2013.06.28 - Pirate Zombies of the Caribbean - er, in Gotham.

A grim figure stands vigil over Gotham this night. Silhouetted against the moon, a statue among the gargoyles, the Sentinel rises over the cityscape of the 23rd street block of the lower South side, which is actually close to the wharfs, so he overlooks a lot less of the city than is really useful. Also, a big part of the block is a city water purification plant, and nothing's really going on there. So it's like, ten houses, maybe, that are being watched over.

Or would be, if the grim figure was actually doing anything like watching. Closer inpsection would reveal a giant Deadpool inflatable toy throwing a mahalo up at the city of Gotham's Lower Ward, while the /actual/ Deadpool sits crosslegged and hunched over behind the edge of the roof, playing what looks like Pokemon on an old-school Gameboy.

"You lemme know if you see them," Deadpool tells Lunair, who is apparently sharing the space with him for reasons that will be revealed in her pose. "Then me 'n' Pikachu will bring the thunder an' lightnin'!" The Gameboy goes *pikaPii!* and Deadpool hisses in excitement.

Grim and dark like a goth's highschool art portfolio. Grim and - huh. Lunair has a pair of binoculars with her and has a look on her face that suggests she's attempting normal expressions and reactions, but doing about as well as Ke$ha trying to do hypermath. Still, she peers through them. She nods, and weirdly, doesn't seem fazed by Deadpool and his gameboy. She has to smile at the noises and pokemoning. Still, she peers again through the binoculars. Hmm. Doesn't seem to be much just yet. "..." Hmmm. Stare. "All I see so far is a fellow with a - blue pony hat?" She seems uncertain. Oh well. "And a lot of rainbows..."

Plane trips, shuttles by limousine to and fro, hours long meetings filled with frivolous discussion about how to woo noteworthy designers to the proverbial table, and seven cups of coffee; this is how a certain woman has filled her day. Now that it was nightfall, and the chaos of the work day was giving in to the silence of night, she just didn't know what to do anymore...

She never did. Gliding elegantly down a dull gray sidewalk of Gotham City's South side with a clicking of heels, a woman with exceedingly long, violet, mane is dressed in rather chic business casual dress. It's a combination of long-sleeved, navy blue, cashmere boatneck tee and black khakis with dressy little black mini-heels. With every step, a pair of silver earrings with embedded aquamarine gemstones dances energetically nearest her slim shoulders.

She's on her way back to a rented apartment at this time, from the modeling agency office downtown. She doesn't seem terribly wary, despite Gotham City's reputation for awful crime. But the truth of the matter is... she is /very/ aware of absolutely everything in her immediate area. That is why, as she passes beneath the building upon which Deadpool and Lunair sit, she stops...and turns a pair of green eyes skyward with idle curiosity. She may not even be able to see them, but she certainly finds it awfully curious for two people to be sitting around on a roof this time of night...

"Those aren't the binoculars, those are the Magic Viewers," Deadpool says. He snatches it away from Lunair and puts actual binoculars into her hands, then starts looking through the Magic Viewer. "Ooh look, unicorns! And rainbows! And a kitty!" Click, click, click. "Ok, I'm bored with this now," Deadpool says, tossing it over his shoulder. He sniffs the air, flinging a hand up with a comical overexaggeration. "Hark! I smell... /booty/. And not the piratey kind."

There's a very pregnant pause, from Psylocke's location, and then a very abrupt whistling through the air. Deadpool slams into the ground. Hard. It sounds like a wet bag of leaves hitting the pavement.

There's a beat, and Deadpool bounces onto his feet. "Hey, baby," he says as smoothly as he can with a dislocated shoulder. He tries to lean nonchalantly against a car, then changes to his non-broken arm and leans against a lamppost. It's worth observing that he's wearing a snappy little red and black number that's formfitting /and/ functional, in that he's covered in an improbable number of firearms. Seriously, it looks like he is one of those guys you see in video games running around covered in rocket launchers and stuff. "So I was just sitting here being a silent guardian of the night, and I noticed you walking down the street and went... 'Hey, she's just walking down the street'."

Awkward silence. "So I'm down here now. And uh... yeah."

"Sup?"

Oh. Whoops. Lunair looks a little baffled. Where did her binoculars go? She doesn't seem to object to the swap either. She pauses. "Thar be boobies?" She seems puzzled. What other kind of booty is Deadpool interested in? Her mind is a bit more blank, lost and dinged. She will peer through the binoculars, just to be sure. She freezes, staring blankly a moment. She's not in a Rockwell video. She does not like the feeling of being watched. No siree. She frowns and looks around. No sea gulls, no nothin'. Hmm. But then, Deadpool slams into the ground. She blinks and leans over the edge of their watch post to see where he landed. Hmm. There's no way /she/ would survive that. So instead, it's elevator time. Cue wavy lines, peppy time passing music and soon you'd have Lunair on the ground floor.

There's more than a little apprehension written in the psion's features as the more 'chaotic' of the pair of minds begins to move. The sudden leaping from the building and crashing into the pavement of the infernally-colored being elicits a slow turning, and a backstep...

...And then recognition sets in. She didn't know him on even a remotely personal level, but he was a recognizable figure never the less. A dangerous, yet well-meaning, mercenary type... quite like someone else she knew.

"...Hello luv...", she replies in her typically smooth, low-toned, husky British accent. She's eyeing him, but not in the same fashion he's eyeing her most likely. She's just attempting to read his body language, practically an instinct from bygone days as a S.T.R.I.K.E. agent. The favoring of a particular arm does not miss her. "...Like a pigeon, aren't you?" She smiles, coyly - making a subtle joke about how easily distracted by 'bread crumbs' he seems to be. Quite a 'guardian', this one. "Well...", she chuckles, head-turning to the side briefly to eye the woman descending nearby. And then her eyes are back upon him again, "...I'm awfully grateful to know there's people like you watching these streets however. Gotham's quite the chaotic little jungle isn't it?"

Having said that, she tugs at the strap of a leather purse over her shoulder… shifting it slightly for comfort. In all actuality, judging by the copious dangerous weapons he’s carrying... he probably adds to it more than detracts. "...What on earth would make an important man like you want to come all the way down here for little ol' me?" As if she didn't know...

"...like, what, are you serious? I'm The Deadpool! And that's my wingmanwoman, the Scarlet Arsenal," Deadpool says, bouncing up and down and waving at Lunair.

He comically asides to Psylocke. "Girls are /way/ more likely to give you their number if you've got a chick for a wingman," he says, sotto voce, kind of, except he is speaking in a hoarse but normal volume.

"Wait, what did I come down here for?" Deadpool ponders. It was for /a thing/... "Hey, yellow voice! I was wondering when you'd show up." Right? There's Big Bang Theory on and it's a bit distracting. Hang on, I gotta shut a door. And you came down here for booty. "Thanks!" Deadpool says cheerily, saluting the sky. He looks at Psylocke. "Booty. Booty. Ah. Booty!"

Deadpool hoists a pair of oversized machine pistols up and aims them directly across the street, where- no joke- five guys who are dressed like pirates are shuffling out of an alleyway. "AVAST, YE BOOTY PLUNDERERS!" he roars. "CAP'N DEADPOOL ALWAYS GETS HIS BOOTY!"

And with that, gunfire explodes, shattering the traquil night hanging over the 23rd street water filtration plant.

Phew. Lunair's at least, pretty athletic and catches up. She waves back to Deadpool, smiling as if nothing were odd about this at all. She's helping! "Oh, nice to meet you," Whoever this might be. She looks a little confused for a moment. She seems oddly unruffled by all of this. She peers over by the fellows in pirate outfits. She looks baffled. "Well... she's over here... would they really try long range -?" She's not quite altogether up on what situations and things /are/, but she seems helpful enough. "And um, he does!" She calls after the roar to the plunderers. She saw it once, surely. It has to be true. Kind of. Pause.

For Elizabeth's part, she can only stand there and watch with... amusement... as Deadpool becomes suddenly far more animated before her. Her eyes track back toward Lunair, as he motions for her, with the psion idly wondering why such a comparitively normal woman would ever be a 'wingman' for such an individual. She's more than capable of finding out, but she prefers not to pry into others' psyches too much... especially not one as wonky as his. When Lunair speaks, Elizabeth offers a small nod and returns the pleasantries, "Nice to make your acquaintance, darling." and then looks rather flummoxed about the following 'they' comment. Who is 'they'...?

Still clutching the shoulder strap of her purse with an idle left hand, the psion lifts her right to brush a lock of wavy, violet, strands out of her eyes; her painted, wine-colored, lips purse in momentary contemplation as he mentions the bit about flirting. He was honest, this one... had to give him credit for that! "You're a right chat up aren't you? Well, I suppose that's all right...", she was accustomed to men making passes at her /everywhere/ after all. It was part of her job almost. Then the /crazy/ shines through, in a way you wouldn't even need a telepath to detect, and her prior inviting smile deadens subtly as the reminder that he is dangerous sets in once more. "...Booty?" She blinks, twice, as the comment comes. Suddenly they'd went straight from flirting to talking about a bang potentially... that was a bit too quick even for her. "Are you talking about my arse...??"

Then the guns come out, and she narrows her eyes, mind-flitting from 'he's aiming them at me??' to whirling in place to cast her gaze at the... rather comically dressed... men appearing out of the alleyway. And then it’s back to Deadpool as the shouting comes, and she almost immediately darts out of his way toward a nearby street light with a clicking of heels.

At this point, all semblance of normalcy is lost, and she feels compelled to forego her usual ethics and to probe those involved for information on the situation. ... What she gets is that they are most certainly not cosplayers he's firing on, but... the only indication she has on this matter comes from the thieves. The surface of Deadpool's mind is... momentarily occupied by cheese and muppets... wouldn't want to probe too deeply into that yet again...

Deadpool doesn't just start shooting, he starts /charging/ and shooting. Like, across the street, and leaping full-stride over a parked car. Even with a bazillion pounds of ordnance, he moves like- well, jungle cat isn't the right word- something involving springs and cocaine might be more apt.

"Arsenal! I need fire support! Because where there are pirates...!"

Deadpool blasts the pirates down, standing among them, and fastly reloads. His mask's eyeholes narrow dramatically.

"Where there are pirates, there are pirate /zombies/," he hisses melodramatically.

Just then, a ghost ship sails down the street! Like, seriously, right down 23rd! And indeed, there are PIRATE ZOMBIES!

"This is the happiest moment of my life," Deadpool sniffs, wiping away an imaginary tear. He holsters his pistols and draws a pair of silver katanas from his back. "Ok, hot lady! You're clearly here as part of some kind of arbitrary meeting, and you're way too hot to be a normal civilian, so I'm guessing you have some kind of cray-cray powers. So, guess what? This is the unlikely feel-good team up event of the weekend! Deadpool, Arsenal, and the Hot Chick versus PIRATE ZOOOOMBIEEEES!"

Deadpool actually squees. "I'm fighting zombies!"

Oh no. Pirate zombies! Lunair looks horrified. She might seem like she's lived under a rock for the better part of her life, she's aware that those tend to be bad things! "Okay!" Long range weapon it is! Though, nothing prepares her for a ghost ship sailing by. Whooooooa. Didn't she look this up at one point? Regardless, she too, is briefly in awe of the moment. She seems happy for Deadpool and more than a little shocked by HOLY CHEESES, PIRATE ZOMBIES! "Yay!" But things are about to get odd. Out of freaking nowhere, Lunair pulls a black and silver rifle, likely a standard issue hunting rifle. There's a clip of silver ammo, too, though it seems this one comes loaded. Where does she get it from? The ammo is tucked into a pocket and fire support Deadpool will get.

Elizabeth's psychic link is instinctively broken from the 'pirates' the moment one of them takes a bullet to the chest. She's experienced the death of a man psionically before, and she never wants to have to again. Standing there, clinging to that light post whilst absorbing the situation, one thing becomes /abundantly/ clear... especially as a GHOST SHIP?! sails by... this seemingly mundane situation has gone from scary to 'f-ck all' in the span of about five or six seconds!

..."...t'would seem we've lost the plot...", green eyes track the ethereal-seeming, semi-translucent, mass of energy in the form of an archaic-looking ship's hull that floats by. The hatred, sorrow, and generally negative emotions oozing from the very essence of the construct makes it clear that, though off-his-rocker Deadpool may certainly be, he is not incorrect about the danger inherent in the situation.

...And, Elizabeth notes Deadpool's enthusiastic chatter somewhat off-handedly... she’s not turning her eyes away from the ship bearing otherworldly shambling hordes but answering all the same, "Bloody hell... well, alright luv... I suppose it's best not to be takin' the piss right now so..." ...and she trails off, momentarily, as her focus changes... the psion exerting herself to tear a rather large, steel, postage box from the ground nearby and hoisting it into the air telekinetically with a lifting of her right, daintily well-manicured, hand. "...I might be." There's all the answer he needs about whether she has powers or not!

Once that postage box is hurled, wherever she can land it, the smartly dressed brit takes to the air momentarily... hovering off the ground and attempting to make distance between herself and the hordes. Not too much distance, but enough that she can figure out what she needs to do. She'd come to land somewhere between Lunair and Deadpool… heels clicking against the pavement accompanied by a toss of rolling violet waves. "Yay...?", she eyes the other woman curiously. Maybe she was wrong in her initial assessment. They were both crazy...

Deadpool stops. Just... stops.

He turns and heads back to Betsy, staring up at her as she hovers a few feet up. "Really? A postage box? You threw a /postage/ box at them." A zombie pirate comes running up with cutlasss raised, and Deadpool stops him with an outhrown palm. "Woah- wait. Talkin' to the hot Brit here." He squints up at Betsy. I mean, a /postage/ box. What is it with Brits and stamps? Did we just seriously make a Tax Stamp joke? That's a little highbrow for this scene. "I don't know, maybe it's time we classed it up. Hey, next round, let's make a pun involving 'thaumaturgy'," Deadpool says cheerily. The zombie pirate 'Ayys' or 'rarrs' or whatever sound zombified pirates make, and Deadpool no-looks and puts a burst of autofire into its facial region.

"Just... y'know. A little more style, that's all I'm asking," Deadpool pleads of Psylocke, ignoring the zombies closing in. "A postage box. Jeebus. Scarlet, memo- no postage boxes," he tells Lunair. "Also, rocket launchers, yes or no?"

It's more question than statement, and Deadpool hoists a pair of automatic shotguns up- one for each hand- and turning, goes to town on the ghosts. Zombies. Whatever. Seriously though, where does he /keep/ them?

Bwah. Lunair looks to Elizabeth, surprised. Then her eyes widen. Lunair is her own brand of loopy, it's true. "Well, that's - hmmm..." She considers it. She will take a potshot at a zombie getting a little too close. She's at least making sure no one gets ambushed or what have you. She seems oddly okay with the absurdity, her expression weirdly peaceful and disconnected. A pun involving thaumaturgy? "Rocket launchers are fun! But they seem more like an opener or a closer... so yes!" Sure, why not? "And no postage boxes. Noted!" She promises. She seems to remember weapon preferences, mostly. Maybe she keeps sticky notes in her armor. She has no room to talk about mysteriously appearing weapons, herself. "Um, huh." She seems duly impressed by Liz's powers, though.

Elizabeth narrows her eyes a touch at the storm of derision unleashed at her nationality by Deadpool and his... other occupants. But she barely comments on it, save for an off-handed, "...Oh, I'm full of style and class luv... it's my job." And then she promptly hurls a charging undead freak through the window of a nearby car with a somewhat annoyed expression. The car’s alarm begins to scream almost immediately, but the psion does not flinch. She merely steels her expession, stalking forward to toss another airborne with an animated left hand before bringing it face down into the concrete hard enough to create spider cracks.

Then she turns her head in Lunair's direction momentarily, in response to her focus being directed at the psion in interest. Her steely expression breaks and she cracks a mildly amused smile, painted lips spreading a bit, "...Is it /always/ this exciting, dear?" There's a hint of sarcasm there somewhere. Exciting could easily mean something else entirely!

"No, this is nine to five stuff," Deadpool says, swinging by on a long, ghostly rope and swinging a cutlass at a ghost. The arc carries him away into a spectral fog. He swings back past Betsy, speaking rapidly. "Weekends are much more fun...!" And he swings back again, this time wrestling with two ghosts at once. "We went to Disneyland...!"

Deadpool swings back yet again, and this time, slams into the side of the ghost ship with enough force to bounce back right at Betsy's feet. "Ow. That's solid," he remarks. But we know what we think about solid objects! "That's right!" Deadpool says with glee. "Solid objects can have Semtex stuck to them."

Deadpool starts producing several bricks of white putty, and presses them into Betty's hands. "Here, hold these. Don't drop them, I think they go off if you drop them. Or is that C4?" He frowns. "Either way, probably best not to drop the HE," he says with a shrug. With two bricks of his own, he runs at the pirate ship and hurls the Semtex sticky bombs at the hull, where they somehow adhere with a wet *splat*

Nod. Lunair seems quietly amused. "The chipmunks were kind of cute," She considers. Solid objects are also less icky than ectoplasmic ones! She seems to look up to Deadpool, really. She tilts her head to Elizabeth and looks thoughtful. "Hmm. Well, pirate zombies are kinda up there, I guess, but yeah. We've definitely seen weirder." Experienced weirder. Been weirder. Lunair seems to be as one with it. Which is likely the really disturbing part. Lunair provides support, periodically taking an odd shot at zombies chucking things at Deadpool or trying possibly to lower ropes towards him. Maybe they have guns? She's not sure. "And he means the don't drop it thing. I saw it once. On youtube." Kablooey! Or was that the dry ice thing? She forgets.

Despite her questioning Lunair, Deadpool seems rather eager to interject his own brand of commentary. And it's noted with a slight quirking of a neatly-trimmed brow. ...So this sort of /madness/ is the usual? ... Interesting.

...She doesn't have /too/ much time to think on that though, as the onslaught of encroaching zombies, ghosts, and other fiendish apparitions seems nigh endless. That, accompanied with the eery fog that seemed to be ekeing out of the ship, was cause for due caution.

And she takes a step back, almost an instant before Deadpool skids across the pavement at her feet. It's almost as if she expected it. The judges are out on whether she knew that thing was solid prior to that though.

Another winsome smile is afforded the mercenary as she looks upon him... the psion daring to take her eyes off of the crawling chaos before them momentarily. And she offers him both hands, like a proper lady, "...Need a hand, luv...?"

...And she is caught somewhat off-guard by the near-instantaneous passing of a thought through his mind... a dangerous one... accompanied by his using the offered hands to store his explosives?! The nerve! "...I..." She really doesn't know how to take this so, with a heavy sigh, she opts to simply mimic him... chasing him down and sticking the bricks to the hull before darting away again. An errant zombie, standing nearby, moans… his cutlass lashing out at her lithe frame. And Elizabeth promptly dodges it before giving it a hearty telekinetic shove. ... Her purse then falls to the ground with a clatter… apparently he cut the strap and managed to lacerate the flesh of her shoulder. "Dog's breath!"

"Dun dun dun daa daaa dunn.... dun dun dun daaa dun..." Yes. Deadpool is singing that magic/heroic themesong from Chariots of Fire that everyone plays every time something dramatic happens. With Lunair covering him, Deadpool charges back out through the mist, reaching forward to grab Betsy and dramatically and all chest-muscle a quiver, carry her to safety.

But then he trips and the snatch and grab turns more into a crash and tumble. Deadpool lands heavily on his face and skids to a halt.

"Ow. Arsenal!" he says, scrabbling to his seated position. "I'm down! I skinned my knee! That REALLY HURTS!" he says, going BANG BANG BANG with a shotgun, and DING DING DING with a bell. "Blow the charges! And then I want you to hit them with..."

....

DRAMATIC PAUSE.....

"THE BFG!!!!!"

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNN

Oh dear. Lunair's eyes widen a bit. She gasps as the lady is hit with a sword, which is a bit odd considering how violent her day job gets sometimes. She does cover Deadpool, eyes going wide again as Deadpool faceplants. Oh no! She'll do her best to keep the cover up, though - now it is time for to blow the charges once Deadpool is - uh, not on top of them? Within cool action jump with an explosion behind him and Betsy safely in his arms range? Yes, that'll do. As long as the Non Healing Factor having folks aren't going to be obliterated, she'll set off the charges. Now...

BFG... Big Flarkin' Gun? Or maybe it's that one from Doom... Well. It needs to be big and bad. So BFG it is! Her rifle is slung over her shoulder by its strap, and it only takes but a moment to pull a BFG out of freaking nowhere. It's sort of surreal when one considers it. Ready... aim... ZOT! Who are you going to call? Deadpool, apparently.

A snarl winds its way into the violet-maned brit's painted lips as her telekinetic shove of one zombie just serves to make room for the advancement of another. And yet, she can hear the menacing sounds of other apparitions behind her too. This was a rather dangerous situation for a woman so fragile as she to be in. She couldn't keep using telekinesis to defend herself forever, it was taxing... and her telepathy would hardly work against the mindless undead.

...Fortunately, she doesn't have to worry about that... as the insane mercenary chat up barges into the fray to grab her and run rather unexpectedly! Blinking furiously as her comparitively smaller and softer body is swept up in his much stronger arms, with her heeled feet being lifted off of the ground, she attempts to crane her neck up at him... "Where are we... AGH!"

The pair crash to the ground again almost immediately again, and the sounds of shambling hordes menacing and ghosts howling forlornly closes in. The crash itself had only managed to make her shoulder wound open a bit more, adding scrapes and cuts to her knees and elbows that burned like f-ck all! "OW!... What the bloody hell are you...", and she shoves against him... trying to make distance between them. It's light, at first, but then... she hears the call for charges to be set off and they're only feet away! The F-CK?! He really was a lunatic!

"WANKER!", she insults him for possibly the first time, before planting a heel against him and pushing off before scrambling to her feet and attempting to dart like mad just seconds before the charges are set off.

The ensuing explosion blows the, semi-shielded, psion right back into that car she destroyed earlier with a loud crash. The car's screaming, coupled with the ringing in her ears, has bestowed her with a magic f-cking headache! More expletives ensue…

"Hah! Hah! HAHAHAHA!"

Deadpool jumps up and down, screaming and laughing joyously. He runs over to Lunair and grabs her effortlessly, tossing her into the air and giving her a hug. "We can now officially say we BLEW UP A TOTAL OF ONE FREAKING GHOST PIRATE SHIP! That's TWO NEW PERSONAL RECORDS!" Deadpool cheers and woots as the pirate ship actually cracks, leaking ectoplasmic water, and starts to vanish under the asphalt, sunk by the mighty BFG that Lunair had unleashed upon it. He gives the Scarlet Arsenal another big hug and then trots ovre to the Brit.

"Hey hot stuff," he says, popping a squat in front of her. He takes her in- hair in disarray, clothes torn, bruised, smudged, bleeding- "You don't look so good. Y'know. I mean, I wouldn't go out in public like that, I'm just saying," he observes. There's a beat. "Did you see that I skinned my knee earlier? It /really hurt/," he informs the woman, ignoring the fact she's still reeling from the explosion.

Whoa. Just whoa. Lunair's eyes are as wide as plates. And then she beams, waving to Deadpool. Yay Team Deadpool! She whees at being tossed up nto the air and returns the hug! Then the second hug! "We totally did! That's AWESOME!" Beam. She's a little odd, but friendly. She looks concerned, as Deadpool trots over to the Brit. She dismisses the BFG, and it vanishes. She frowns. "Um. I think she's sort of like me... squishy." She furrows her brows. She looks concerned. "I think I have some painkillers and a first aid kit somewhere." She rubs the back of her head. That'd work, kinda? She's no nurse. Though, she was pretty happy and in awe Deadpool and the BFG sunk the ship.

"...Wanker.", she repeats, rolling away from him across the car hood as he approaches; she gives him a view of her lovely backside but it is not a flirtatious gesture by any means. Still gripping her head, fingers buried in her violet locks, the psion struggles internally to decrease the magnitude of her headache wordlessly. She is, indeed, quite battered and bloodied at this point. Had it not been for her telekinetic abilities, she surely would not have survived that act of madness.

"...Ugh...", but... after a few moments she pulls herself up, glaring dangerously at Deadpool. "...WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?!", she shouts into the open air... and then winces immediately at the pain the sound of her own shouting creates. Her soft features twist with pain for a moment or two and then simply become an angry scowl again. "You might enjoy the benefits of a healing ability, but I do not. Next time you want to try and commit suicide, leave me out of it!"

...And then she leaps off of the car, heels clicking against the pavement again, before attempting to push him aside and walk past Lunair. "...No thank you, darling..." she replies as politely as she can, given her mood, to the other woman. "...The only pain killing I think I need right now is to go on a bloody bender. I'm right knackered!" And, whether they're familiar with queen's english slang or not, she definitely means to get lost and find an –expletive- bar. Getting home will have to take a backseat for now, after all of this.