Cameron To Candy

Candy had the front hall set the way Mrs. Prim liked it, water already at a low boil, tray polished, cups ready. She kept her eyes down as the bell rang and opened the door.

Mrs. Edwina Prim stepped in, brisk and neat. Sergeant Strapforth followed, all winter coat and steady boots.

“Prepared already,” Mrs. Prim said, taking in the steam and the squared tray. “Good. We will attempt the Small Guest Presentation. Lead us to the parlor.”

Candy guided them in. Marcus stood as they entered. He gave Candy a small look that said, we have this, and took his seat.

Mrs. Prim set a slim tin beside the kettle. “This week, the Ministry provides the leaves. Gravi-tea. It promotes a healthy union.”

Candy dipped her head. “Thank you.”

“The ministry provides as much as it takes,” Mrs. Prim replied.

“A phrase no one has ever said before,” Candy thought.

“Proceed,” Mrs. Prim said, moving to where she could see her hands.

Candy took her place behind the tray, toes at the edge of the curtsey mat, eyes down. She squared each cup to the house crest, then set her palm to her chest and said, steady and clear, “I steep, I serve, I keep this home. Welcome honor guests.”

She measured a spoon of leaves into the saucer, added water to cover, counted quietly to four, set the kettle back, and decanted to the saucer first. Then she poured out evenly, left to right. No high pour, no flourishes.

“Face your left cup,” Mrs Prim said softly. Candy nudged it square.

When the steam settled, Candy laid the steadfast spoon across the saucer. “Order observed.”

Mrs Prim tasted, set her cup down, and gave one short nod. “Good staging. Hands steady. You shortened a word in the line, but your pour was even. Keep this form.”

Sergeant Strapforth murmured, “Clean work.”

Candy felt Marcus watching her. She kept her eyes on the tray, heat climbing her cheeks in spite of herself.

Mrs. Prim left the tin behind. “Use this for the week,” she said. “It promotes good values for the home.”

They did not leave. They never left quickly. Newlyweds in Paddlewick were assigned observers for the first year, coaches if you wanted a kinder word, and then off and on as needed. Prim and the sergeant had been at three of their dinners already. They were not told Candy’s full situation; the Ministry’s trickle of information moved like cold honey, but someone had briefed them on a few of her requirements.

“The exams,” Mrs. Prim said, glancing at Marcus, not at Candy. “Most couples have their marital team sign off after a handful of demonstrations. In Mrs. Elwood’s case, there will be formal testing. Three ceremonies, graded. Small Guest, Household, and Service.”

Candy kept her eyes on her folded hands. The tin of Gravi-tea sat very neatly on the console. A little gift that hummed at the edges of the room.

“For Small Guest,” Mrs. Prim went on, “she would scrape a pass today. It needs polish. The rest must be brought up to the same floor.”

Sergeant Strapforth opened his ledger. “Metrics,” he said, and the word emptied the parlor of warmth for a moment. Pins, sashes, chore logs, compliance tallies, tiny boxes checked beside the most ordinary hours of Candy’s week. They spoke to Marcus about it rather than to her, as if she were a lamp in the corner that might be measured but not addressed.

Marcus listened, set his second cup down on its saucer, and said, “Understood.” He looked from the lists to Candy, then back to Prim. “We can pick up the pace where we must. I want it noted that she is steadily improving.”

There was a silence the length of a breath. Mrs. Prim made a small, reluctant mark in her book. “Noted.”

“Noted,” Sergeant Strapforth echoed.

The rest was the usual nonsense, line by line. Dusting standards, posture duration, and whether a curtsey in the hall should match the one at the door. At last the ledger closed. Mrs. Prim stood. “We will return next week.” She tapped the tin with a fingernail. “Use this. It promotes a healthy union.”

She had been oddly insistent on the tea usage Candy thought. She’d mentioned it a few times.

They took their leave. The house loosened by a notch. Marcus gathered the papers they had left behind, set them in a tidy stack, and told Candy he would refill the woodpile before dusk. His voice was calm, simple, very sure.

An hour or two later the bell rang again. Alyssa slipped in out of the cold with a folio under her arm and the soft determination she wore to work. She kissed Candy’s cheek, warmed her hands by the fire, and unlatched the case to a neat fan of designs.

“I brought a few,” she said. “Cleaner linework, less crowding. It is required that you take the marital tattoo. What you choose is yours. Not choosing is not an option.”

Candy tried to laugh and found she did not have it in her. “One choice inside a choice. How generous.”

Alyssa slid a page across the table. “I know. Still, we can make it yours.” She paused, eyes flicking to the tin on the console, then back to Candy’s face. “Let us start with what you refuse, and move in from there.”

Candy drew the folio closer. The kettle whispered again on the hob. In the doorway, the light shifted as Marcus crossed the yard. The air in the parlor felt a shade heavier than it had that morning, not bad heavy, just certain, like a book set square on a shelf.

“All right,” Candy said, fingertip resting on the cleanest pattern. “Show me.”

Alyssa spread the folio across the parlor table like a card trick.

“No roses,” Candy said, flipping a page. “No lilies. Oh gods! No hearts! If it goes on lace, or a twelve-year-old girls notebook doodles, it does not go on me.”

“So not floral,” Alyssa said, amused. “Not ribbon, not lace. Understood. We can go austere and let negative space do the lifting. Although that can be tricky.”

“What about inanimate,” Candy said. “Coat of arms is allowed, right?

“Acceptable, although it’s more common on your maiden tattoo,” Alyssa said. “If you want something living, and you refuse foliage, perhaps fauna.”

“No dragons,” Candy said hurriedly, and the Literary Society crowded her mind for a blink like a bad smell. “Anything but dragons.”

“Many women like butterflies, ladybugs, that sort of colorful thing.”

“Pass.”

“Of course. Well, your maiden name is Alistair. The crest variant uses a phoenix. We could adapt that.”

Candy traced the phoenix outline in front of her. The lines felt like breath you could hold without shaking. Marcus crossed the doorway with a handful of ledgers. The tin Mrs. Prim had left sat on the console, neat as a guest who would not take a hint. He poured himself another cup. The water was only warm now but he drank anyway.

“Candy,” he said, looking at the tray they had abandoned. “Please put the tea away before I get back from Hearthwind. I have to check the wood shipment.”

“Mm,” Candy said without looking up. “Yeah, sure. In a minute.”

He left. Alyssa slid a page closer.

“These narrow bands,” she said. “They carry weight without shouting. They sit clean against the hip.”

“Better,” Candy said. “I could live with something dangerous. A tiger, or a threadmaw!”

“Unconventional but not against any rules,” Alyssa acknowledged. “So to recap, the more, shall we say, feminine options, lace, hearts, butterflies are off the table. Dragons are out, but predator animals, family symbols and working items such as knives or quills are acceptable?”

“Getting warmer,” Candy said. “At least we have a solid no pile, even if the yes section needs working.”

They fell into it, no idle chatter, just work. The kind that makes an afternoon vanish. When the clock tapped the hour, Marcus returned and stopped just inside the parlor.

“Candy,” he said. “I asked you to put the tea away before I came back.”

She glanced up, then down at the tray as if it had walked there on its own. “Sorry. You came back sooner than I thought.”

“I see I was not clear,” he said. “Very well, I will give you one hour. If it is not put away by then, you will be disciplined.”

Candy’s head snapped up; she stared. That was not how he spoke! …Wait. He had warned her he might put on the proper-husband act with friends in the room… was that for show? Well, if it was she’d be chewing him out later, the Sygil be damned.

“Alllll riiiight,” she said slowly. “It will be done.”

It was done ten minutes later. Cups dried. Saucer wiped. Silverware rinsed. The tin squared to the wall. When Marcus came back, he took it in with a single glance and nodded.

“Good girl,” he said. “Thank you.”

Heat climbed into her face, not the pleasant kind. She’d always found the good girl phrasing demeaning. He knew that. Alyssa watched the page and not the people.

Marcus stepped to the console, lifted a spoon, and looked at the silver basket as if it had failed a test.

“Candy,” he said. “This has not been polished to standard.”

“I was going to get that after Alyssa left.”

“When I said put it away, I meant put it away properly. Forgive me, Alyssa.” He did not look at her. He did not need to. “I will address my household. It will take but a moment.”

“Of course, sir,” Alyssa said. Her voice was calm, the sort of calm that belongs to doctors and good liars.

“In the kitchen,” Marcus said, and Candy felt the room tilt toward him a degree. “You will polish as I showed you. Five minutes. If you fail, you will take corner time.”

“Marcus,” Candy said, forcing a little laugh into the word. “This is not like you. Why are you acting like this?”

He looked at her as if she were speaking through a door. “Are you talking back to me?”

“What? No. I am asking a question.”

He reached forward and caressed her hair. She jerked back but found he’d gotten a firm grip, holding the hair close to her scalp. He held her so she had to look him in the eyes.

“Who is in charge?” he asked.

“What the actual F-”

“Who is in charge here Candy?”

“Marcus, what the hells has - wha!!” Candy yelped as Marcus switched grips, taking her by the wrist and in one smooth motion, sat on the kitchen chair, pulling her over his lap.

“Candy, who is in charge?”

“Let me go you- ow!” Marcus’ hand came down firmly over Candy’s rear. It was the hardest spank she’d ever felt. She craned her head back to look at him. He had a calm, stone-faced expression on.

“Who is in charge, Candy?”

“I am going to murder you for - thaaaaaaaawwww!” she cried out as another swat landed her bare bottom.

“Who is in charge Candy?” She hesitated, panting from shock and pain. He raised his arm again and landed another swat!

“You are!” she shrieked.

“Better. Now say it properly.”

“Wha… oh uh, you are in charge, sir.” The sir was spat through clenched teeth.

“Good. Now ten more for the disrespectful behaviour.”

“Wait, Marcus, no!”

“I shouldn’t have had to ask more than once, Candy. Now, be a good girl and count your swats.” His hand came down again, her body jerking in response. She couldn’t help her feet flailing.

“Candy, you didn’t count, so that swat doesn’t count. We are starting again at one. And keep your feet down. Understand?”

“No, that’s not fa-" Marcus cleared his throat, loudly. "Uh, I mean, yes, sir!” She said. All the while panicking. This wasn’t Marvus. This was WAY beyond putting the character on just because Alyssa was here. Did he know something she didn’t? Was the ministry watching closer somehow? Or, more likely, was something seriously wrong with him?

His palm came down again, and she managed a “one, sir,” without wiggling too much. By five, she was squirming, by nine her eyes were misty, by twelve she kicked again, but he let her away with it with a warning to do better next time. Then, she rose. The humiliation continued. He cleared his throat. The one reminder, slash warning. She jumped.

"Oh shyte... Er... Thank you for correcting me... sir!" The sir was said with narrowed eyes, and as little spite as she could manage in the situation.

"Good. Now sit." He pulled her to sit on his lap, rather than bend over it.

“I.. I don’t need aftercare,” she stammored.

“Nonsense. I can see you’re shaken. You are literally shaking.” It’s true, she was. “You will sit with me until that stops.” He pulled her to his chest and held her tight. After a moment, he began stroking her hair.

Candy’s pulse raced. She didn’t want contact with him right now. He was freaking her out. He’d just gone full Paddlewick domination on her, out of nowhere! Dominating her. Humiliating her. Okay, she told herself, breathe deep. If he won't let you up until you’re calm, make it happen. She went through all the self-soothing techniques she could think of.

Slowly, her shaking decreased, her heart rate fell, and she returned to normal. Among the growing list of disturbing things that day, though, she realised that being held by Marcus had counterintuitively helped speed her recovery along. Her mind said, ‘Get away from me,’ but her body said, ‘I need this, please hold me tighter, never stop petting me!’ Gods! Stupid Paddlewick woman’s body!

“Little one,” Marcus said, “I want you to remember, I disciplined you because I care about you, not because I'm mad. I know you can be a good girl. I'm just helping you achieve that."

Candy said nothing. Again, she had a mixed reaction. His tone and calmness was helping anchor her, but little one? I disciplined you because I care? She could be a good girl? What the hells?!

"Anyway," Marcus continued. You seem better now. You can return to your friend any time.”

“Uh, thank you… husband," Candy said, rising shaky off his lap. "I will go back to Alyssa now.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing how you’ll work my initials onto your cute little bottom,” Marcus grinned. Candy shuddered in disgust and kept walking.

Allysa looked up as they returned. Marcus nodded to her. “Alyssa, I apologise for the delay. Things took longer than expected.”

“Not at all, Mr. Elwood,” she replied, ever the picture of composure.

“I have business in town,” Marcus said, turning to Candy, “I’m going to prep Hearthwind. I’ll give you a list of chores before I go. In the meantime, I’ll be in the back if you need me. And Candy, what are you going to be?”

“Uh, I, huh, I don’t,” Candy fumfered. She caught Alyssa’s eyes, who mouthed, “a good girl.”

“Oh, uh, I’ll be… a good girl,” Candy managed to get out, cheeks blazing red in humiliation. As he left she stared at the door he’d exited, lost in a daze.

“Uhem, Candy,” Alyssa cut in. “Forgive me, but you weren’t bratting just now, were you?”

“What? No!”

“I see. Then, are you alright?”

“N… no. I, I don’t know what just happened.” Candy hesitated. Marcus was the only one she could be completely honest with, and now he’d gone of the deep end. But she needed someone, so… “Marcus doesn’t usually act that way. I mean, that was weird. He usually only disciplines me if he has to. I, I thought maybe he was being stricter because you were here, you know, uh, showing off, but… but no that was… Too much.

“Yes, from the limited interaction I have had with him before this did seem… surprising. Forgive me, it was hard not to overhear much of that exchange.”

“I, I mean, what could this be?” Then her mind flashed through all the warning signs in Paddlewick, the ‘see a fay say something to the ministry, the “see a demon kill a demon”, the cautionary stories about angry gods and mind-altering monsters.

“Could... could something be controlling him? A god? A monster?” She began tearing, though she tried to fight it down. Alyssa was across the room in the blink of an eye, taking Candy into her embrace.

“It will be okay, Candy. We’ll figure this out together.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I think I do.“ Candy pulled away to look her in the face, but Alyssa was staring down at the table.

“What?!” Candy rasped.

“Look,” Alyssa said, pointing to the label from the tea that had fallen off.

“What? Tea?”

“Gravitea,” Alyssa corrected, as if that explained it all.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Gravitea is called this for the weight it causes. People who drink it become far more serious than they otherwise would. For example, take the rules of Paddlewick so seriously that they enforce them all.”

“Alyssa, I’m sorry but that’s crazy. Tea doesn’t do anything except maybe perk you up. I mean, they say camomile relaxes you, and I can promise you that‘s complete grombolonk shyte! Tea’s just flavored water!”

“For most that might be true, but from what I understand, a few people, maybe five percent of the population, have a very real reaction to it. Men in particular, and in Paddlewick, that means them acting like an Ultra. The kind of man that makes you submit with a look.”

“Gods, that's.. No, that can’t… I mean..” she trailed off. If true, that would explain it. And maybe the tea was affecting her too. Was the feeling in the pit of her stomach from the tea, or what just happened? “I mean, if that’s true, what do we do? Does it wear off?”

“Yes, once it's out of his system. Usually just a few hours. But everyone's different, and he had a few cups, yes?”

“Gludge, I think three, yeah.”

“That’s a notable amount. Well, it’s fortunate he’ll be going into town soon. If he follows the average, there’s still a chance it will wear off before he gets home.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Be a good girl. Do whatever he says. Wait it out.” Candy’s stomach lurched, but she nodded. Alyssa could be cold and calculated. If she thought this was best, it probably was. “And,” Alyssa added, “as soon as he leaves, burn the tea and throw the ashes to the wind.”

Candy only nodded.

A few minutes later, Marcus returned, list in hand. “Here you go, cutie,” he said, handing the list to Candy. “Please, have these done by my return. I’ll be about four hours. Maybe more if there’s traffic.”

“Yes sir,” Candy said, eyes down.

“Aw, atta girl,” Marcus said with a dreamy smile on his face. “See what a little discipline can do for you?”

“Yes, sir,” she repeated. He reached out, placing his hands on either of her hips, and drew her closer to him. She couldn’t help but look up.

“You’re so pretty when you’re properly submissive, little one,” he said, holding her lightly. “I look forward to my return. Remember, today is Gulpenday. You know the tradition.” Candy’s face turned whiter than a ghost. She did know the tradition. By the gods, she needed this to wear off before he got back!

“Oh, you look troubled,” he said, seeing her change.

“Oh, uh, nothing Sir, it's nothing. I, I just hope I can please you properly tonight,” she swallowed hard. She may have thrown up a little in her mouth upon saying that.

“Oh, that’s sweet little one,” he said, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear. “I’m sure you’ll do well.” He leaned down and kissed her on the head, then released her waist. He bid Alyssas farewell and reminded Candy to finish the chores before his return, and he expected to be greeted with at least the standard Greeting Ritual version A upon his return.

After he’d left, coat on, the sound of the horses' hooves hitting the stone all the way down the lane, Candy swallowed. “Gulpen Day,” she said.

“I know,” Alyssa said softly. “I am sorry, but surely you’ve observed if before in your marriage. You will survive.” She was partially right, but had no idea the context she was missing.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The house felt heavier, the way a room does after someone important has left, the air still shaped by his body. Candy pressed her palms to the edge of the table until the wood printed against her skin.

“All right,” she said, and disliked how small it sounded. “All right. Chores, I guess.”

Alyssa nodded. “I will help you set the house to spec,” she said. “We will do the easy things first. Kindling stacking, polish the silver, and the lint shelf in the entry. Then I’ll help you practice the greeting.”

Candy’s laugh came out wrong. She wanted it to sound nonchalant. It came out terrified.

“Thanks, Alyssa. I’m really glad you’re here.”

They worked without chatter. The silver found its shine. The entry lint vanished. The bookshelves were dusted. Candy set the curtsey mat to the correct orientation related to the front door.

At the console, the tin sat innocent and still. Candy kept seeing his eyes, that flat gravity where the usual warmth should sit. She kept hearing the pat to her hip, light but full of ownership.

Alyssa adjusted the edge of the mat. “Stand there,” she said quietly. “Try it once.”

Candy lifted her chin, let it fall the way the manual demanded, and set the words in her mouth. “Welcome home, sir.”

“No, first the phrasing,” Alyssa said.

“Right, uh,” she lowered her head again, “your house receives you sir.”

“I stand received,” Alyssa replied, “you may rise, woman of the house.”

Candy nodded, standing. “And that’s all there is to it?”

“The non-verbal communication is more key here. The mat placement, your head angel, the words are more formalities for the end.” Alyssa explained. “So, yes. The most basic greeting ceremony.”

Candy sighed in relief and pressed her hands to her dress to smooth it out. She looked at the tin again. “What if it does not lift by the time he comes back?”

“Then you keep to the smallest target,” Alyssa said. “Answer when asked. Do not volunteer. Do what you can finish in minutes, not hours. If he corrects you, say yes, sir, and let it pass. You might be able to stall by asking him to share about himself and offer something menial but lengthy, such as a foot or back rub. This is a tide. It will go out.”

Candy closed her eyes, then opened them because closing them made the house feel closer. “I am going to hate the sound of his voice by midnight.”

“I know,” Alyssa said. “I’m just a magic mirror call away. Summon me if needed.”

Candy’s mouth pulled into something that wanted to be a smile and failed. “Thank you.”

They put the paste away. Alyssa gathered the folio. At the door, she turned, looked at Candy, and mouthed the words again, slow and clear, yes, sir. Candy nodded.

The latch clicked behind her. The house held its breath. The kettle on the hob gave a small, tired hiss, then fell quiet.

Alyssa left with a final word of caution, “One of the biggest oddities of those affected by gravitea is that they won’t understand how they acted was different. Something about it, even after it’s long out of their system, stays with them. You’ll tell Marcus it’s unusual fo him to hold our hair. He will say something like, ‘oh, no its not’ . You’ll point out he’s never done it before, and he’ll say ‘and?’ You’ll say that in and of itself makes it out of character. He’ll say ‘Oh no, people do it all the time’, which won't be the point. He won't understand what he did, you won't get an apology or a realisation or anything.”

“That… that can’t. That’s crazy.” Candy stammered.

“I know, but it’s what happens, as I understand it. Good luck Candy.” Alyssa gave her a short hug and then was gone out the door.

With the house cleaned, the tea thoroughly burned and ashes scattered, all that was left was to wait for Marcus’ return. Candy stood on the edge of the curtsey mat and practiced not shaking.

Time passed. Eventually, Candy heard the clip-clop of Heathwinds' hooves on the cobbles. He’d get her in the stables and be in soon. She took her position.

The latch turned. Candy stepped onto the curtsey mat, eyes down, palms light at her dress.

“Your house receives you, sir,” she said, steady.

Marcus paused in the doorway, surprised, then smiled. “I am received. You may rise, woman of the house.”

“She rose, careful not to make too much eye contact.

“May I take your coat, husband?”

Agan Marcus paused, surprised. “Oh, thank you, but I’ve got it.” He removed it and placed it on the coat rack by the door. Candy waited. His voice had sounded lighter than before. And less sure.

“So, you went all out, the greeting ceremony, the coat offer, you're waiting to be dismissed now. That is going to look great on the metrics. Thank you for doing that! I was genuinely worried we were going to get called into a ministry meeting this month!”

“You demanded it when you left,” Candy said.

He frowned, thinking. “I suppose I did. You never usually listen, so, you know I didn’t really expect it… thank you.”

She watched his face, searching for that flat weight from earlier. It wasn’t there. “Do you remember threatening to punish me,” she asked, “over the silver?”

His smile dimmed. “Yes. I remember.”

“Do you still feel like that?”

“No. Of course not.”

“And you told me it was Gulpen Day,” she said. “Did you plan to do the ritual?”

He went pale. “Plink, no. Why would you think that?”

“Because you said it before you left.”

“Oh. That was… performative. Alyssa was here.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Candy kept her voice level. “If I put the silver away wrong right now, would you punish me?”

“No,” he said at once. “Don’t be silly.”

“But you would have then.”

“Yes.”

“Because that was different.”

“Yes.”

“How.”

“It was earned then,” he said, as if it solved the puzzle. “It wouldn’t be earned now.”

She let that sit. “You don’t hear a contradiction.”

He shook his head, calm as if discussing the weather. “No. It makes sense.”

Exactly what Alyssa had described. Candy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Well,” she said, softer, “at least you are back.”

He exhaled too, relief finally catching up to his smile. “I’m sorry if I was rough. Long day. Thank you for keeping the house in order.”

She nodded.

Later, when the lamps were low, she sat on the edge of the settee and let the quiet collect. It had been a glimpse, short and ugly, of the life everyone told her was normal. A husband who spoke in phrases and penalties. A day stacked with little tests. No slack, even when slack was harmless.

If she had not married her friend, if she had married someone trained to love the rules more than the person in front of him, this is what every week might have looked like. Marcus had been sparing her, she knew that in a general way. She had not understood how much until today.

She rose, crossed to the console, and closed the tin. The label looked tidy in the lamplight, harmless again. The tin was empty of course but she kept it, to study.

“Never again,” she murmured.

From the bedroom, Marcus called her name, warm this time, not weighty. She went to him, and for once the house did not feel like it was leaning.

“Hey do we have more of that gravitea?” he asked. “That stuff was good.”

“No!” Candy shouted. Marcus startled. “I mean. Please no. I know you don’t believe me but I think it affected you badly. I need you to promise me you’ll never drink any again.”

“Candy that’s ridiculous I - “

“It’s not a big ask, Marcus. You’d never even had it today! I’m not asking you to give up your favourite meal or anything. I take a lot of crap in this life now and I’m asking this one thing of you, so just fucking do it and promise me you’ll never drink gravitea, in any form, ever again! DO IT!”

“Okay, okay!” he held up his hands. “Fine. Sheesh,” he agreed, annoyed and confused.

“Thank you.” Marcus turned to go.

“Wait,” Candy said, facing away from him. He stopped, turning to look at her. She was silent for a moment. Then she turned and with increasing pace, crossed the room and threw her arms around him.

“Wha… what’s this?” Marcus asked, arms out, moving them in to return the hug, then pulling back, unsure of what to do here.

“I give you a hard time about the things you do that I think you should do better. Standing up to the ministry more, finding more ways around the rules, but I don’t thank you enough for the things you don’t do… thank you.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks? I mean. It is hard. I try not to say anything because it’s harder for you, but… yeah, it’s nice to hear, sometimes.” Eventually, he settled in, returning the embrace, the kind friends give each other, and they stayed like that for a time.