daybreakacademy | Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power

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Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power

WHO: Héctor, OTA Catch All
WHERE: Around the school
WHEN: Various times after the 9th and/or the Valentines dance
WHAT: Various opens in the late evening
WARNINGS: Standard spoilers

You can't turn around a bad day, week, month, year, decade... you can't turn any of that without trying first. And so, once the monster's beaten back, his lost arm is returned, and the dance wraps up, so begins his annual rejuvenation. It's his return to the grind, starting every January (late this year but, well, he's doing his best), when he goes back to the drawing board and renews his plans-- only this time, not just for his return home. He's got a few things in mind this year, and isn't that exciting in and of itself?

A - OTA

With his arm back in place and whole again (gone for that week of the 2nd to the 9th and leaving him looking more like a zombie to people than he'd ever let himself before), he can actually get back to repairing the other one who took some hits this past while.

Rather than steal from the shop class, this time Héctor has decided to break in. Which, considering how much they let him use this place for doing repairs around the school, it isn't really breaking in is it? He doesn't think so. And so, upon a work table, in the dead of night, he's lain out a broken guitar. He's got nails and tools, bits of wood and scrap metal, anything he thought he could need for trying to repair the old thing. The guitar's not going to sound good when he's done, but it'll be something.

Despite everything, he's not quite ready to give up on music yet. In fact, he takes to humming a little as he works, breaking into soft song only to quiet again into humming as he hammers and cuts and sands away at the guitar. Until he hears footsteps and abruptly stops, that is.

B - Aube

Not every night can be spent on fixing the guitar. He's still got occasional evening classes to TA for, things to mark, essays to read. On those nights, he settles in the Aube common room, quietly working this time.

Being nocturnal as he is means bad news for any kids sneaking out of the dorm late in the night. "Ah, ah!" He says to any looking a little too ready to go, eyes lifting from his work to them and brows lifting higher. "Did you text Bee for this little excursion?"

C - Aube

Of course, not every child getting up in the night is looking for rowdy adventure. He knows all too well by now that some of these kids have had more adventure than they ever asked or bargained for. Those quiet wanderers, or ones who settle in corners, they're no less apt to get his attention.

He gives them their moment of space and quiet. Just a moment. Then, trying not to scare or disturb them, he walks over, placing a hand to the back of any given chair and tilting his head down at them.

"Hey," He says, soft as he can. "You okay? Can't sleep?"

D - OTA

In the early mornings, for any early risers who seek him (and not one of the smarter or more experienced of adults in this place) he's of course there to tutor those who need it. He may not always know what he's doing with magic but he can work out a lesson and, more than that, he can work with kids.

He draws another example upon paper when he can't simply show it, and he presents it, explaining each piece and part. "Do you understand?" He asks.

Perhaps you're the one he's tutoring. Or, perhaps, you're catching him just as the last kid wanders off and he's gathering up the books and papers, time soon running out with the coming dawn. But he might have time for one more.

E - OTA

He doesn't know the first thing about this, any of this. He keeps telling himself he's not a fighter, but more and more he's coming to realize he might need to be. It's not just about him anymore.

That evening he finds himself in one of the training areas. The bow he takes up is tall and heavy, heavier than a guitar. He's got the dexterity for that and the experiencing of firing... his arm. But it's not the same and he hasn't entirely got the strength built in him for using this thing. He's not sure if he can build the strength or if what he's got is as good as it's going to get. But he can't see himself yet using anything else.

So, there he is in the range, practicing. His shots mostly miss but every now and again he gets somewhere and he's encouraged to go farther. He gives a little laugh of victory and surprise in these moments. Hopefully he's not interrupting anything.

Of course in all his focus, anyone interrupting him is almost certain to make him jump and yelp and send and arrow flying far off target.

F - OTA

At some point before the library's closing for the night, he's managed to surround himself so thoroughly in books that he's built something of a wall around himself. His hand is half tangled in his hair and his brow is knit with concentration, pencil tapping absentmindedly in his other hand as he reads. The books seem to be all about defensive and offensive runes and spells.

"Wait, what?" He straightens up, flipping pages back, and then to his current page, comparing them. "That doesn't make sense, how can you-- what?"

G -[Closed to Orihime]

"Orihime?"

The call comes with a knock. Finally, at long last, he can repay this girl. He's ready at her door, smiling in his newly repaired clothing and holding a bag of tools and materials (nabbed from the shop class as usual).

As the door opens he laughs and say, "Repair service! Is now a good time?"

H - St. Valentine's eve - [Closed to close CR and/or those who ask first]

He's only been here so long, only saved up so much and a lot of it goes towards his hopeful plans. But for this, he can spare a small expense.

The shopkeeper had eyed him curiously, as exhausted and nervous as he'd appeared to be that morning of the thirteenth, pushing the limits of his magic into the day. He knows, in some sense, that he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.

But it's the first time in ten years he could do anything and... well, she deserves something. After ten years she deserves so much and a simple carnation or rose just isn't cutting it. Even this doesn't quite but... he can't push more, because even with this, the best gift he could give is his distance.

The note simply reads "for Imelda Rivera" in fancy calligraphic script. He presses the tiny card to his lips then places it back into the bouquet. It's a bright one, colorful, with full, giant blooms. There's soft pinks and bright ones, oranges and reds and blues, greenery, and vivid purples-- her favorite. It'll remind her of home, he's sure.

Off he goes into the night, bringing his delivery to the Lumiere dorms. He just needs to leave it at her door and go. So far so good. He won't get to see her reaction like this, but that's fine. She doesn't need to be happy with him, he just needs her to be happy. That's what he tells himself as he slowly and quietly works his way back, turns the corner-- and freezes, a deer in headlights as the second worst thing that could happen here, does.

I - Other, Make your own

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He snorts. "You sound like one of my old fosters. Good for you, making friends." He laughs a little more at that.

He'd never been too bad at making friends, honestly. He'd just stuck to those he liked more. Stuck to one he liked more. He shakes that out.

"Ah, poor man," He says, looking and sounding genuinely sympathetic. "He told me he came from the outlands. I was out there for years but only that much and that was enough to make all this pretty overwhelming to me. I can't imagine being there from the start." He's glad to hear at least things are calming. Maybe he'll go talk to the guy again.

He manages to ignore the flickering glances for the first few times, but after the fifth or sixth, he can hardly pretend anymore. He looks embarrassed.

"Sorry," He says. "With all the monster attacks and... things... I'm just a little jumpy lately. I apologize."

"No need to apologise," Ekkehardt replies. Another little wave of his hand. "It's understandable, especially if you're not used to this sort of thing."

He's always composed, even in the face of trouble or danger. Maybe it says something about him, or maybe not. That's left up to interpretation.

"He's doing his best. It's certainly a different atmosphere, out there." And he sounds like he's speaking from experience, here.

Edited 2019-02-16 15:33 (UTC)

"You'd think I would be, for as long as I was in the outlands," He sighs, scrubbing at his face a little. "I don't know if it's just getting back to Earth and I fell out of the habit or if it's just how close together this all is." He shakes his head. He doesn't really have a good answer to that. Maybe it's feeling like he has more to lose than his un-life.

Though, something about what Ekkehardt says gives him pause. He looks to the man, brow lifting. "You've been the outlands a lot too?"

Were they all just from the outlands? That's possible he supposes.

"People take to it differently, being here. It's quite a change of atmosphere." As if to prove a point, he lifts his head a little as a stray gust of wind blows past, taking a completely unnecessary breath. It's not a calculated movement; it's more like an echo of life.

"It's where my home is," he answers, after a moment's pause. "In truth, I've spent much more time in the outlands than out of it - so it's still a bit odd, being here."

He doesn't mind showing his hand on that, at least. Earth is so different. He'd almost forgotten what it was like, before coming here. It's only because he's been here three years already that he's not more unsettled, not more homesick.

Edited 2019-02-16 16:24 (UTC)

He notices that sudden difference. Maybe because he's lacking life himself, but it's such a small thing that it seems... bigger than it is. It gets him actually noticing the breeze himself, paying it mind and feeling it.

Sometimes he missed home so much, he could almost forget the things he's lucky to have now.

And speaking of home, he finds himself blinking at Ekkehardt in surprise. "Really?" He stares a little longer, like Ekkehardt of all people would be the type to say "psyche".

"Gee, I... I mean it's not impossible obviously. If you and Hieke, my primos and I all managed but..." He laughs a little. "I guess it's just hard for me to imagine making a home there."

Touch is a sense that made it over perfectly intact, unlike his sense of taste. Even though he doesn't need to breathe and gains no biological sense of relief from pulling in air, the gesture and the feeling of the wind is...it's nice.

"The family I serve moved there, in order to turn their magical power to what they felt was a better cause. They abandoned their living quarters on Earth after a civil war between several mage families." He sort of shrugs, a little. "Thus, it has been my home for much of my life."

There's a few gaps in that explanation, but it's less that he's deliberately withholding the information and more that he just doesn't really consider it important or relevant. Things are what they are. He doesn't feel the need to mention the more personal parts.

"Oh geeze," He says. He was from México, home of more than a few civil wars and revolutions. He hadn't lived through any and he was glad for that, but still. Add mage families into the mix and he can somewhat begin to picture a disaster beyond his full fathoming.

Enough to make one think the outlands was a cozy getaway even. "I'm glad you found something better for you. And your family. Even if I am having a hard time picturing a nice house in the outlands. You must have that thing crazy protected or my primos and I were in the wrong parts of the outlands." Which... was possible. The outlands were enormous. You couldn't map that place even if it didn't just move sometimes on a whim.

"... It kind of does explain a thing or two about you, though. Like the fancy clothes. And that you've kind of got this air about you like you know things, you know?"

"It's very well protected, yes. It's not bad, either. People can't attack you without finding you first." His voice is casual, as if he's talking about an everyday routine...and, well, for him, it might as well have been. "I assume you weren't nearly as fortunate, though. It sounds like you had a much harder life."

And then the other man continues, and he pauses.

"Do I, now?" He seems surprised, as much as Ekkehardt shows surprise (mildly, like most other things). "Well, I'll have to take your word for it."

(He pays attention to his image, what people are most likely to think of him, so it's not nearly as unexpected as he pretends it is. But it's still interesting to hear what people see in him; he has little interest in self-reflecting in that particular way.)

"You do!" He insists, assuming Ekkehardt to not entirely believe. "Like, you wouldn't point it out or anything or brag about, but if it came down to a disaster, you'd definitely be the one standing up and saying 'everybody who doesn't know how to fly a plane get out of my way'." He laughs a little at his own explanation.

"You've got a cool head. I kind of envy that. Not that I don't like being open but... I don't know, just being able to seem like things are in control, even if they're not, that's pretty cool. Especially since you're not cold or anything under all that. Just... careful." He bobs his head. Then shrugs. "That's the impression I've got." It's not as though he's known the guy for very long after all. For all he knows, Ekkehardt could be a secret party animal.

"Anyway, that's actually pretty clever when you put it like that. Not a better place in the world for being unfound then like in the outlands." Kind of sad too, that this is something that's worried about but, this world, it could be like that.

"But I wasn't so lucky, no-- if I can call it that considering I dodge a civil war." He shoots Ekkehardt a wry smile. "My Primos and I could never settle down anywhere. We usually only had as much magic to keep ourselves going, nothing to really keep things from coming after us. So we just kept moving. Some of us wanted to go back, like me, and so we'd look for ways out, but I think others just... didn't want to bother, you know? Bad times on Earth or dying too young or getting too damaged to hide out here. That and, well, we were family. If I'd never... married, had my daughter, I might've stayed too. But at the same time it's like, you'd see so much and lose so many and you'd get up one night and look over and there'd be another one gone and you realize hours later after you've already packed up that you can't muster anything more. Like you're almost too tired to be sad about it unless you think about it all together." He wonders if Ekkehardt can understand that. He kind of wished no one did. But even still, he tugs up a weaker smile, having let it just about slip away through all that.

"I think... if there were ever a world I went back... I'd take everything I'm learning and that I've learned already and I'd... find a way we could stay in one place. Protected. And we could take all our crappy tents and crappier rolling shanty shacks, and wagons and caravans; we'd set it all down. Build a little shantytown. It would be... hideous. But it would be home." And together, they'd have enough fun, drinking, singing, telling old stories, it wouldn't matter as much that they were fading one by one. He laughs, rubbing at his face a bit. "Sorry. I don't usually get to talk about those guys much. Getting all sentimental on you and we haven't even reached the bar."

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me," he replies, with a slight smile, and to an extent...he really is. That part, at least, is rooted in truth. Héctor is far, far more honest than he is, more open - he respects that, even if it's not for him.

Ah, and now there's the other parts. Ekkehardt listens quietly, without interrupting, before he speaks again.

It's not an unfamiliar thing, that numbing, that getting used to loss. If he broke his heart over every patient that slipped away, he wouldn't make a very good medic, or a good surgeon. It was a kind of professional care, a distance that came easily to him.

But that's not quite what Héctor is saying, is it? And maybe he understands that too, a little. That tired, grim reality of knowing that the people you were used to seeing every day might not be there the next day, or the next, depending on what happened.

"It's fine," he says, at last. "It's nothing to apologise for, being so attached. Wanting things to be better for the people you care about.

Even if the situation is terrible, it's still what you have to live with. So...you cope. And if you lose familiar faces, then it becomes...normal, even if it shouldn't be, because there's nothing to be done about it."

His tone is odd. Keeping people at arm's length, a polite and unmemorable distance, is where he thrives - but he feels he at least owes it to Héctor to be honest about some things. They're both dead, after all, and that counts for something.

He -- shrugs, a sort of odd tension apparent in the set of his shoulders. "It's understandable."

After a short pause, he laughs, and it's strange and soft and short. "And we haven't even gotten to the drinking yet. You're right - we probably should, soon."

At least Soleil is within sight. It's not that long a walk, in the end. Conversation has made it pass much more quickly.

The slight smile was undoubtedly met with a bright one, if one more lopsided and awkward.

What Ekkehardt says after all that less so, because he was right, someone knowing what this is like is terrible. Nice too, but in a horribly selfish way. He rubs at his arm and numbly bobs his head in regard to that coping. And it shouldn't be like that and that too is something that digs in with such guilt he can hardly stand it.

Ekkehardt's tone might be odd, but he really doesn't know the kind of tone anyone's supposed to have with this. He just sees the tension. He hears the understanding and if that's only because it's what he wants to hear then he's only the same fool as always but no worse off for it.

And the laughs brings him back, but more grateful than before to not be doing this alone. "Definitely. Apparently it's going to be that kind of night. But hey! Probably for the best we get all the mortality out of the way. I get the sense our fellow bar patrons would be less appreciative of the topic that comes for all." He bobs his head in a falsely solemn nod, ruined by the fact he can't hold back a grin.

Meanwhile, he's never been so grateful to see Soliel. It's not as if they're truly safer in a crowd than alone, but it gave the illusion at times. And, he realizes, talking as they have has made him tune out much of their walk thus, calming his unease that slightest bit.

"Thank you," He says, for a couple things here already.

It's odd only because it's not usually something he talks about - not to someone who's a relative stranger, at least. He's...more reserved, usually.

But he's gotten attached, a little. And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

"Well, I suppose we're more qualified to talk about it than anyone else," Ekkehardt says, in a rare moment of what qualifies as levity from him. "But you're correct. Most people don't appreciate that sort of thing."

"At least, not while they're still mostly sober," he amends, after a moment.

Again, there's some surprise there - not calculated, this time. A shift of expression that suggests what are you thanking me for?

It lasts only a moment, though, before he tucks his hands in his pockets and looks around as they walk into Soleil proper.

"Well," he says, after a moment. "Would you like to pick the location, or should I? I'm flexible."

He does seem the reserved type. It's nice to see that shift and change. In a strange way, with hardly any other similarity being there, it reminds him of Imelda. She used to seem so cold to so many, but in the right place, with the right people or conversation, she'd change form. That's kind of what this feels like.

He snorts at that little addition. Then full on cackles. "Oh but it's never fun when the living do it. So down and sad, everyone's voice goes so grave."

He doesn't miss the surprise but he just smiles over it. He's missed real company. He's missed the company of the dead, being around someone he wasn't hiding a thing with. He's never really had someone he could talk to about this-- he and his primos, there was no talking about it when it was a constant. And the distraction most of all, that's something to be grateful for.

He hums and strokes his chin. "...Can I suggest picking what you find fun, on the caveat that I'm still legally alive and have a lot of fines I'm paying off for it?" Which was to say, despite the Academy's good pay, even as a TA, he was still rather broke.

The ability to keep his distance from people, to let them know only what was safe or relevant for them to know and to let them form their own impressions otherwise that he could control - it was something honed and cultivated to a fine edge, as much a skill and weapon as the actual weapons he kept on his person.

He trusts very few people. He can't exactly say that he trusts Héctor, necessarily, not the way other people would define it. But there's a connection there that isn't something he extends to most.

He laughs, livelier this time, hands and arms flicking outwards in a showman's flourish. "You'd think they'd be more spirited about it, but apparently not! Such a shame."

And- well, if it's what Ekkehardt finds fun, then Héctor is certainly in luck as far as finances go. "Well, since you insist on paying, then there's the tavern. I'm sure you've seen it, that one tucked away in a corner of town?"

He smiles, a little more sharply amused than the softer expressions of before. "I go drinking there, sometimes. It's entertaining to see who comes in. And, of course, it's cheap."

He goes there for the people-watching, not the drinks, but really, it goes hand in hand. Not having a drink makes you stand out in a place where it's all about drinking, so he does so.

He laughs again, louder. It's only half for the the pun itself, the other half being for the fact that Ekkehardt's actually punning with him.

The suggestion is not what he expected, but in some strange way it makes sense, especially as Ekkehardt explains. He grins wide. He reaches over slapping a hand on the man's back and shoulder.

"Haha! Ekkehardt, amigo, you are going to become one of of my favorite people if you're not careful there!" He keeps his hand on Ekkehardt's shoulder, bringing him into a brief and slight sway. "The Tavern it is!" He says, pointing up to the sky.

He likes people watching. Especially this kind, the kind where people weren't trying to seek out attention per se, but wanted a little fun.

In no time at all, they get there, and he pushes open those heavy wooden doors. "So what are you thinking, bar side or table?" All dependent on if they wanted or needed any manner of privacy-- at least to start.

"Then that promises to be a new experience. I'm not most people's favourite." Whether he's joking with a straight face or actually being honest is impossible to tell, but either way, he seems fine with it.

People were interesting to watch; it's why he frequents this place so much. Far more interesting, he'd say, than he is himself. For all his various eccentricities, his hobbies are quiet and so is he; he strives to cultivate an air of forgettable unimportance.

"Since you're doing me the honor of buying, I feel it's only right to let you pick," Ekkehardt replies, casting a proprietary eye over the surroundings. "I prefer the bar, myself, but I'll go with what you like."

"Aaah, you should be! You're a great guy!" At least, Héctor thinks so. He's totaly not biased and completely unaware of most of what makes Ekkehardt up.

With Ekkehardt through the door. He gives a glance around himself. But honestly, Ekkehardt needn't have offered choice and his own preference; Héctor immediately heads for the bar, hearing that. He slaps down a bill, grinning at the bartender.

"Tequila for me and whatever the man here fancies too, por favor!" He pats the seat beside him in invitation. It's kind of funny, seeing someone like Ekkehardt in a place like this. Ekkehardt doesn't necessarily blend anywhere, but at the Academy, he certainly fits more than someone like himself. Whereas here? He's just another man at a bar and, truthfully, despite his jokes of being dead, it's nice to blend in amongst the living for once-- and not as a man on the street for that matter either.

His comfort here shows, as he spins around in his seat to face the wider room, with the patrons rowdy but friendly. The smile he wears is one of a man who used to truly find family in the world, if a long, long time ago. (Or if not that, then one of someone used to being on the outside, looking in on the joy, not realizing where they are as it's witnessed.) "I really do like this place. It's nothing like what I knew back home, but it's comfortable in that similar way."

"You flatter me." He waves a hand, his smile faint as always. It could be interpreted as dismissal or embarrassment or a combination of both, or neither.

Ekkehardt really doesn't fit in much, but he's come here enough that the persistent floaters who frequent this place don't give him a second glance. People can excuse anything if you keep quiet and drink like there's nothing else on your mind, and he's very good at pretending there's nothing else on his mind.

Maybe people would expect wine from him, he thinks, but he asks for whiskey this time. He's slowly working his way through the drink list, mostly for entertainment value; he can't taste as well as he once could (not nearly as well), but he can distinguish them well enough for it to be interesting.

That smile is a clear reminder of something that makes Héctor happy, even if there's probably melancholy mixed in. But that's the way of things; reminiscing on what you can't get back, what you've missed, what you've lost. Taking happiness in what reminds you of those things, too.

"You're used to being around people. It shows." That display of genuine joy for something comfortable isn't familiar (it's not his way of displaying it), but it speaks to Héctor's personality that he is still readily capable of doing so. Ekkehardt can't help but smile himself, in a slight echo of that happiness.

"It's nice to have something that reminds you of happier times, isn't it?"

Whiskey definitely isn't what he expects, that's something he expects from rowdier people, but it gets a grin. That's the only thing to shake him from crowd and reverie. Until the comment comes.

He blinks and then laughs. "Oh, yeah. Not big, big crowds but like this?" He takes a moment, observing the room. "This is good."

A group of men laugh together, making jabs and laughing harder. A woman stands proudly by the pool table, observing her kingdom. A couple sits off to the side, lost in their own world. Another pair bickers jokingly, gesturing at the sports teams on the tv.

"It is nice," He says, nodding. "I grew up playing in the plaza of my town. I was underage and they didn't let me in the bars-- especially since everyone knew me and what trouble I was. Then of course, I spoke of my primos. Whenever we got a moment's peace and a bottle of anything we were using both to get rowdy. I'd have to tell them, no, enough, I don't want to play another song." He laughs fondly.

"But I liked playing with people. I liked just being there. My wi... ex-wife was the same, actually. Just for her family mind you, didn't like crowds, didn't like strangers. But whenever she and her family gathered she'd stand to the side and get this look. Like she was happy just to see everyone else happy too. She'd watch them... and I'd watch her.

He goes quiet, eyes soft. And then he shakes his head. "But that's me being a lovesick fool. Tell me. You a crowd, quiet, or sideline person?"

Edited 2019-02-28 14:57 (UTC)

He just listens to the other man, following his line of sight; it's clearly a topic he feels strongly about, so why interrupt?

Ah, and then it gets sad, rather than happy. A common thing, for reminiscing; and then a question.

"It depends," he says, after a moment of watching people move around. "I'll go wherever I'm needed. I don't have much of a preference."

Which, really, is a preference in itself...of a sort. He's always just blended in, been background noise. Social interaction was just...something that was there; a tool, or something to do, or whatever was most significant at the time.

Was it sad, to have that perspective? Perhaps to some people, but it's not sad to him. He's simply content.

"But I suppose being on the sidelines feels a little better, after a few years here. Easier to keep an eye on things."

As always, viewed through the lens of a job, a duty, rather than a personal preference. It's hard to tell if he truly has one.

Señor Ekkehardt was a strange man at times. He was careful and cautious, like he said before, but not the sort he'd expect from someone shy. Perhaps more of what he'd expect from someone who'd lived in the outlands but even then, this doesn't strike him as paranoia or fear. This is just Ekkehardt.

"Sidelines too, huh?" He bobs his head. "I guess that's pretty evident, what with us choosing to sit here." He pats a hand to the bar counter. It's not how he would've seen himself once, the spotlight and all its draws playing with his head, but he knows himself better now. Or he hopes he does.

"How many years have you been here? You know, as opposed to your home."

His home in the outlands. He can't help but try to picture it. He's almost certain it's nothing like the doom and gloom castle that keeps popping into this head.

"The spotlight isn't for someone like me," Ekkehardt says, still watching the crowd. He laughs a little, quietly, like even the thought of being the center of attention is a foolish idea. "Others may take the stage, and they're more than welcome to it. I'll stay right here."

He looks back at the other man, when that question is posed.

"Three years, now. This year will be my fourth." He sort of shrugs. "I get to go home, as my schedule allows...and I asked to be placed here. So really, I shouldn't complain too much." His smile is a bit rueful, but it's not exactly regret. It was his choice, in the end, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get homesick now and then.

He laughs along. He even lifts his glass in cheers, swigging the whole of it back and setting it upon the bar to be refilled. Ekkehardt was definitely a smarter man than him.

"I'm not sure if that sounds alright or just agonizing," He says, rueful as well. "My perspective is skewed." Every day away tore at him at least a little. But at least he can admit it might be blinding him to something not nearly so bad.

"Can I ask why you wanted to be here? I know you've got some good reason in there. Probably five, and two secret back up reasons." He's teasing a little.

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Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power

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