thisavrou_log | let's talk about spaceships

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all about j: j

let's talk about spaceships - closed

Who: J and Miles
When:1/31 late evening
Where:elevator
What: J and Miles needs to talk. Luckily for them the elevator just happens to malfunction on the right moment!
Warnings: slurs / mentions of past suicide attempt / hinted transphobia. Will update if/when needed

It was getting late. Normally this would be the time for J to change her clothes to something more flashy, put more make up on and leave the ship to enjoy from the adventurous night life of Avelle. But however, ever since the dream about the strange Komai-girl, the idea of leaving Moira and taking a step on Emiri's surface made her feel extremely uncomfortable.

So, instead of preparing to go out she just took a shower in the Nomo Deck's horrendous bathing area, cleaning her face from the make up and curly locks from all the hair products. After the shower she changed her dress to more 'comfortable' Moira uniform (it really pains her to say just how comfy it actually felt), packed her dress to a bag and headed towards the elevator, intending to pay a quick visit to her little 'salon.' Even though she wasn't exactly sure what to think about her job here, she still couldn't argue that it didn't come with some sweet perks. So far there hasn't been any customers knocking on her door, which suited her fine because this way she could just use the room to store her clothes, to make sure that they'd stay clean and away from Sans and his dirt.

As the doors began to close behind her J heard footsteps rushing towards the elevator. Without paying too much attention to it, she put her arm between the doors to make sure that the other person makes it. But of course, only after they're both inside and the elevator starts moving J actually realizes just who's the person standing next to her.

Ohhh. Fuck.

It had been, what, over two weeks since the last time J saw Miles, something she's rather glad about. It's not like she's tried to avoid him but well.. their previous meeting left such an awful, sour taste of regret to J's mouth. But even though, she might have been unnecessary mean and cruel towards him, it'd be unfair to say that Miles was completely innocent himself.

For a brief moment J thought that maybe she'd be lucky enough and that Miles wouldn't recognize her? After all she didn't look anything like last time in her current get up. But she quickly ruled that out of her mind and hell. They both lived on a fucking same ship so it'd be impossible for them to keep avoiding meeting again.

"Where to, Mr. Miles?"

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Likewise, Miles doesn't realize just who's holding the elevator open until he'd already dashed inside with a quick breath, and by then it's far too late to back out with any grace. No saving face there. J is the last person he wants to see now -- well, ever, really. Even after her hurried apology, the memory of that conversation still burns in his mind, the sick feeling of shame and self-loathing it had left behind. Dammit, he's fought so hard to leave that baggage behind, and a few well-aimed remarks struck down all the defenses he'd built up. And it's not as though he hadn't dipped into cruel territory, either. The whole thing had just left a bad taste in his mouth. So had all the crying that he still refuses to admit to.

Aside from an indistinct, polite noise somewhat resembling a thank you for holding the door, Miles doesn't really answer her question, just reaches out and punches the button for the deck he wants. It's on a higher level than where J is apparently going, so no hope of dashing out of this encounter early. He every deliberately does not look at her, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched like he's drawing in on himself, trying not to be noticed even though that's damn near impossible.

Miles' silence doesn't surprise her at all and she can hardly blame him for not wanting to talk to her as she'd probably do the same if she were in his shoes here. But that still doesn't mean that J doesn't find it extremely immature and bratty.

Fine. Two of us can play this game. She rolls her eyes at him and as the elevator begins to move she leans on the wall behind her, crossing her arms around her chest. If Miles really wanted to make their stay on Moira all awkward then so be it. Well, at least this elevator right ought to be over soon enough.

Or that's what they'd think. Because after going past two levels or so, the lights suddenly starts to flicker and then there's a loud thumb-sound as the elevator stops moving, followed by a total blackout. Fortunately, the darkness doesn't last long as the lights turns back on, dimmer than before.

J looks quickly at Miles before turning back to the panel and starts hitting buttons to see if any of them worked. Of course, they didn't.

Excellent. Wonderful. A pained smile fixes itself on Miles' face as he watches J punch every button on the panel. Bad enough that he was unfortunately destined for so much as a five-minute ride in the lift with J; now he's doomed to god knows how long in here with the woman he'd had an almost screaming argument with in his office a scant few weeks ago. There had been plenty of fire flung from both sides, but her last words at him still echo painfully in his mind.

"It seems," Miles says, his voice carefully bland, "that the lift has gone out of service. I don't think pushing any of those buttons will work." He jerks his chin in the direction of the emergency call button on the adjacent panel. "You might want to try that one."

"Oh. So he does speak." J jeers at him but still does as he says and reaches out to push the emergency call button. Unfortunately for them, it also turns out to be unresponsive. She sighs out from the frustration and hits it few times more, just to be sure that it's as dead as the rest of the buttons.

"No luck," J states and looks over her shoulder at Miles. "You know who's in charge of fixing these things? You might want to give them a call."

Miles goes stiff at that jab, gaze going completely flat, his slightly hunched shoulders a little more hunched now. He shouldn't rise to the bait, he really shouldn't, but it feels like salt on a fresh wound and it burns. "Oh, yes," he bites out, just short of a snarl. "He does tricks, too, if you bring him a ball or a stick. Just watch what he does when you place a treat on his nose."

He shuts himself up then, because the words came out sour and left a bad taste in his mouth, and he exhales a thin breath. He doesn't justify the rest of that with a response, unusually tight-lipped, and he just stabs at his MID until he sends a request out to Engineering. His mouth draws into a thin line as he stares at the screen, not looking at J.

"Help is on its way," he says tonelessly. "In about an hour."

Edited 2016-02-14 01:53 (UTC)

That sudden outburst leaves J staring at him with her lips parted and completely speechless. She can't help but wonder just how has this man managed to survive if he's really this sensitive and gets worked up just from one remark. Again, she might not have been the most polite there but she honestly thought that he had more backbone than this.

"Right," she says slowly with a uncertain voice, still stunned from his reaction. J keeps her eyes on Miles for a few seconds before she shrugs it off, leaning back on the wall. An hour isn't that bad, but somehow she has the feeling that this is going to be the longest wait of her life.

After about five minutes of silence, J digs out a cigarette pack from and a lighter her uniform's pocket. She pulls one rather crumpled cig out of the packet and lights it for herself, taking a deep drag out of it. Luckily she's not going to run out of the smokes too soon.

At that stare, Miles immediately regrets opening his frigging mouth. He shouldn't have reacted, should have kept himself careful and controlled like he always does -- it isn't like J's the first to hurl insults his way over his appearance, to demean him in retaliation or otherwise. But so few have ever hit upon that particular sore spot, a memory she could not possibly have context for, an echo of a teenage boy driven to suicide attempt out of sheer shame and self-loathing. She already took enough ground from her, why give her more? Stupid boy. She doesn't need a further display of how much that careless remark back in his office had hurt, how much she's still capable of hurting him. He knows he's not exactly innocent of cruelty in that conversation, but that doesn't make it any better. It makes it that much worse.

He goes silent at that one-word remark, going stiff and drawing in on himself, his expression closed. Deeply uncomfortable though it is, he'd prefer to sit in silence for the next hour or however long it'll take to get someone from Engineering to fix this. Silence isn't something Miles does well -- he tends to babble -- but hell, there are games on the MID, he'll find a way to entertain himself. Maybe he'll just barrage Ivan with a slew of texts until his cousin responds. God knows he's done it to Miles enough times.

But the click of J's lighter catches his attention and his head jerks up to see her light up a cigarette right there in the lift. In the ship. The ambient smoke tickles Miles' throat and he coughs into the crook of his elbow, and when he looks at her it's with an expression of incredulity with a dash of mild horror.

"Tell me," he says, his voice as neutral as he can make it save for the touch of alarm in it, "do you know how air filtration systems work on a ship like this?"

The cough catches her attention but doesn't think too much of it. He must not be used to have smoke around him, she recalls how he had forbidden her to smoke in his office earlier. Well, too bad for him. Smoking takes her thoughts away and helps her to calm down, especially in uncomfortable situation like this, and she isn't planning to put her cigarette off just because Miles doesn't like it.

But that questions catches her off guard, making her to look down at him with a rather confused expression on her face. She's understands the question but isn't sure what does it have to do with her smoking.

"Ah. Well," she clears her throat, shrugging a little nonchalantly. "If you're worried about the smell just take a shower after we're out of here. Besides, it's menthol."

"I...think you're missing my point," Miles says dryly, lips twitching into a frown. On so many different levels. What the hell kind of response is take a shower after, anyway? He lets out a thin breath and gestures with his hands. "Look, I know you come from a pre-spaceflight time, but I'm sure you know by now that space is a vacuum. Meaning there's no air out there. All the air -- all the oxygen we have is inside this ship. Now, the ship has a system that regulars the air, recycles carbon dioxide to oxygen, alerts if there are toxins in the air. There are filters too, of course, but there's always buildup in filtration systems, and as a general rule, we try not to make it more difficult for us to breathe. You need to understand, the air we're breathing now is the same air we've been breathing for months now. So when you smoke, you're adding that to the air we breathe, and that means it circulates around the whole ship. And personally, I don't care for secondhand smoke."

Miles' lips thin, and he studies his fingernails with apparent dispassion. "And on top of that, fire consumes oxygen, so every time you light up you're burning up a little more of the air we breathe. I'd be careful with that if I were you."

She listens to Miles' explanation in silence, her confident appearance turning more timid.

"Oh." J feels just silly, a little embarrassed even. She feels like this is something she ought to have realized on her own. But then again, considering what kind of upbringing she got while growing up it shouldn't be that big of a surprise that these things hadn't occurred to her. Her mother used believe that science was nothing but work of evil and unfortunately enough, the adoptive family she got later in her life wasn't much better either. Of course, it's not like her ignorance and lack of education can be blamed entirely on them. After all, she did drop out of the school at the age of sixteen and even before that instead of studying she had been more interested in sneaking into the clubs.

"Oh, well." She tears her gaze away from Miles and stares the thin smoke in front of her, hiding any sign of uncertainty from her tone. "But it's okay now. I mean, we're still inside of Emiri's airspace, right? Open a window and there's plenty of air to breathe."

"Ah...no. We're in the planet's orbit, yes, but we're outside the atmosphere. There's no air up here. And," he adds, with a slight wrinkle of his brow, "spaceships do not generally have windows you can open. Kind of a massive safety risk."

His tone is still a little clipped, mostly because this is painfully uncomfortable and he would like out of here, please. He's debating the merits of trying to see if he can open up the top hatch of the elevator and crawl out along the shaft when the smoke from J's cigarette tickles his nose, and he sneezes into the crook of his elbow. "So would you please put that out?"

J decides to drop the subject, feeling that if she were to say something she'd only end up embarrassing herself more. It's strange, as she's never really been one to care about what others think of her intellectually-wise but with Miles it's different. She was feeling awkward enough and didn't want to give him any shots to use against her. Hell, he already had all the reasons to treat her unkindly and try to hurt her back.

His request makes her to look back at him thoughtfully, as if she was actually considering it. She places the cigarette back to her lips, inhales deep and then breathes the smoke out towards him. "No," she says with a cold voice. "One cig can't do that much of a difference. And besides. It's good for you."

Edited 2016-02-20 03:37 (UTC)

Miles has about two seconds to look extremely indignant before he coughs and sneezes again, his eyes starting to water. He rubs them on the back of his sleeve before he stares at her in absolute increduility.

"Are you serious?" He doesn't even have the room to sound mad with the utter disbelief in his voice. He points one blunt finger at the cigarette in J's hand as if in accusation. "Do you have any idea what those things do to your lungs? Where I'm from, no one's smoked for centuries because those things are filled with what amounts to rat poison. Medical science in your time must not be advanced enough to know that you might as well do away with things altogether and inject cancer cells into your lungs."

The rant only earns another eye roll from J, accompanied with contempt laugh as she swats his finger away.

"Hang loose, grandpa," yet another mean jab about Miles' appearance. J knows that cigarettes aren't exactly the safiest things around, as the people back at home has just started to speak about the possible health risks out in the public, but she still honestly thinks that Miles is just exaggerating here. "I don't know what the hell you guys smoked, but my world's doctors actually recommend smoking. To help deal with stress for an example." She blows out another thin line of smoke, smirks at him and extends her hand, mockingly offering the cigarette. "Which is something you seem to need help with."

Miles goes flinty at that insult, though a slight hurt look flickers over his face. More telling is the way he shrinks back, his crossed arms wrapping around himself a little tighter.

"There is an Earth in my world, you know. We're just a thousand years or so ahead of you. Your doctors just haven't hit on modern medicine in your time yet."

He sounds defensive, like he's being attacked, and he feels like he is. He flushes at that last jab, and though he tries to wave away the smoke he only coughs more, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, his eyes stinging as they start to water.

"This shit is terrible for you, it's the last thing I'd want to do for stress relief. And you obviously need a new one, if you're still getting your kicks from -- God, will you stop that?" He takes a few considerable steps back, as far away from her as he can get before he hits the wall behind him.

"Oh! Mind your language, Mr. Miles," J sneers and laughs out loud, waving the cigarette in front of him as he tries to escape from the smoke, then she places it back to between her lips, takes a deep breath and then blowing a smoke ring at him. She knows this is childish and mean, that she's not behaving any better than a petty school bully. But then again, it's amusing to see how easily she can push Miles' around and get him riled up.

With a laughter on her lips, she too withdraws and leans back against elevator's wall, dropping the bag off from her shoulders to the ground. "But you must admit that this is quite hilarious. This situation, I mean." she says and shrugs lightly. Her tone is amused, but there's still a small hint of bitterness hidden to it. "A tranny and dwarf. Stuck in an elevator. Sounds like a desperate attempted comedy, don't you think?"

Edited 2016-03-07 09:24 (UTC)

Miles's face reddens despite himself, unable to fight the hot surge of embarrassment and an indignation rising in his throat. God, what is wrong with her? What is wrong with him? He's spent years and years building up thick armor to this sort of thing, to shrugging off the nastiest of insults. But after their last conversation in his office, when she'd unexpectedly hit on one of Miles's most closely guarded sore spots -- deliberately, of course, but he doubts she had any idea just how bad it was, judging by the look on her face at the time. And somehow that's given her a shortcut to getting right under Miles's skin, an automatic laser targeting to the things that make him jump and squirm and want to crawl away. Except they're trapped in a frigging elevator, and -- good God, is he scared of her? Miles glares in resentment, trying to swallow back the sudden tightness in his throat even as he coughs more heavily this time, trying desperately to wave away the smoke. It lingers in the air of the elevator, building up in the small space, and it makes Miles's eyes sting and water.

He can recognize the bitter humor as some vague attempt at reconciliation, and his eyes flicker a little at J calling herself a tranny, but it isn't enough for him. He opens his mouth to respond to that comment with a scathing rebuttal -- yeah, frigging hysterical, I hear it killed it on opening weekend... -- but what comes out is something else entirely.

"What is wrong with you?" he bursts out, hands curling into fists at his sides and then opening again in some empty, grasping gesture. "Do you get off on this? Look, I know I wasn't exactly playing nice last time we met and I'm sorry, but I think we both know you won that round, so just -- take your frigging victory and leave it at that, will you?"

Admitting defeat, no matter how petty, stings every time, but he wants so badly to be out of here, for J to just shut up, that he's past that point of pride. And while his pride is injured, it's his dignity that's suffered the greater blow. Miles huffs out a breath and looks away, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

This is Miles' second outburst. But instead of sounding petty and bitter like before, this is more vulnerable and simply just hurt. The grin and laughter quickly fades away from from her face as she watches Miles pour out at her in a manner that J could only describe as submissive, and for a short moment she looks just as equally upset and devastated as he. This stings even more than watching breaking down in his office.

J knows she should try to apologize, tell him that she didn't mean to hurt him like this and that things were going to be okay, but then there's something in his words that makes her gaze turn dark and cold. So, she just waits patiently for him to be done and crosses her arms around herself, refusing to look at him as she let's a heavy silence to fall between them.

"You surprise me, Mr. Miles," she says finally, not even bothering to keep her own bitterness and hurt away from her voice. "To think that you could tell that you were wrong as well. You seem to enjoy wearing that victim's mantle too much." Nothing in this world can hurt me is a mantra that she's been telling herself for her entire life. She knows that she can't let other people to have any kind of power over her, that she needs to be strong. All the mistreatments, rejections and the hate-- she had swallowed them all, showing to the world that's she's immune to the poison.

And now, she's letting this man see that wasn't quite the case, that he had indeed managed to hurt her, too. He's right that she's the one who went too far last time, but she had apologized already for it.

"But tell me. Would you still be apologizing to me if you had won the last round as you put it? Somehow I doubt it. You really seemed to enjoy humiliating this tranny." She scoffs and takes the last drag out of the cigarette before throwing it to to ground, stomping on it.

"So, fuck you."

Edited 2016-03-10 04:29 (UTC)

Indignation and upset rise in Miles's face at wearing the victim's mantle, and he seems poised, mouth half-open and lips pulled back, to respond in anger, but at J's final hurrah and fuck you he looks almost stricken, his mouth opening a little wider and then closing, finally. The indignation and anger all but drop from his face, and then he just looks tired.

"Yes." He sounds tired, too. Too tired to lie. He rubs at his face. "And faster, for it. Because at the time, I think I wanted to win -- badly -- but that victory would've soured very quickly." It's already soured. This whole thing has. He doesn't like it. "And I never would've called you -- that."

He regrets what happened in his office -- more regret than upset, at this point. The memory's curdled in his stomach. Maybe if he had noticed quicker -- if he had figured J out when she'd walked in the door and not halfway through what he refused to let go, at that point...

"I didn't apologize earlier because I -- " Because I was too frigging terrified. Miles bites back that one, looking anxious. "It doesn't matter why not. I should have. Because what I did was cruel, and unfair, and I'm sorry." He draws in a breath. "But I didn't fight back, after that. I wasn't going to fight at all. I don't want to. Granted, hiding from you was never all that sustainable a solution..."

He trails off, looking a little self-loathing for that candid admission, and he looks back up at J. "Is it the leverage you enjoy?" he asks, his tone a little flat but oddly nonjudgmental -- just inquisitive. That's what he wanted out of it -- having leverage over someone else like that, just for the novelty. Just for once.

J continues to refuse looking at Miles's direction and keeps staring at the closed doors in front of her. But the insensitivity begins slowly fade from her stare and her shoulders relax as she listens him to talk and explain himself. She can really hear the regret and the distress from his voice. Every word he says sounds just so sincere and J can feel a small and strange appreciation for him to bloom underneath all the hurt and bitterness. She knows that admitting all those errors must've been hard for him.

"What you did wasn't anything new." J says, tone soft but also very exhausted. She's not looking any pity with that statement as she presents it so in-matter-of-fact manner. It's also an atonement of sorts, as she accepts his apology.

She rubs her forehead a shortly and then runs her hair, combing the curls with her fingers. Her own outburst and Miles' remorse really left her feeling exhausted and-- as embarrassing it is, on the brink of the tears. She leans her head on the wall behind her and slides down to sit on floor, digging out the pack of cigarettes once again.

"I don't know. But I guess I thought I would enjoy from it." She admit, fiddling the cig pack in her hands. J had always been one to make fun of others and push them, that's just who she is but never in her life had she taken pleasure from being cruel and hurting others. And somehow this situation with him had gotten out of control and turned into something ugly and cruel.

Edited 2016-03-15 01:17 (UTC)

"That doesn't make it any better," Miles sighs, letting out a long breath. There's a break in the tension in the room -- elevator, whatever -- that lightens his chest, makes it a little easier to breathe. "That makes it worse, actually. If I'm going to aim for cruelty, might as well be original about it."

God knows he's wished his tormentors would put a little thought into their insults from time to time, if only because hearing the same shit over and over got to be tiresome. He smiles thinly at her and slides down to the floor to sit opposite her, watching her fiddle with the pack of cigarettes. "It looks good down from here, doesn't it? Top-shelf revenge sounds appealing on paper. But don't listen to anyone who tells you revenge is sweet. It's bitter as hell."

He lets out another thin stream of breath and draws his knees up, resting his elbows on them and letting his hands dangle freely. "Because, in so doing, we lose our understanding," he goes on, his voice a little softer. "It's the nature of the thing. And people like you and I," he says, with a tiny, self-deprecating smile, "I don't think we can afford to lose that."

Edited 2016-03-16 18:14 (UTC)

J looks up to him as she listens to his voice in silence, feeling rather restless, and simply alien, despite having calm and meek expression on her face. She opens the lid of package and takes out another cigarette but doesn't lit it just yet.

He makes her to think of New York, or rather her last night there and the way how things had ended. Back then she had manipulated another person's feelings and used them for her own advance and what for? Just so she could get her revenge against a lover, a man who she had let control her life for over two years despite never even having real feelings for him, who had all of sudden decided to toss her side in a favor of a real woman, as he had put it. She had been so angry back then. But in the end, who it was that suffered the most from her revenge? The one who was left with no job, home or friends.

'People like you and I. That line makes her finally smile back at him. Her smile isn't any stronger or brighter than his own, but it's still something. A subtle sign of agreement.

"If that's the case then you really need to work harder to get points from creativity," a dry laughter. Really, during her short life she's heard all kinds of insults towards her own person and been rejected so many different ways that she's starting to believe she's experienced all of them.

There's a small quiet moment between them. J wets her lips with her tongue and then continues with a softer voice: "How did I do? On the cruelty?"

A careful inquiry about just how much damage she had done to him.

Ah. A prelude to an apology, perhaps, although he's not sure he even needs one from her now. Miles can read the regret in here. He smiles weakly at her.

"Pretty well, actually," he confesses, entirely honest. "You've got a hell of a right hook, y'know?" He gives her a look, serious and almost penetrating, and then he relaxes, turning his palm up. "But I'll survive. I've been cut deeper, so don't worry. It wasn't a fatal blow."

Another laughter. Yes, she had thought that her comments about his appearance had found their way under his skin. His reception to her presence in the elevator had been quite repelled one, so defensive that it almost came out of as scared. On top of that, J doubts that she'll ever forget the broken, panicked look on his face when she had left his office less than two weeks ago.

The silent apology about what happened lingers in the air and J doesn't even need a feel to voice it, it can be read from her eyes and from her body language, as she relaxes her shoulders and widens her smile a bit. She can see now that she had been to quick to judge him for having thin-skin or for not knowing how to face hardships. No, he's just as much of a survivor as she is.

"Heh, they do say that there's nothing worse than wrath of a woman," she jokes weakly, carefully testing to see his reaction when using the word 'woman' instead of something degrading as 'tranny.'

The tension is slowly seeping from the elevator like the air wheezing out of a balloon, little by little, but there's more breathing room in here than before. There are two victims in this room, Miles's mind whispers, a strange echo of the past. She has a nice smile, he decides, when it comes out pure and undiluted like this.

"Don't I know it," he says, smiling ruefully at her. "Though I hope you won't take it as an insult if I say you're not the most wrathful woman I've ever met."

J swears that her heart stops beating when she hears his answer and for a moment she sits there, unmoving and looking at him with inexpressible eyes.

And you call me woman even when I look like this, she almost says but can't quite find strength to bring out her voice for it. She didn't expect him to deny it but neither to agree and admit it to her so straightforwardly, as if there was no question about it. She can feel her throat tightening, causing a suffocating sensation, and the tears from earlier threatening to gather to her eyes. He obviously has no idea what he just did to her.

She laughs again, her voice hoarser than before, and runs her hand through her hair and places cigarette between her lips. "Hah, I'd like to meet the worst one, then. She must be quite a woman."

Miles holds his breath a moment, watching her -- she looks like she might cry, and for a moment he feels like he ought to apologize. But after a beat he recognizes that quietly stunned look on her face as the response to long sought after acknowledgment, careening out from behind the corner you least expected it to. He lets out his breath, his smile widening fractionally.

"Oh, she's quite a woman, alright." There's a slight bitter taste to the smile on his face now, but it isn't directed at J. He thinks of Cavilo, that petite little blonde who wanted nothing more than power because she could have it. She spared no feelings for anyone besides herself. "I don't think you'd like to meet her, though. She is, perhaps, one of the most detestable people I've ever had the fortune to meet. Sugar laced with cyanide -- she'd leave a bitter taste in your mouth."

"Ha. She sounds interesting," and kind of admirable, even.

J's never had that many women in her life. Other than her mother there hasn't really been anyone to work as a role model for her. Honestly, seeing how she parted away with her parents so many years ago, it was no wonder that she latched to the idea of Marilyn Monroe and drowned herself with her. But as much she adored and worshipped her idol, it was still interesting to hear about women who didn't quite fit into to the standard idea of woman. No matter how much she tried make herself look like her idol, copying her body language, voice and look, J knows that she'll never be able to fill that part either.

"Tell me, just what did she do to you to deserve be called the most detestable person you've ever met." She asks as she lights her cigarette, her voice only stronger and more confident than before. It's much nicer to spend the remaining hour chatting about casual things like this instead of fighting.

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