Despite the blazing sun in his exhausted body and the bustle of activity on the growing flightline, Akula kept walking out of the building and didn’t think about where his feet were taking him. He could hear someone shouting for him, but the sailor didn’t stop. Right now, since the sea was so far out of reach, Akula craved the silence of his room above all.
The sounds of clenched fists crashing against a weighted bag momentarily pulled Shark to look at an open exercise yard. Despite the searing sun above, several men were excising the day’s frustrations into kettle bells and plated racks. Rhino was among them, smashing fists and elbows against his target. Despite the fury of blows, the Chechen’s eyes betrayed his exhaustion. Were they at their peak, Akula would deride Nosorog for being slow and sloppy in his strikes, but this was not the time for critical feedback. Akula certainly understood the need to hit something right now.
From there, Akula continued his undeterrable march forward in thought, hoping the searing heat would burn even a tiny measure of his frustration away before he returned to his bunk. A moment later, another sound echoed into range. He could hear the delicate gasps of pleasure, but they didn’t affect his stride. From a moment’s look into the sole window built into an unused bungalow, Grizli had his delicate nurse wrapped around his midsection and was aggressively thrusting her upward in a lust the delicate, ballet-built body may not have been prepared for.
Akula’s glance lingered only a moment as he walked, but he didn’t intrude for longer than that, despite the young woman’s exposed beauty. He knew full well that such lewdness was simply Grizli’s preferred method to release stress, or celebrate success. Or simply pass the time, the lucky svoloch.
Then the ‘pang’ hit him, the first time it had in the months since Aklua had been deployed to Libya. He was jealous. He remembered holding Pasha in much the same way one dark January night, before this contract had been drafted. Suddenly, in his mind, the oppressive heat was gone, and he was half the world away. Mikhail saw only the star-lit ice of the river Vyg from the window of the small getaway cabin he’d rented for them just outside Kochkoma. The embers from the fireplace were deep red, popping off the wood he’d personally chopped while his love relaxed in a hot bath. It had been the first time Pasha had ventured so far north from the city comforts of Moscow, and he’d wanted to show her the pleasures of his life, simple as they were. And the moment he saw the warmth of her smile when she stepped out of her luxurious soak, clad in only a towel, the Shark had attacked her in a passionate frenzy.
Lost in the memory, Akula barely registered where he’d navigated himself until the third time the guard outside the comms truck asked him if he was all right. The sailor didn’t recognize the new man, but it was at least a comfort that the fresh blood was alert and responsive. “Enjoying your time in the sands?”
The guard shrugged. “I just go where work is. And guarding this truck is much better than swinging a pickaxe in the dark.”
That surprised Akula a little, as the sentry had the build of a runner, not a laborer. But something in the accent was off, which made Shark pause. “Kazak?”
“Nyet, Uzbek.” answered the sentry, clearly irritated by the mistaken identity.
Aklua simply shook his head and stepped up into the artificial cold of the truck. Finally, Shark let out the venomous breath that had caught him when he’d heard about Drakon. The sound that emerged was something between a guttural roar and a pained scream. It echoed off the cabin’s frame enough that the sentry sprinted in to see what was wrong before walking back out with a puzzled look and locking the truck closed.
Once his roar was exhausted, Akula slumped down at one of the computer terminals and retrieved his security card. Seeing the ‘online’ indicator for Pasha sent a tide of relief over him, as did her near-immediate message. “O Bozhe! Are you all right?”
He had to smile at that. Even the distant, digital concern wrapped him in a blanket of relief. “I am. I was lucky, if you can call it that.”
“I do! Blyad, they wouldn’t tell me anything! I had to keep a separate window up to track the destruction down there” his babochka hurriedly typed out. “How did things go so wrong?”
“Because I was wrong.” Shark admitted again, just as Lisus pointed out. “Silverback didn’t tell us that he had planned something else. Even when I asked before I took over the operation. Bastard let me lead twenty good men right into death.”
Pasha’s next response took a moment, and Shark could only imagine the various faces of rage and disgust she was making. “That vile shit…did he really think he’d get away with holding you back?”
“It doesn’t matter, really.” Mikhail admitted. “In my haste to get the mission done, I didn’t think about what Wildlife as a company would prepare…I just saw my next mission, and what needed done.”
“I’m so sorry.” Pasha replied with, adding in a question they both knew the answer to.”is there anything I can do?”
“How is Andre? Is he well?” Shark asked, needing to hear something close to normalcy right now.
Her response came quickly. Instead of a message, Pasha sent him another picture. This time, their little lapachka was dressed in a brown-furred onesie, eyes wide with light and energy and mouth open in a mighty grunt. Andre’s massive head was lifted from his mother’s bosom and the little man tried to pull his elbows and knees under him.
“Such strength!” Mikhail laughed, as much to himself as through his typed words.
“Such teeth!” Pasha countered. “Much like his father.”
“You usually enjoy that, babchoka.” He smirked, wishing above all to be doing just that right now.
He could imagine the rueful glare through her response, “Next time, YOU carry our little angel to term and tell me how much you like being bitten.”
“If it’s you, I welcome each time.” Mikhail quickly responded.
It took only one thought to suddenly drain all cheer from his shoulders. A realization he’d been trying to avoid thinking upon, but one that now stabbed through his very brain. “Liliyia never got to see out little lapachka…”
Pasha’s response was a long wait, even if Akula knew that time was standing still inside his comms room. “That’s not your fault, Mikhail. You can’t blame yourself for that! You know she’d never let you.”
At that, the sailor snorted. “No, no she wouldn’t. She’d kick me in the ass for being chum not even worth her fist…fuck, I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I know, Mikhail. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve dreaded reading your name on the Red List. And when it was so long this time, I…”
“I know, babchoka.” He wanted to soothe her, to sweep her away from her desk for a moment’s reprieve. But that was not the contract. This was the time he’d sold to Wildlife so his Pasha had a roof over her auburn locks, so Andre would not worry about his next meal.
Which means he had to ask, “Have you heard how long Lisus will be down here?”
After a moment, she replied. “Not long. He’s due back here for high-level meetings in less than two days. He’s assigned Tsezar to take command of the mission there, and he should be there tonight with more equipment.”
Akula nodded at that, for he knew that name well. Tsezar was an experienced infantryman and known for leading from the frontline. Not to mention being one of Wildlife’s premier hand-to-hand trainers in both sambo and krav maga. He will earn respect quickly, and I don’t doubt he’ll sweep up any last holdouts before moving west in force. “What else are we getting?”
“Mostly more replacements, but also the crew needed to help the LUA maintain captured vehicles again.” Pasha noted, but paused a while before adding “I think someone else from the board may be coming too, but not sure who.”
Instinctually, Akula knew he should be suspicious of rumor or half-bits of information. But Lisus’ words still rang around in his mind, so he set that concern aside for a more pressing issue. “Let’s hope they bring those horse-pill aspirin, my ears still ring!”
“You need to see the medics!” Pasha quickly scolded. “And probably eat something not made of electrolytes.”
Even thousands of kilometers away, Shark held up his hands in resignation. “As always, you’re right. I’m sure Leonid is done with his dancer by now, even he must breathe at some point.”
Pasha sent back a disgusted face, but then added. “When you come home, you’ll have the same. Now go un-fuck yourself. For Liliya.”
“I will. Ya tebya lyublyu. Give Andre an extra kiss for me.”
“Always, moya lubov. Come home to me.”
An odd sense of numbness came over Akula as he closed the messenger, as if bliss and guilt smashed together in opposing tides. He knew Pasha was right, Liliya knew his beloved was right. Der’mo, even Andre knows his mother is right… he thought to himself as he sat in the silent cabin. Still, for a spell, Shark simply sat in the frigid compartment, remembering what life was supposed to feel like.
With that in mind, he dared to open an unnamed, hidden folder attached in his personal profile. Hidden under layers of empty subfolders and password-protected for his eyes alone, it was his small slice of home among the sand. It was where his saved picture of Andre ended up, joining several others of its kind, such as the little guppy’s content eyes holding a spoon for the first time. Next to that, a picture of his Pasha standing in the Palace Square of St Petersburg, before they knew she carried Andre within her. Her smile was carefree and bright, even if she had teased Mikhail into taking the photo as a souvenir of their unplanned holiday. Following that was a dimly-let picture from Pasha on her cellphone, giving her Shark a wonderful glimpse down her tightly-pulled top to unrestrained cleavage.
Each one, an image that teased Akula with a thousand promises of things to come when this campaign was done, which made Mikhail lick his lips unconsciously. It also brought to his mind a spark of an idea she’d planted before he’d left for the sandy hellhole that was Libya. Maybe you’re right, Pasha…perhaps a desk and an office would make Andre happy, as it does you…
He snorted at the inclination, as it was an idea that had turned his stomach in disgust a decade ago. Back when he was a junior NCO on the Admiral Levchenko and the world began and ended with each shift. Back when the ship and the crew were all that I needed. But that’s not what matters anymore… they are. The ship sails on without me…“Perhaps Wildlife could use a new Navy liaison officer.”
The idea drifted in an unsettled tide in his mind, and Akula could feel those last pulses of energy start to fade. Again, Pasha’s gentle prodding came back to him, and he let himself smile as he stood up to return to his cot and let himself pass out. “See you soon, babchoka.”
Akula let his normal discipline slip a little as he slept well through the night and into the next morning. Unlike Pauk or the rest of his own team, he’d come away with the fewest bruises and cuts, so he’d let them find their own healing first. He also knew he had something far more important to do than tend to minor wounds. His soul was far more wounded, and Akula felt the weight of a different duty press upon him now.
Rising and stretching from his bunk, Akula went to a small shelf next to the single window of his bungalow. From that, he took down one of three physical books he took on every deployment, a biography of Yevdokiya Bershanskaya. The ace pilot and leader of the ‘Night Witches’ of World War II, had been Liliya’s hero as long as Akula knew her. In fact, the Soviet flier was perhaps the only person Liliya had ever spoken of in true admiration.
Akula felt his hand shake as he opened the book, which he’d done scarcely on those quiet nights in between missions. It was a book in frail condition, due in no small part to how many times Liliya had read it and added her own footnotes about the Witches and Bershanskaya herself. Each time he’d read the footnotes and additions, Akula had been impressed with just how in-depth his friend had been. “Liliya…you should’ve been a writer or historian…”
He snorted a laugh at that, remembering the only time he’d told her that out loud. It was a sentiment that made Drakon’s eyes glow red in a passionate anger. “Find me ONE kiska who can out-fly me, and I’ll let him fuck me here and now.” she’d retorted, stabbing a finger at Akula from across the table.
Next to him, Grizli’s eyes went as wide as his smile. “Then I enlist in pilot training tomorrow!” A threat the Ukrainian had never followed up on, as he barely failed the colorvision test.
After tossing part of her lunch at him, Liliya had declared to Akula in a direct glare.”The skies are mine until death, like they were hers!” A decree she reinforced by pointing at the weathered sigil of the Night Witches on the book’s cover. A cover Mikhail now gently placed his hand on as he examined the book.
“The sky is always yours, Liliya Maksimovna Kharlamov.” Shark declared to the memory, now several years past. He then turned to the middle of the book, where a five-thousand ruble bill was folded neatly. It had once been hers, just as she’d held a similar banknote of his in her domicile nearest to the helicopter apron. It had been their wager. Her gale-force confidence nothing would take her down against his bloodthirsty determination to make it through the world’s worst riptides.
It was strange for Akula to think on, looking down at the currency. All the times he’d been pinned down, screaming for Drakon’s fire to rain down from above. He’d never thought about all the times he’d raced in teeth-first to find her a place to land and operate. It had all come down to such a pitiful thing as the money in his hand. Now, it was more than a piece of paper, it was a promise. And it’s time to return this to its owner…
The desert sun was close to its zenith by the time Akula stepped under it, a testament to just how long he’d been lost in thought. Though his stomach snarled at him, Akula ignored it for the moment, and headed for the alert quarters where Liliya had lived. Silverback had tried to arrange for her to set up nearby his own bungalow, but Drakon was quick to retort how stupid that was.
As promised, the crimson-on-gray An-26 was gone, taking Lisus with it back home. Akula caught himself how many layers of chains and locks Silverback was confined in at that moment. Just open the rear hatch and drop that fuck into the sea…
Snarling, he shook himself back into focus. That wasn’t what he should be focused on right now, her memory didn’t deserve to be tainted by his own frustration and anger at their former boss.
Akula had never been inside Drakon’s quarters since they’d been deployed to Haven, and its spartan nature didn’t surprise him. Much like his domicile, it was little more than a bed, a bathroom, and a place to hang her flightsuit. But unlike Akula’s small reading nook where his tablet charged each day, she had an array of pictures from around the world. Some of them were taken in the midst of the shit, her face drenched in sweat and the engine of the helicopter behind her still smoking. To his chagrin and joy, one of those pictures was of him, splayed on his back after falling off a horse during a training mission deep in Mongolia. “Of course, you’d keep this one…”
Next to that, perhaps the only picture of Liliya out of uniform, featured her and Pasha at a concert. Akula had rarely seen his beloved smile through her fear so well, but Liliya’s joy was boundless. Both may have been aided by the glowing cup of some fine cocktail, which made Akula wonder how much his Pasha missed her rowdy days. To be young and careless once again…
He could’ve spent the rest of the day analyzing each photograph, letting Liliya’s voice play in his mind with each one. Part of Akula wanted to dream, to wish for the power to force Liliya back into existence from the memories. But that’s the end they all gambled to face, signing such contracts and becoming a borderless legion. And he knew, if anyone were going to do what had to be done now, it must be Akula. Anyone else would be haunted by the ghost of a vengeful Drakon, whose fire would scorch souls far worse than the sun ever could.
Reaching under her bunk, the sailor withdrew a worn metallic foot locker, which was thankfully unlocked. Drawing a deep breath to force himself not to hesitate, he began to take each picture down, packing it neatly among her few spare clothes. It didn’t take long until the room was as empty as the wasteland they’d spent the past months fighting over. In the picture of himself, Akula slipped the banknote into its frame and wrapped it carefully with a pair of workout shorts.
The creaking of the opening door spun Shark around in surprise, only to look up at a surprisingly somber Chechen.
“What is it?” queried Akula. “Orders?”
Nosorog shook his head and took a small box from a utility pocket on his hip. He examined it for a moment, like the larger man had forgotten what he put in it, before handing it to his team lead. “Nyet, just finishing a job.”
Carefully, Akula opened the small container, and a flicker of gold reflected out of it. Laid carefully in a bed of black cloth was an antiquely simple watch with several dials and tiny hands. Holding it up to his ear, Akula was greeted by the rhythmic ‘tic-tic-tic’ of the timepiece. “I didn’t know she had something so fancy.”
“Belonged to her grandmother, she said. But Soviet watches don’t like sand.” Nosorog replied, watching the watch more than the man holding it. “I haven’t seen a piece like it since…my grandfather’s shop in Grozny.”
Gently, Akula set the timepiece back into its coffin and sealed it again. “This is what you did before the war?”
Rhino nodded. “Simple pieces were good for timed roadside bombs. This…this is a work of history. And she asked nicely.”
Akula snorted a little at that. “I can’t picture that, especially to someone not born Russian.”
“Drakon knew talent when she saw it.” The Chechen shrugged. Gently, he set the box on top of a folded tank-top. “You knew her well?”
“Da. She’d been in the company just as long as me. Always the hot-shit, always the hero…always our savior.” Akula replied, his fist unconsciously balling at his side. “You did her justice by sending that Osa to hell.”
“I actually was hoping we’d bring it back.” Nosorog admitted. “I’ve never been able to work on something so advanced.”
Akula wanted to retort, but stopped himself when he thought about Rhino and how something made in the 1970s would’ve been more advanced than anything the Chechen had access to before. “You know, Grizli was a tank doctor before joining the company. Ask him to break down one of the vehicles we’re not using.”
“I’m not letting those slabs of meat near my wrenches until he steadies them with a good fuck!” Grizli announced. How such a behemoth had snuck up on both of them, Akula didn’t know, but he chided himself on not paying more attention.
“There’s more in the world than just pleasures of the flesh, asshole.” Nosorog quipped back.
To which Grizli laughed out loud. “Spoken like a man whose only known his own hand, or perhaps his sister’s.”
The Chechen went red with anger, but didn’t retort the jab. Akula quickly changed the subject. “Volk?”
“Still out of it, but my Oksana assures me that he’s fine. Our pup took quite a shock, falling off a building.” The Ukrainian acknowledged.
“Wow, you’ve actually learned her name, I’m impressed.” Akula chuckled. “I don’t think you’ve managed that since I’ve known you.”
Grizli smiled wide at that, clearly proud of his conquest. “She is a work of fine porcelain. But Drakon…she was a raging firestorm. How did she light your nights, Akula?”
The sailor shook his head at that. Perhaps Liliya was too determined, too driven to attract his eye like that. Or maybe was her crass professionalism that separated lust from logic. “It was never like that. Never even considered it.”
Bear raised an eyebrow at that confession, then nodded. “I forget, our Shark likes his women soft and gentle, like a fine breeze over the spring river.”
“You should’ve been a poet, cossak.” Rhino snorted.
The Ukrainian snorted at the idea. “And miss the simple pleasures of breaking noses with a fine 60mm wrench? How else would we live life?”
“Speaking of…how many of Sova’s team did they find alive?” Shark asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Just that idiot.” Grizli snarled. “Doctor says he’ll never walk again, bastards drove rusty nails in-between his vertebrae, one at a time. How he survived that…”
“Spetsnaz doesn’t train kiska, they train soldiers.” The sailor reminded them all, including himself. Still…they did far worse than kill him… “Drakon would’ve fit right in.”
“A fine warrior woman!” Grizli seconded, taking from his pocket a velcro patch. It was one Akula had seen before, though the Ukrainian never wore it into combat. On it, of all things, was an American Apache helicopter with arrows pointing in every direction. Inscribed on its border, the simple declaration of ‘Any Time, Any Where, Any Weather’. “Got this from some prick in a barfight in Warsaw. Never had the chance to have her talk proper shit about it.”
A moment of silence filled the bunk as Grizli placed the patch into the locker. Akula scanned the room, then found what he was looking for. He’d neatly snuggled Liliya’s bottle of Mother Russia’s finest grain vodka into her clothing, intending to open it with Pasha at her funeral. But these men earned the drink, he was well aware.
The ‘pop!’ of the top echoed around then like a last salute to the fallen. Despite being the one to find the bottle, Akula handed it to Grizli first. “She’ll still give you shit when you flinch.”
Grizli scowled at the drink, before taking the bottle and downing a short draw. He quickly passed the vodka to Nosorog, stifling a cough. “Fuck me! How does anyone drink this when even the Japanese figured out whiskey exists?”
“We have good taste, something you’d never understand.” The Chechen countered, drinking twice over what Grizli had, and handing the bottle back to Akula.”For Drakon.”
“Yasnoye nebo i poputnyy veter,” Akula declared, taking a drink, then tossing the bottle out the door to smash against the neighboring bungalow. I’ll see you again, Liliya. One way or another.
The foot locker was sealed in respectful silence. Once locked, the three men lifted it as they would a casket, Akula taking the steering position. Skillfully, the trio began their march to the cargo area for the next airlift home, so it could join its owner. Halfway there, a fourth set of boots ran up to take position next to Grizli in support. To Akula’s surprise, it was Vorobey, who looked like he hadn’t slept since landing back at Haven. “This is my fault…we should’ve ignored orders…”
The guilt from the flier’s voice was dripping with equal parts feeling and cheap liquor, which Akula knew was a dangerous mix when combined with the heat. “Not true, Sparrow. Lisus would’ve had you both shot down if you’d disobeyed orders.”
“I should’ve just planned for rockets, not just old bombs. Should’ve seen the Osa before it fired…” the pilot continued, staring through Akula and into the sand, which meant he wasn’t steering.
Frustrated, Shark stopped and nodded for the casket to be put down. Once it was stationary, he strode over and grabbed Vorobey by the collar and lifted the lankier, taller man off the ground. “You want to wallow in your fucking pity? Go back to Moscow and crawl under your bed! You WILL NOT lay your failures on her casket!”
The pilot trembled in Shark’s grasp, but only drooped his head in response. This angered Shark further, and he tossed Vorobey back, out of their way. “You want to honor her memory? Then take your head out of your ass, check your aircraft, and fly like you were born to! Bomb these fuckers back to their non-existant God for her!”
Vorobey opened his mouth to protest, but when he saw Grizli shaking his head, the pilot second-guessed his argument. Satisfied with the silence, Akula returned to his posting and the three men lifted the foot locker once again to carry it the last hundred meters, Vorobey not bothering to try to assist them again. No one said a word during their final paces, as their collective anger had been poured out onto a poor pilot’s willpower.
The cargo terminal itself was typically a busy place. Most of the fresh meat Wildlife sent into the theater started their lives here, sorting weapons and managing manifests. No soldier working in this part of the terminal had earned their name yet. Or worse yet, the few old faces that had lost their callsign to poor judgment or failure.
One of the latter approached Akula and the foot locker parade when it entered the building. A leather-skinned old man who looked like he’d lived through the Bolshevik revolution halted their entry. “Transport’s full, this will have to wait for the next one, day after tomorrow.”
“Nyet, this goes today. Needs to be with its owner on her flight home.” Akula countered, feeling a growl emerge from his throat. Between Sparrow’s self-loathing and omnipresent bureaucracy now in his way, Akula still wanted to hit something. Now more than ever, he wanted to channel that raw energy into something productive that also promised to bruise his body so that it equaled his spirit
The freight-loader thankfully recognized the incoming blow, and took to his manifest tablet. Three button taps later, he whistled for two baby-faced soldiers to assist him in loading the foot locker onto a wheeled cart. Together, the three men wheeled away the last mortal reminders Drakon left behind to an open Il-76 that would be Mozdok-bound within the hour. So very badly, Akula wanted to join that locker, to bring it home personally. It was a pulse of vulnerability that he bit back down and buried under the weight of his responsibility. Such distractions would take Akula home in a similar box, and he wouldn’t put Pasha or Andre through that.
“Fuck…” Grizli finally vented, letting his shoulders sag as the locker disappeared into the unmarked boxes of stuff in the back of the transport.
“At least she got that much. A lot of others get nothing at all.” Rhino countered, turning to head for the armory and training range.
Akula was tempted to follow the Chechen and grab a weapon, to blast some distant target into oblivion and pretend it was any number of NLD extremists that had cost Wildlife blood and bullets. But no…not today. Today, I need to feel the hit…
Silently, Akula turned to head for the sparring gym, which had once been a small hanger. To his surprise, the Ukrainian moved in step with him. “Not Oksana? You surprise me, Bear.”
Grizli laughed at that. “She must work, and sleep, sometime! Right now, beating up on the raw meat will be a good distraction.”
Akula had to laugh at that as much as Grizli did, the Ukrainian’s smugness rooted in the simple pleasures instead of a deep ego that befell many in their line of work. “Will you take her home when we leave here? Present her to your family?”
Bear laughed at that again, though it was tinged with a note of sadness, or perhaps understanding. “I doubt her husband would approve of such…still, to show her Hoverla and walk through Odessa…tell me Pskov could ever match that!”
“Never, and I’ve been there many times!” Shark admitted. “Perhaps, one day, I will bring Pasha to see the south.”
Grizli slapped Akula on the back. “You will be my guest! But I warn you, the Black Sea is warm and beautiful! You may not find the ice you need to bathe in.”
The sailor rubbed a hand along his forehead to cast off a palm-load of sweat. “Somehow, I doubt it will compare to this coarse hell we find ourselves in.”
The sounds of primal fury and struggle began to wash over them as the two men entered the sparring pit. Several gatherings of soldiers were already assembled, with paired matches already in progress on the satellite mats surrounding the main court. In that main ring, standing his ground as three others rushed at him with mock knives and a bayonet fixed to a rifle, was Tsezar, who used the impulsive charge of one young welp to scatter the other two.
Akula nodded at the expert display. “Speaking of hell, let’s teach these children how to not fuck themselves or each other.”
Part 19 of the ongoing Wildlife adventure, but one that’s very different from its kin. Among all the fighting, the killing, and the ugliness that such business can bring, such battles are still fought by people. Friends, siblings, even family. And loss hits everyone eventually.
I originally split this into two parts, but looking at it this morning, I just *felt* better to combine both sides into one large memorial and duty. Drakon deserves it, I think.
As for they story overall, and give the world as of today, I will be stepping away from it for at least a couple days to think. Full disclosure: what’s going on with Russia/Ukraine is sadly similar what I’d planned for a follow-up story to this one. Even Grizli’s own side-story was diving into this very situation, which may need to shift a whole lot now. Something else to think on.
Either way, I owe you all many thanks for staying with Akula and company on their wild ride so far, especially my dear friend Mayumi (aka BonusParts), who has been invaluable with her feedback and love of the characters.
I hope you all enjoy