns slightly, her hands settling against his shoulders in a slightly resigned manner as well. Her heart has caught in her throat. "Chain of command... right..."
Van's fingers curve down to caress her jawline, settling in across her neck, jaw, and cheek, "As Van? I want nothing more." To his credit, Van doesn't look aside, keeping his eyes on hers, "As Lieutenant Newton..." he grimaces, "...things will get very, very complicated if you transfer into the Air Wing. Especially the Wolfpack. Less complicated as an officer, I suppose. Then it's... not precisely against the regs. Just, dangerous."
His words do not comfort. She looks away despite his steady stare, and then starts shaking her head. "Okay," Isolde begins to sit up, pushing her leg off his hip and drawing herself upright. She nervously twists her hands together, drawing up her legs. "You should have said something, Van... I... I put this all together because you..." Then she shakes her head, biting on her lip so she doesn't say more. She resigns with a soft shrug of her shoulders. "Okay. You should go." She looks away slightly.
Van rolls onto his back when she she draws away, bonking his head back on the mat. "Frak." He finally hauls himself to a sitting position. "I should have said something. I should say something." He looks down, "I don't know what I want, Isolde. Or what I should want." Still, he rises to his feet slowly, starting to obey her request, "Regs kept me alive in Hyperion..."
Isolde's jaw tightens as Van tries to do as Picons do, and justify the entire thing with diplomatic excuses, and she just starts to shake her head with each passing attempt. "I really need to clean up." She keeps her eyes purposefully transfixed on her hands, staying seated as he stands. She says nothing, not trusting her voice to not betray her mix of emotions. So, she waits for him to leave, knees drawn to her chest and eyes downcast.
Van looks down himself, taking in a breath to say something else, then closes it, clearly at a loss. He takes two steps back, "Do you want me to..." help? Get the food? He doesn't finish the question, sighing and running his hand back over his scalp, "...leave, right. I'm sorry."
"Would you please just... go?" Isolde's voice chokes slightly at that last word, like perhaps it could have been any number of things. She closes her eyes tightly, breathing out a slow exhale through her nose. She starts to turn toward the food on the box, and she realizes just how sad this entire thing looks. Electric lanterns, boxes of food taken from the mess... "I've got it."
Van turns away then, his shoulders hunching up, but he does, finding his way out of the hatch and closing it behind him. He stops there, however, rubbing both hands over his face, "Aphrodite, what do I do?" There is no answer from the Lord of Kobol, but really, is there ever without chamala?
Isolde tidies up for as long as he's in sight of the room, but once he's out the rolled-up door and closing it behind him, the woman slumps. She brings her hands up to her face, releasing a hard little sobbing breath before she rubs at her cheeks and up into her hair. Then she slumps back, first onto her heels, and then down onto her butt, and just lets all her frustration, confusion, and anger out in a good cry.