Investigation At Hosk

galaxywon​ // Hera Syndulla

“  You’re  reckless  now.  “  Hera  reminded  them  with  an  affectionate  shove  of  their  arms  against  her  own.  It  was  something  they  all  shared.  The  twi’lek  had  told  herself  that  it  had  been  necessary.  Most  of  the  time  she  still  thought  it  was.  But  there  were  some  times,  like  looking  at  something  brilliant  that  their  son  had  done,  that  made  her  wonder  if  she  would  do  it  again  today,  leave  him  in  this  wide  galaxy  all  on  his  own.  They  followed  her  over  to  the  table,  sitting  opposite.  They  sighed.  It  was  easy  to  get  lost  in  all  the  things  she  had  done  wrong  as  a  parent.  Being  a  mom  was  hard.  Raising  a  force  sensitive  child  with  an  ability  that  they  did  not  have  was  even  harder.  

Kanan  made  it  easier,  but  that  didn’t  mean  it  didn’t  scare  them  still.  “  You’re  right,  as  always.  “  They  smiled,  reaching  to  grab  Sabine’s  hands.  “  It’s  a  mother’s  jobs  to  worry.  “  They  had  worried  about  the  Ghost  Crew  constantly.  Even  as  they  were  being  thrown  into  life  threatening  events  in  real  time.  “  My  father  respected  the  jedi,  worked  with  them  during  The  Clone  Wars.  But  no  one  could  warn  me  about  how  scary  it  is.  “  

At  the  mention  of  Chopper,  their  lips  quirked  up,  sitting  straighter  in  the  chair.  “  I’m  running  some  diagnostics.  When  the  Ghost  was  on  Sernpidal  he  got  banged  up.  Nothing  that  he  can’t  handle  though.  “  She  grinned.  “  Don’t  let  Chopper  hear  that  though.  Chaos  will  come  in  ten  fold.  Even  as  they  chatted,  it  seemed  like  more  was  going  on  than  they  were  saying.  It  worried  her.  Sabine  could  always  come  to  them.  They  hoped  that  they  knew  that  everything  would  be  dropped  in  a  second  for  any  member  of  the  crew.  

 “    What’s  on  your  mind,  Sabine  ?  “  

Of course, the compliments brought a smile to her face. They knew they were reckless, and they knew they were quick enough to catch a womp rat in its tracks. Still, to hear it from someone she held so much respect for...

“Vor’e, buir. And, hey. If you worry, it’s because you’re a good parent, Hera. Because you know that this galaxy is so big and dangerous, and you just want to keep him safe from that.”

That’s what she had wanted for their little brother, too. But the choices they’d made had hurt. They’d caused scars and bloodshed, and there was no erasing that. And the question, it pulled at their chest even more, a weight that tore through her lungs and into the pit of their stomach.

Sabine valued every relationship with the Spectres, but with Hera...She had always trusted them with feelings and thoughts that the others wren’t sure how to hold. Somehow, her parent always knew how to hear their child, knew how to make her feel held. And they were grateful for that, truly. It was with that trust that Sabine sighed and leaned forward, head resting on crossed arms. 

“You know I don’t want to bring the mood down, ‘specially now that we’re all together again, but...I keep thinking about my family. Well, my other family, on Mandalore.”

There it was, the guilt. The gnawing fear. Sabine knew that Hera understood about having another family (one bound by blood and not bond), but it always felt a little weird to bring them up to her. Still, they had to remind themself to trust the parent that sat before her. 

“I don’t know, I keep finding other Mandalorians out there and it’s just. I can’t help but wonder if they’re out there, too. And if they are, why they haven’t tried to...”

But she knew why. Sabine knew why they wouldn’t try. And she didn’t even blame them.

“When I do, y’know, I just feel this pressing guilt, like a weight on my shoulders. Like it’s my f-” 

The breath caught in their throat as eyes pricked up with moisture, too warm. Too uncomfortable. 

“Anyways. I’m sorry, Hera. I’m not trying to ruin our time together. I just really missed you. I missed this.”

@cptfulcrum​ // Alexsandr Kallus

Kallus  knew,  just  as  much  as  the  rest  of  them,  how  easy  it  was  to  be  alone.  Solitary  had  been  his  comfort.  As  an  ISB  agent  they  were  conditioned  to  be  on  the  outside.  They  weren’t  in  the  same  chain  of  command  as  the  rest  of  the  Imperial  Navy.  They  were  internal  affairs,  never  trusted.  His  career  had  been  based  in  solitude.  He  hadn’t  realized  until  he  joined  the  Rebellion  that  maybe  he  did  prefer  the  company  of  others.  Others  like  the  Spectres,  like  Zeb  and  Hera  and  Sabine.  “  You  don’t  need  to  explain  yourself.  “  he  countered,  finally  relaxing  his  stance,  hands  moving  into  the  pockets  of  his  jacket.  “  But  do  not  feel  the  need  to  go  through  life  without  us.  We  are  here  for  you.  “  

His  eyes  studied  their  face,  watching  the  way  their  stance  relaxed  slowly.  Alexsandr  didn’t  want  Sabine  to  feel  the  need  to  assure  him  that  everything  was  okay,  but  he  understood  the  reasons  why.  It  was  easy  to  forget  that  they  had  been  at  the  Imperial  Academy.  It  was  a  lesson  ingrained  from  the  very  beginning,  to  not  let  emotions  cloud  ones  judgement.  It  was  something  he  had  taken  to  heart.  As  a  Mandalorian,  he  assumed  it  was  second  nature  to  them.  “  I  am  glad  then.  “  he  didn’t  believe  them,  but  he  also  wouldn’t  argue  now.  Not  when  he  had  just  come  back.  

“  We’ve  been  integrating  Lira  San  with  the  New  Republic.  Very  slowly.  Understandably,  many  are  apprehensive.  Some  survivors  from  Lasan  believe  that  another  attack  in  imminent.  “  he  spoke  mechanically,  not  allowing  his  own  guilt  from  the  event  to  break  through.  Sabine  knew  enough  about  his  past.  “  Garazeb  is  well,  if  that’s  what  you  are  wondering.  Though  he  misses  his  family.  “  he  met  their  eyes  again,  raising  his  brows.  “  If  it  can  be  believed,  we  have  found  as  close  to  a  retirement  as  possible  for  soldiers.  “  At  least  they  had,  before  Ezra  and  their  guilt.  Now  his  mission  for  Thrawn.  “  I  haven’t  heard  any  updates  on  you  as  of  late.  What  have  you  been  doing  ??  “  

Sabine examined Kallus’s face while he spoke, studying how he measured his words and weighed his expressions before speaking to them. There was more he wanted to say, she was sure, but they weren’t about to pry. His words echoed in their ears. We are here for you. 

Dank farrik, Sabine had been stupid. With their wandering about the galaxy with no contact, it was not surprising that Zeb had sent Kallus to check on her. The rest of the Ghost crew, they must be worried. That same feeling of shame boiled in the pit of their stomach, but they smiled to Kallus, nodding as he spoke about her old friend and his people. She knew how difficult it must be for Kallus to be on Lira San, how guilty he must feel. Still, they knew how hard he was trying-- and how much it meant to Zeb that he was there.

“I am...glad to hear you and Zeb are doing well.” She paused, wondering if they should voice their next thought. “You...deserve that, you know. A peaceful life away from the politics and danger of it all. You both do.”

When nothing was said to fill the silence between them, Sabine continued, finally answering the question she had been trying to avoid.

“I guess you haven’t heard from me because I haven’t really been in the action. I’m still with the Rebellion, just not in the heart of the fight. At least, not right now. I’ve been...” They hesitated, knowing that whatever she said would be repeated to her old friend. “I mean, you know how slow it is, trying to chase dead leads on information for the Rebellion. It’s an unreliable business. But, I’m glad you’re settled down now. Your days of action over, right?”

@spectreoflasan​ // Zeb Orrelios

“I am cool,” Zeb snapped. “You know what’s not cool? Karking up your guts before it’s even hit kriffing midnight because you don’t know how to hold your liquor.” Karabast, he’s going to have to set a good example, isn’t he. With once last wistful glance at the mutlicolored and very potent-looking drink in their hand, Zeb slid it down the bar to the person on their other side and grumbled, “Knock yourself out, mate. You! Barkeep! Two waters, now.” Zeb’s gruff edge lingered as he turned back to Sabine. “Now hydration, that’s cool. You want to actually enjoy your drinks? Then pace yourself.”

Oh, for the love of Alderaan. ‘Hydration, that’s cool’ ?  Zeb had never felt so old in their kriffing life. But that’s what Sabine needed right now. Guilt twisted his stomach as they stumbled against him. Hadn’t Zeb’s lousy excuse for a parallel-timeline counterpart bothered to teach her to drink properly? Zeb set a steadying hand on Sabine’s shoulder, even as their last comment provoked a growl. “And for the last time, Kallus is not my boyfriend. ‘Sides, he’s in no state to be looking after anybody right now.”

“I w-would hold my liquor fine! If you would give it back to me!” They yelped as he pawed her reaching hand away. (Heh. Pawed). They shot the bartender a nasty glare and tried standing on her own. Feet felt like lead and head too thin, and the metal of the counter dug into their skin. 

“Zebbbbb, don’t you think I deserve a drink after the shit year I’ve had?! W-why not! Why not get fuck-king shitfaced?” She huffed. This had to be a joke. First all of the-- the shit! The shit with Ezra and Kanan and Mandalore, and-- and it hurt! It hurt and it was scary and it made her hands shake and her chest tight and!  And they just wanted it to mute, just for a moment! Moisture pooled at their eyes as Zeb spoke, as they responded. At his words, her face fell immediately, turning from anger and fear to...to something that ached deeper. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong.

“Wh-what do you mean he isn’t your boyfriend? Did. Did something happen?”

for   @beskarbuir and @finitefm​  // din djarin and tarre vizsla

──   MANDALORE,  YOUR  SCENERY  IS  LIKE  FAMINE.   mandalore,  the most stagnated,  ravaged part of it,  is too lucid for him.   the landscape straddles between home and desolation,  thriving in that liminal space;  that is to say,  it welcomes him without communion.  but that is alright,  for his learnings were true.   this is a cursed planet,  far past death and onto lying in wait.   feverish and weak.   imperials looming over and gorging on the fruit of their lands,  gloating as its acidic juice drips into the corpse’s eyes.   mandalore bares it’s clenched teeth and hungers,  too.  for ichor,  for people,  for love.

din will not be the one to satiate it.   the love he offers is for his people beyond this soured heart,  reared in their ways in places far from here.   they are a nomadic people steeped in an idea.   they are more than mandalore alone.   still,  he stood close to his companion in these past days,  keeping an eye on their surroundings but mostly on them.  it almost seemed like she would choke on the prospect of coming here,  of walking into the maw of their once home.   since their arrival,  her grief was mute;  hemorrhage kept internal.   he hopes they know that if they dotter,  he will bear their weight. 

though there,  in the distance,  rises a haunting:  arriving in beskar adorned in gilded fractures, as if shattered and rebuilt.   his steps nearly stop there,  hand so willing to pull sabine back for her safety.   to din,  they are an unknown beauty and terror looming forth   ─   and though the feeling is transient,  he dallies the tiniest bit slower than sabine when she perseveres in the face of a phantom.   then,  she drops to her knee as if the very sight of them is sacrosanct,  bowing their head in reverence.   ‘ tarre vizsla ’ ,  they had said,  and all besides the clan name and shriek hawk garners no recognition. 

his next move is less calculated.   there is a bow of his head,  hand to the heart while the other still grips his spear like a walking stick.   a commingled greeting less pronounced as sabine’s,  but respectful to a title that eludes him.   ❝  su cuy’gar.  ❞  a fraction of an accent lilts his words,  obvious in comparison between him and them,  but there is no shame in it.   he lifts his head and glances to his companion,  then back,    ❝  as had we.  ❞   concern edges his voice,  ❝  how long have you been here ?  ❞   this is a dead land.  there will be no survival here.

the   reactions   tarre   has   faced   from   their   people   have   been   many,   in   this   time.   they   cannot   say   that   the   awe   is   their   least   favorite,   for   they   have   felt   the   brunt   outraged   violence   at   assumed   deception.   the   PAIN   that   lay   beneath   those   interactions   bests   the   creeping   discomfort   of   respect   for   a   mythos   larger   than   their   life.   they   were   mand’alor   in   their   time,   after   all   –   they   know   the   INTENSITY   of   mandalorian   devotion.   but   they   have   only   made   martyrs.   to   BE   one   ?   it   is   something   entirely   different.  

when   she   kneels,   they   are   surprised   by   the   instinct   to   kneel   as   well,   to   find   the   level   of   her   eyes   beneath   her   colorful   helmet   and   assure   her   that   deference   is   largely   unnecessary.   but   this   is   not   a   force   call,   only   human   LONGING,   and   they   have   spent   years   attempting   to   calm   their   gut   punches   of   emotion.   they   mirror   her   companion   instead,   a   hand   raised   to   their   heart.   these   two   are   sharply   different   in   more   than   their   armor.   their   knowledge   of   HISTORY,   they   can   assume,   yet   the   importance   lies   in   the   force.   she   is   fireworks.   he   is   something   more   unobtrusive.   they   find   both   intriguing   on   a   level   that   may   speak   only   to   their   own   desire   for   new   connection   with   their   people.

there   are   more   pressing   matters   than   any   slowly   sharpening   edge   of   desperation,   however.   their   voice   is   smooth   as   mandalore’s   hot   winds   as   they   reply,   ❛   i   am   them.   please,   RISE   –   i   am   no   mand’alor   in   this   time.   ❜   they   would   insist   that   ALL   mandalorians   are   clan   enough   to   do   away   with   such   formalities,   if   they   had   not   begun   to   grasp   that   these   descendants   of   theirs   are   not   nearly   so   united.   ❛   i   am   glad   to   find   others.   what   is   left   of   history   is   something   worth   revisiting,   i   believe.   ❜

the   bittersweetness   of   it   all   is   beginning   to   burn.   they   tuck   the   feeling   underneath   their   tongue   and   let   it   rest   there,   tangled   up   in   the   core   of   them.   ❛   only   briefly.   there   is   better   accommodation   not   too   far   from   here.   i   wanted   to   see   what   this   became.   ❜   their   words   come   freely,   yet   remain   careful   with   that   bittersweet,   that   knot   of   feeling.   their   head   tilts   slightly   as   they   look   back   to   the   ruins.   ❛   this   is   a   place   of   BLOOD.   it   is   good   that   it   is   no   home.   ❜   it   had   been   theirs,   once,   and   they   suppose   that   that   is   the   tragedy   of   it.   this   loss   will   not   leave   them.

So, it was them, Mand’alor be’ruyot. How or why the leader had returned during their peoples’ most desolate hour was far beyond her understanding. Despite years spent in the company of Jedi, this was perhaps the most impossible thing she’d ever witnessed. Tongue heavy, Sabine found that they had no words-- no amount of training could have ever prepared her for this. Still, at their ancestor’s command, she rose, glancing over at their brother-in-arms.

The younger Mandalorian knew that their companion was not as versed in the history of their people-- which was not something she faulted them for. It just was, a product of circumstance. They examined him-- a shared language of silence only the two knew, unreliant on the visages hidden beneath beskar. This was the nature of their friendship: an understanding that silence had its own place in the conversations they held. So much was shared with so little sound. Despite the unease and confusion that now plagued them both, Sabine understood.

Attention turned, shifting back to the words spoken by one who held so many stories from an age lifetimes before her own. Guilt seized their breath once again. This place was no home, not for anyone. Nor had it been for years, and there were few more to blame than she. Sabine felt their voice waver and crack in response to the bitterness of the haastal.

“No. It is not.” So many skeletons haunted this wasteland once called prosperous, once called beloved. “It belongs now only to the mercy of the Ka’ra above.”

Noticing how uncomfortable the formalities had made their ancestor, Sabine extended an unsteady arm, anticipation of the traditional salute for Mando’ade.

“I am Sabine of Clan Wren and House Vizsla.” There was a moment of pause, consideration. Her companion could share their name if he wanted. It was optional, as most words between the two were. “It is an honor to share your name. Gedet’ye, what may I call you if not ner Mand’alor?”

They couldn’t help but hope her friend wasn’t too lost right now. She gave them a glance as if to reassure him that she’d explain later.

@beskarbuir​ // din djarin

──   UNEASE  ABIDES  IN  THE  AIR,  so gently thawing but not dispelled,  and there is hesitation toward the outstretched palm.  however,  when the first word is shared between a common  (  yet scarce to many  )  tongue,  he finds himself already gripping theirs in a firm greeting.  he couldn’t help but echo their words,  ❝  su cuy’gar,  vod  …  as do i.  ❞   there is solace in their native salutation,  like water trickling a parched throat.  a beat passes as he stands and observes,  still puzzled by the other’s presence and speculating their origins.   decoration and individualization is frequent within their numbers,  though he hadn’t seen this particular motif.   nor do they follow the markings of bo-katan’s faction,  intricate in their cobalt hues.   the only solid conclusion that arrives is that they are not of the tribe,  not of nevarro  ─  and now only the unexpected is awaited. 

gaze keeps steady on the other’s visor.  ❝  you’re after the bounty,  right ?  ❞   an obvious question,  one intending to draw both a ‘yes’ and an elaboration,  if willing.   he wants to ask,  how long have you been here ?  though it borders on too personal.  do you follow the creed ?  the stories taught to me ?  i know you don’t,  but i had hoped  ─  even if i knew better,  i hoped.  lips purse,  and none of this is spoken.  it never is. 

instead,  he treads forwards with a truth.   ❝  i hadn’t heard of any other within the guild. not for a very long time.  ❞   he would of known,  or heard of remnants at the very least   ─   so why does one stand before him ?

The handshake is firm, and words returned in earnest. Sabine is...attuned to this person’s pain, can feel what hurt lingers in unspoken words. This is an ache she knows all too well. The ghosts of their people haunt every last Mandalorian that lives. While there is a flicker of hope, it sits heavy in the loss. 

There are questions, so many of them, pooling on their tongue, waiting to break the conversation. What clan do you belong to? Who were your people? How did you survive? Do you know anyone else in the faith? They push the inquiries aside, sure the person in front of them wants to ask, too. There is a time and place for that. Those things can be learned later. For now, there are introductions to be made and a bounty secured.

“The bounty, yes. One of the only reasons I’d visit this sandhole, I think,” they joke, and hope it is received well. Of all the weapons in her arsenal, perhaps the most used is humor. “I guess the reason you haven’t heard from the Guild is because I don’t really do my dealings with them.” Sabine weighs what they want to say, careful of where the other Mandalorian’s allegiances lie. “I mean, I follow the code, when I do decide to take a job. But I’m not strictly a hunter by profession. Just something to keep the ship flying and stomach full, you know?”

They pause, watching their acquaintance's body language for any signs of aggression. They notice that this warrior’s armor is pure, practically untarnished by paint and wear. She allows herself to wonder where they got it, and how recently. Was it new, or did they just take meticulous care of it?

“But, I gather this is your profession. Look, I don’t mean to step on any toes-- I can go if you’d like-- but perhaps we could work the job together?”

Words started to stick together and bottles seemed more empty than before. Something in the room had shifted, and everything seemed a few degrees too thin. The world was stretched, but at least it was still funny...right? 

“’scuse me--” The less-than-noble warrior asked of the blurred figure on their left. “but d’ya know--”

--where the closest fresher is? Or, that’s what she meant to ask. But, when the stranger turned to face her, what came out instead was a faint squeak and...

“kriff, you’re beautiful!”

Ah, fuck. Did she really just say that out loud? 

@hopejedi​

l  closed starter  l @naboospage 

Part of the healing was re-acquainting themself with the people they used to know. Sabine knew that she couldn’t spend forever on the outskirts of the galaxy, hunting down dead-ended information and criminal bounties alike. Grief had pushed her to seek space, but they knew now that the time for being alone was over. The last few weeks, she’d been gradually talking to more people from their past (Iden, Ahsoka, Kallus). Though some of the conversations were painful, she knew that being vulnerable is what her family would want her to do. Ezra and Tristan would want this for her. 

“Sache, my friend! This is Sabine.”

They spoke with more enthusiasm then they actually felt, hoping their facade wouldn’t be read through the blur of the holo-message. The two had been good friends, once upon a time, when the Rebellion had been in its most desperate need for agents of all kinds (and Sache had proved more capable than most).

“It’s been a while, but I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. I was hoping we could catch up sometime soon. When you have time, of course.”

They fiddled with the hem of their flight suit a moment before wrapping the message up with a pointed smile and a wink.

“Hope to hear from you soon, Sache. Safe travels.”

sacreficied​ // Kanan Jarrus

balancing his life as a jedi and what he owed, what he wanted to owe, to ghost crew was not an easy task. there had been years where no attempt had been made –– something that had shifted when they had stumbled across ezra, that realization of what, exactly, he was missing in his life. kanan wanted better for himself now. he wanted better for all of them. he wanted to be a better man that he had been in the past.

“what isn’t?” kanan replied back with a slight chuckle, shoulders lifting in a slight shrug to reduce the weight of his own words. corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “i’m grateful for the chance that we all have with this,” he begun, being mindful to choose his own words carefully. “still, i wonder what we’re all looking at with the bigger picture.”

If they hadn’t known better, Sabine would almost say she was concerned for Kanan. Something was obviously eating at him-- but it had always been harder to have these kind of talks with him than with Hera. Still, she nodded at his admission of thankfulness-- with the kind of life they lead, it was no small miracle they had even a handful of people left to care about.

“Bigger picture? What do you mean by that?” They asked, hoping that there was no hint of judgement evident in her voice. Was this about the Jedi, about Ezra? Or Hera and Jacen? In a galaxy that seemed to always require so much sacrifice, some days it took all of her energy just to survive. To see their family again. What could be bigger than that?

@naboospage​ // Sache

Saché was home on Naboo when her commlink chimed. She had a few days off, and every time it happened she’d leave the base to go back on her homeworld. It felt good, to be able to go outside again. It was dark and the holoprojector was on. She was watching a Senate session, just like when the Old Republic was still going strong. A Senate session in which a dead Queen was giving a speech. Eyes frowned, Saché focused on the holo - trying to know whether this was the Padme she knew or not. She’d been doing it for three years. And still didn’t believe in the eventuality of her being back. When her comm chimed though, another friend reappeared in her life, chasing her thoughts away. The voice in the comm made her smile, filling her with relief - Sabine. If the Mandalorian contacted her, it meant they were feeling better. Saché knew it, having been in the same position twenty-six years ago when Padme died and the Republic fell. “Come home on Naboo,” Saché sent back with coordinates just in case. A day later Sabine was at her door, and she welcomed them with open arms, pulling them in a hug. “Sabine,” she greeted. “It’s good to see you, kid”

“Sache!” They accepted the hug, only a little startled about the contact. They had forgotten that her old friend was the hugging type, but it wasn’t a bad surprise by any means. When they broke away, Sabine surveyed her, checking for signs of worry and stress. The New Republic was still in its infancy, and they could only imagine the kind of anxiety that rebuilding government from the ashes of the Empire could evoke. It had to be a difficult job, but one she knew Sache well prepared for. Her main concern was that their friend would work too much, take too much upon her shoulders.

“It’s good to see you too! And Naboo.” Kriff, this planet was gorgeous. The rolling plains that delved into lakes, the green pastures filled with living, growing things. Flowers so small and delicate, yet towers and castles so grand. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful your home was. Tell me, do you ever find a break from work to just...admire it all?” They hoped not to sound judgmental or inquisitive, but just curious. 

bly-5052​ // Bly

Bly flushed a little in pride, glancing down at their armor “Ah, thank you. I’ve had the designs since I left Kamino.” They told her, patting a hand over the design that matched the tattoos on their cheeks.

“Honestly? Not really. I just haven’t seen a Mandalorian outside the ones Prime had train us. Word was that no Mando’ade considered us one of them so I’ve kept my distance.” They admitted with a shrug, holding out their hand. “Commander Bly,” they introduced themselves before frowning and chuckling “I don’t know if I still hold my rank, but I don’t have a last name so I’ve just kept it.”

_

Their response to the compliment was endearing, and immediately Sabine smiled, eyes still tracing over their use of color and line on the worn armor. It was a familiar hue, one native to their forgotten family back on Krownest...

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bly. I’m Sabine.”

As she shook their hand, the Mandalorian thought on Bly’s words about belonging and identity. Though they hadn’t personally known any clones who’d held the title Mandalorian, she saw no reason why they couldn’t claim the heritage. After all, the children of Mandalore weren’t race, but creed.

“Tell you what, Bly. I could actually use some help fixing my ship, if you’ve got the time. I can’t offer you much in the way of credits, but I can cover a meal at the local cantina. It’s not the best in the parsec, but it’s hot. Plus, I’d enjoy the company, if you’re up for it.”