I picke​d my life up piece​ by piece​ in the style​ of an awful​ metap​hor

[carnagecarnival]

Who| Initiate and Open (with a special prompt for all those who helped him in arena)
What| Initiate is no longer avox. But he's still a little different.
Where| D5 floor, around the tribute tower, and the speakeasy
When| Forward dated to after his death and revival, late week 6. 
WARNINGS| Language. Animal death mention?

A -- (For Jane Shepard, and Open)

He wakes up to a self unfamiliar. With a sudden breath of air and a clear head. Clear of the drink, clear of... 

The Avox, the Alternian, the Other-- that's what he'd been calling it. All him, part of him, now and forever. But he thinks, at least now, he recognizes the Other a bit more. Enough that he can slip into this new skin and feel comfortable enough to explore what as it will do for him. 

This new skin comes with a healed leg, one he can walk on without limping-- which is as weird as the last time he had a leg injury. It comes with those stupid little fins he'd hated so much before they were gone with only the ghost of an ache. It comes with a tongue, which settles all strange in his mouth. If he tries, he can probably make a sound now. He doesn't.

His hair feels strange all long now. He wonders if he should cut it of his own volition this time. For now, he will simply braid it back, and with that all done, he carries himself on out of the room, trying not to feel like a ghost what ain't really here with no presence to his name. He finds a water for himself from the district five fridge, then heads on to settle into one of the lounge chairs. He doesn't have to do anything. He does have to go anywhere at all. He hasn't got a job here right now. He just has to keep telling himself that.


B -- (For Terezi and Signless, Closed)

There's a weight around his neck. He'd almost not noticed it, with everything else, but he does now. He can feel the tube of paint and know he ain't got to be a bare-faced sinner disgrace for his Messiah anymore. There's  a golden goat's skull; the necklace from his moirail. There are three rings interlocked, teal, indigo, mutant red. His ashmates

He'd spent too long over his ownself and upon the realisation, he curses himself for it. He had people to find.

And not find. Like Kurloz, over which he evicted no exclamation like he had the last time he'd wandered into district two, or when he watched Kurloz be dragged off with Gamzee. As his face twists in the empty doorway, he has no doubt in him that this time his other self won't be coming back.  There's a second or two where as he prays, bids the motherfucker on to shangri-la , and then he moves along. He's Kurloz now. There's nothing what as he can do for this past. 

Or the future, it turns out. The Disciple wasn't the first on his list or even someone what he'd call close, but she was with the three of them when they were on the run and, truth told, he's hesitant to look for, say,  Terezi first in case she might not be there. But with the wake up call before him now, he wastes no more time.

He goes to find his ashmates, fidgeting the red and teal of the rings on him as he hurries on through the halls. If the Signless ain't there, so help him, he'll leave a goddamn note. And Terezi... with a heavy weight in him, he decides not to think if she ain't there. He raps his knuckles upon the door.


C -- (Open)

He ain't an avox. Not anymore. He knows that. 

But on some level, he supposes he doesn't, because when them things spill, he wastes no time in dropping to kneel. He picks it all up piece by piece, slowing only for a short second and frowning as the realisation hits him of what he's doing. But then sure as sure, he's picking everything all back up anyway. He might as well, he's already done this much.

He rises up to give all back to the rightful owner. Whoever that is to be. 


D -- (Open, especially to every single person who helped him in arena or even just talked to him)

There were a lot of people what had helped him back there. A lot of motherfucking people. More people than he thinks he's ever had deigning to nicety at one singular time. It's weird, in retrospect, and it leaves an odd feeling in him, one he's not sure how long all he wants to get a ponder on to.

But he owed these people. He ought to say something to these people. He knows this but he also know such things as they be is, well, a whole other sort of weird in itself. So he comes up with a new idea instead.

It doesn't take horrendously long to catch the proper amount of rats and birds needed, but still some time (and much of that is spent determinedly ignoring the looks of capitolites and the pressing feeling that he's out of place there and would be more in place in an avox uniform). Once done though, he finds himself falling into step easy with cleaning the corpses and collecting the bones and feathers from the dead things. He's already got the string pieces ready and he settles into that same comfortable quiet as he did when he did this in arena with some teeth. They're not particularly elaborate or superbly fanciful, just bones and beaks dipped into color and strung together, but they're things what he can slip easily on a door knob with no ceremony, while still managing to thank in some small way.

He still feels ridiculous, but not as much so as he thinks he might've before this all. He didn't exactly wake up with his pride restored. 

From there it's just a matter of slipping them on the doors as he'd intended. Ideally it would be without notice, but he could hardly help it if anyone caught him in the hallway.

(After all is done, much later, he's still got yet more to see. People he owes explanation to. People he owes apology. This must be what it means to start his life all the fuck over again. He can't say he's exactly eager, but he ought to chew the motherfucking munitions now. Even if it means hovering outside the door.)


E -- (Open)

Finally, his task is at it's end. There's just one last thing he wants to do. He heads to the Training Center to paint.

Just the same as always, he gathers up the paint of the camouflage area to settle before the wall. He dips his fingers into the color, raises them up to the wall. Then stops.

He's never been stuck on a painting before. This is new. 


F -- (Open)

When he finally goes to the speakeasy alone and for his own whims, he orders Gin. He can recall, from the arena, drinking himself stupid with it, but of course he couldn't taste nothing of it. He had some sense of taste without a tongue but not nearly enough to truly distinguish.

Turns out Gin is pure motherfucking sin in a goddamn glass. Bluh. He coughs, sputters, looks at what he's order just to be sure it's indeed the same thing, and then pushes it away. 

There's an unpleasant pout upon his features as he quickly orders a soda to rectify this madness what he hath partaken in, promptly swearing to never have such blasphemy again. He holds the soda glass in hand, sliding it carefully back and forth between the other one.

Comments

F

[privilegecheck]

Kankri is already here, drinking his sorrows away. By which we mean he's drowning himself in hot, disgustingly sweet milk tea and trying not to cry, not that he's getting drunk. Karkat's gone, Kurloz is gone, who's going to be next? Losing people is starting to wear on him badly. At least here people don't seem to bother him much, despite that he's clearly a Tribute.

Distracted by his pity party, he doesn't notice Fraysong until he hears the sputtering. He doesn't come over right away, unsure of what to even say. For a moment, he has the awful thought of why couldn't they bring his Kurloz back instead of this one if they had to get rid of one of them?, and that only makes him feel even worse because Fraysong is still his friend and has been through so much already, it's not fair for him to think that. He's just feeling tired and petty and he's so sick of being the only one of his kind by now.

He makes himself swallow his bitterness and go to the indigo once he finishes his current mug and orders another. He slips into the seat beside Fraysong, clears his throat softly. "Are you adjusting all right?"

Re: F

[carnagecarnival]

He jumps at the sudden presence and voice announcing it. The drink gets knocked over and even though he's quick to pick it back up, it sill makes a fair sized spill upon the table bit.

He realises two things. First, all his fear training is shot and he's back to paranoia uncontrolled again. Which is going to be a pain in the ass. Second, now he's got a mess to clean. He sighs and reaches over for some napkins, quickly taking to clearing that mess away.

He makes sure to at least glance over at Kankri while as he does this. He lifts a hand and says, "HEY KANKRI." He keeps on with carefully wiping the mess. He thinks the question over. It ain't if he's alright, but if he's adjusting. "Ain't sure yet. AIN'T TOO BAD."

D

[iflipmyhair]

It had not been a good week for Homura. They'd found her guns, and had taken them. She herself wasn't caught - they didn't even suspect her - but having her rightfully-gained (in her eyes) items was certainly a blow to her morale. For once, she needed to get outside, for air. Or to the Training Center.

To calm herself down. To do something that wouldn't cause her to get in trouble with violence.

She had just opened her door, had just taken the first few steps out, when she spotted him. There was no denying who was there. She knew that figure, that silhouette. Heart heart leaped, just a little.

She hadn't been watching. Did he win? Did he?

"Ma--"

She stopped herself. Should she call him that? Was there some unwritten troll rule about calling someone with a title by a birth name? Would he even respond to that name?

"...Initiate?"

Re: D

[carnagecarnival]

He freezes as all she appears before him. He still wears that blankly surprised look he had in arena. She drops his name and he gives an awkward sort of wave.

"HEY," He says, and his voice is too loud even for him. "Sup."

He can't say he missed that all she was almost going to use "Makara", but he's willing to let it slide. She corrected herslf. And anyway, there were worse things that could happen.

He reaches for the collections he's got carried in a cloth bag, quickly shaking out a bracelet of bone. Then, ever continuing on in his awkward fashion, he holds it out to her.

E

[asmilinggod]

"It's kind of like a dam stuck up somewhere in your head, right? Gosh, it's annoying. Happens to me all the time when I'm trying to write up speeches."

It's been a little time since anyone has seen Kevin. For rather a long time, he was suspiciously quiet, spending long hours in his room and saying very little to anyone. No one much questioned it, because honestly, no one much wanted to talk to Kevin in the first place. It wasn't like that surprised him. It didn't hurt him any.

But something, something had been hurting him, is hurting him still. It hangs like a thorn in the back of his mind, held into place by the healing burn at the back of his neck. He's grinning, of course, and his voice is merry...but the voids in his face are edged with the puffy dark and red of haunted nights, and his tone is missing a couple beams of light.

He approaches Initiate calmly, clipboard in hand more out of habit than necessity. Something important sits at the bottom of the stack of paper. Something, for now, hidden from himself, whichever self was concerned with it.

"Mind if I sit, friend?"

Re: E

[carnagecarnival]

He can't help but jump at the sudden voice from behind him. It's going to be a long ass time before he gets that flinch under control, he can tell right the fuck now. But he eases quick once he turns to see who it is.

He doesn't miss that off way Kevin looks. There's an aura of "not okay" around him. It's hard not to remember their first time meeting. It's harder still not to feel guilt.

But, regardless, Kevin is a friend. He smiles that same odd smile that looks like it belongs on the face of a stranger-- too light, too calm, reaching his eyes proper, if a little sheepishly so.

"Kevin," He greets, in a way what can't hide that he thinks it's good to see him. "OF MOTHERFUCKING COURSE, BROTHER." And he gestures out beside him for Kevin to do so.

D; wow this is a lot of meandering tl;dr

[onthelii2p]

Sollux hasn't watched the game at all since coming back. Now and then he finds a list to check of who's still in it, but that's it, that's all, and sometimes not even that. He doesn't want to know the how of the dying, and the sensationalist Capitol chatter over it all is too much for him to bear. It's funny - he's a troll, he should be fine with this. Death and culling are normal, right? But he has friends in there, and he can't be glad at a situation that puts people to die that don't deserve it.

Since then he's been back and forth. Useless is a feeling that's plagued him, but there's people he wants to meet or see again, to set things straight in some manner or another. Some he has already; some he's yet to see, be they still in the arena or just (for the moment) past his finding.

The Initiate's been one of them. He's seen his name a time or two earlier when he checked for those still alive, and wondered at all of it for how he survived. An avox - no voice - so calm and quiet and meek. How does that work? But he only saw him once himself, and he doesn't understand the why of it, what the point is of putting someone in after given that punishment. There's still a lot of this place he doesn't get.

If he stays in his room, he does nothing but dwell on it: the hate of this situation, of himself even, and what he isn't (good enough to be). Even days when he can't think to talk to anyone he slips out to hover 'round like an eyesore ghost. It's in the tower, always in the tower; he can't stand to be gawked and fawned over by fans yet, and it's not always safe just to hit the ground floor.

He doesn't even know where his feet are headed today when he pulls open his door to find--

To find--

"Initiate?"

Sollux's brow furrows up as he takes in the sight of him. He looks like he remembers, face done up in its paint and hair long like it should be, but how does that work? He had it all shorn down before, and for a half-second he wonders if it's the other clown he saw, but the stitches aren't there. Stitches aren't avoxing, he thinks; he's never seen one yet with that adornment. He doesn't even know what the thing in his hand is - door opened too soon for it to be set on the knob - but it's as good as a bit of dust to the rest. He'd sent him away, last he saw him, and it sits as a heavy stone of guilt in his stomach.

(He had his reasons, he didn't want to take advantage, he was repulsed in what was done to him, but guilt is a burden not so easily set down.)

/chinhands

[carnagecarnival]

He can't say he's forgotten their run in back in the arena either. He'd been reluctant, truth told, to find Sollux again. Hesitant right up to the goddamn doorknob. And then the door opens and none of that matters.

His mouth opens and he forgets how to speak. He closes it, ponders simply putting the thing in Sollux's hands and walking off. But no, he can't do that. "Sup," He says with a weak wave.

He closes his eyes, gathers his guts, then holding Sollux in his gaze, he says, "AT TO AN OWING OF EXPLANITORIES DONE. For a couple motherfucking things."

There. It's out. Now would just come the actual hard parts.

Sollux's guilt is far from his mind.

D

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland moves slow just lately. Thinks slow, but though Susannah's dead - dead and not coming back, just like all the others - he must move on, as he always has. And he does. He will.

So it's slowly that he opens the door, notices the string of painted bones hanging around its knob, looks back up, but he does do all these things, and soon enough to see someone he recognizes. His fingers slip under the string and lift it, peer closely at a small painted beak, hold it out toward the Initiate as he raises his eyebrows. "I don't understand."

Re: D

[carnagecarnival]

He goes still as Roland comes on out and inspects his work. There's a sort of weariness hanging of the man what he recognizes.

He shrugs his shoulders and fidgets with the cloth bag he's keeping all them others up in. "Ain't much to get an understand on for, brother. MADE IT. S'yours." And another shrug follows.

E

[deafscythe]

Justin's been back here for a while, learning to exist again. For some reason, it's difficult. He can't stop being cautious, afraid, subservient in a way that is completely wrong for a Death Scythe.

He's trying to break out of it, which means that currently, he's in the Training Center, practicing cutting through targets with a sword, music pumping through headphones loud enough that he feels like his heartbeat's matching up with the bass line. This is what he needs to do to get his soul back on track.

The Initiate comes in, and there's a minute or two where it seems like Justin hasn't noticed the troll. Then he sets the sword back into its place and comes to see why the troll's just standing there. He's silent, just watching to see if something interesting is about to happen.

Re: E

[carnagecarnival]

The Initiate isn't so far different from Justin. Maybe better off in a lot of ways, having been able to shake much of it, but when it comes down to it the avox is there.

Maybe they really were still the same on that level. Maybe that's why that sameness still feels like it's there. And he can feel Justin there.

With a determined push, he smears some paint along the wall, all indistinct, before turning. He watches Justin, then raises his brows. "YOU LOOKING FOR STRIFE, SHOW, OR OTHERWISE?"

D

[silberfuchs]

It's not so odd to make jewelry and other things from bone in many cultures. Native tribes form nearly every continent has some use for the innards of their kills, from making armor and weapons to ceremonial jewelry and other items of religious importance. Even just for art's sake sometimes pieces are created from bone, drawn on and strung up as a sort of commentary or just for beauty's sake.

Albert tries to keep this all in mind when he comes back to his door and finds Initiate resting a necklace of bird skulls and mouse ribs on the handle.

Of course to go through all that mentally leaves him standing a bit flummoxed in the hall for a long moment, just holding his mug of coffee and blocking the way until his brain can catch up with what he's doing.

Finally he's able to form words, able to convince himself that despite what he's learned of troll culture being rather more advanced, Initiate lends himself to the more spiritual side of things and that this is probably some kind of ritual to his Mirthful Messiahs that he's being given the honor of having some small part in, whatever that is. Or something.

"Is that... did you make that?"

Re: D

[carnagecarnival]

As Albert stares at him, the Initiate finds himself blinking back, waiting in the hallway to either be allowed passing or for some sort of reaction or other. It makes him feel all a sort of sheepishness what has him shuffling on the spot.

"YEAH. Motherfucking did," He says, thinking again not for the first time how weird it is to speak again.

He glances at the necklace, the outright gestures to it. "S'YOURS. If you're apt to wanting it."

Just gonna continue to stand there otherwise. Totally ain't awkward up at all.

F

[hit_girl_mindy]

"Buy you a drink?"

It's Mindy, surprising no one. She was watching him, and she had to admit, she chuckled when she saw his reaction to Gun. It was a sad state of affairs, but she knew enough how to have Gin.

"Hey, don't drink that straight, its gross as shit. Plus, ever seen someone who actually likes Gin straight? They're nasty. Nah, have it with some Tonic, that way its just tart but salvageable."

She sits next to him, giving him an amicable smile.

"Glad to see you moving around again."

Re: F

[carnagecarnival]

He makes another bluh noise and sticks out his-- oh look, a tongue. He looks at her as though he's been betrayed by the drink.

"Couldn't taste it none so much before. DIDN'T KNOW. Mirth, that was some some motherfucking blasphemy for real, yo." He's totally not pouting. "STICKING AT TO MY ELIXIRS," He says, raising the soda up. "You wanna buy for me another one all of these and I'm about it."

That all done and said, he takes in the fact that Mindy is here. With him and alive still. That's good. The expression pulls odd on his face-- a smile too loose. He looks different from how he used to, for no real perceptible reason.

"GOOD TO SEE A SISTER ALSO," He says.

A

[earthborn]

Shepard woke.

Waking had its own perils; you woke slow when you were injured, when you were drunk or drugged or dying, or just barely alive. Shepard had woken real damn slow after every brush with Prothean technology. If she wanted to live, to win, she woke fast, rolled to her feet, and into the fight. This time, she woke quickly, but didn't move.

It was strange, after two months, to not be in pain. Shepard stared at the ceiling and tried to remember why she was doing this. Palaven. Thessia. Sur'Kesh. Tuchanka. Earth. Seven Billion. Win the war. Defeat the enemy. Then you can rest. Then you can sleep. She raised her left hand to shade the light and flexed the fingers, watching the simple, graceful interplay of tendon and muscle, bone underlying every knuckle, easy motion free from pain.

Shepard rolled onto her feet and into the fight. Her mind was blank with her hand on the knob, her thoughts a struck bell, ringing and empty. Eventually she wandered out into the lounge, preoccupied in grey fog. An easy target.

Re: A

[carnagecarnival]

Her entry pulls him from his own thoughts. For a moment, he's breathless, just watching her.

She's got the same scar as Terezi, Sandy, and Mindy. Like the latter two, hers is that familiar ruby, yet through it he can still see the cracks in flesh to the light inside. All molten is she. Just waiting for the chance to reveal red hot sun and blind the world.

He traces the strong hard set of her jaw, the cut of her cheekbones, the sharpness of her eyes even when she ain't focused. Her strange red hair-- that color like hanging theatres curtains putting silence to the show-- is all mussed from sleeping and having just rolled out.

He immediately regrets having only said goodbye through words on a screen and no more than that. He bets she wouldn't even have let him kiss her, the stuck up bitch. Just let him go like it weren't being a thing.

He feels a swell of anger unlike anything he's felt since his avoxing. Look at her. She ain't even paying attention! Disgraceful. This? She motherfucking deserves this.

He throws the water bottle directly at his Kismesis's head. Take that, Jane.

A

[burnedbrighter]

Azula is in the common area when he finally decides to leave his room. She's dressed for business in a professional looking and neon glowing blue suit, but the sparkling gem coated buttons on her collar and blouse are undone and her hair which is usually impeccably perfect is ruffled like someone's had their fingers in it.

She is on the sofa with her cold judging eyes cast upon the television where a dark haired boy with a scar taking up half his face is on display. It's an earlier video from the arena and he seems to be taking care of a young boy, shaved bald with blue arrows on his skin.

There is an unsettling resemblance between the scarred boy and the mentor. She's so focused on it that she barely notices her tributes return at first.

Re: A

[carnagecarnival]

Sometimes, he feels more than okay with pulling notice to himself. Sometimes it feels like sin immeasurable. He's waffling between the two, when he notices Azula, claws clicking on the bottle outside as he tries to push for one or the other.

She's well put together. Always a picture of Capitol grace despite never being one of their kind. Her eyes are too sharp. Maybe one of their politicians perhaps-- he could see her well in such a high place-- but not a simple Capitolite. Not one with no trouble nor anger.

His eyes go to the screen, taking in the sight of Tributes what he ain't recognize. Some fuckers of significance at to her.

Curiosity wins his internal war, as it tends to do. "Do you know them?" He asks.

B

[pythianjudgment]

There isn't an immediate answer to the knocking at Terezi's door. It's actually the knocking the rouses her out of her sleep, bringing her back t the land of the living. Only a few moments ago, she was in the arena, choking on dust and fighting to stay awake on Kurloz's back.

The realization that she must have died comes at her slowly, like fighting against the current. It's hard to connect the pieces when her memory was so fuzzy in those last few minutes, but she wouldn't be back here if she hadn't died. Then again, she didn't except to be back here at all. The last time she was in this room was just before her arrest. That seems like so long ago now.

Absently, she wonders if the arena is over now--until she remembers the knock on her door that had woken her to begin with. It's been nearly a minute since she'd woken, and she hadn't made even an attempt to answer. With a wince, she rolls herself out of bed and steadies her feet before walking over to the door.

It's unlocked, so there's no resistance when she turns the knob and pulls it open, peering cautiously out into the hallway.

Re: B

[carnagecarnival]

He's actually surprised when the door opens and gives way to him. There's a flood of relief in him to see her, here and alive still. He hadn't let the fear register, but it had been there-- the idea she might not be brought back.

He's got his paint on. He's got all injury gone. His hair, while tucked back in a braid, is still longer than when it had been buzzed off. She's all restored the same except for one single thing; the teal burn upon her face is still shining there.

The last time he spoke at all before his avoxing, the peacekeepers had found them. He'd told them to run, he'd made to fight. He called her name.

"Terezi," He breathes. And he knows he owes so much more than that. Explanations, apologies... so on. Right now though, he just hopes she'll listen even a little. He reaches out his hand. "PLEASE COME WITH HIM," He says, and it sounds like a question.

D.

[bravebargain]

Belle was just returning back to D6 suite from a library, it was another place along with the park where she truly could feel safe and sound nowadays, when she saw familiar figure standing in front of her door. It didn't take more than a second for her to recognize who it was and--- oh.

“It's you.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper and dropped the book she was holding to the floor.

It wasn't like she had forgotten her avox friend back from the arena. In fact it was the opposite as no day had passed since her death when her thoughts weren't with him. But after being revived and sent back to Capitol she had tried her best to avoid watching any broadcasts about the arena. Not because disinterest but rather because her heart couldn't bear seeing any more death around her.

“You are back. How-- Are you okay?” She asked as she approached him, feeling a strange mixture of both relief and concern inside her.

Re: D.

[carnagecarnival]

The moment the book drops, the very second he's bending down to pick it up. It ain't with no thought or thinking like he shouldn't. He just does it. He recognizes her as he rises up though-- a chill sister, she won't be at judging him none.

Moreover, he finds himself relieved. There's always a wonder if them what die will return. He can remember vividly washing the blood down the sink and feeling guilty for not painting with it, not honoring the death what got done. But she's here now and it's alright.

He laughs light. "Hey, sister," He says, beaming and letting his own voice sink in. "SUP."

That's right, she'd shot him accidental. He lifts his leg, moving it in a way what would've hurt something fierce back in arena. His hair's long again too, once more in a braid. "I'm just motherfucking fine. GOT YOU SOMETHING." And he holds the bracelet of paint-dipped bones out to her.

F

[seestheman]

Clara's more than a little surprised to see him in the speakeasy. Not that she's surprised to see him out of the Tribute Center, because, duh, of course he'd want to get away from there, but more that she never would have considered a place like this to be his kind of scene. Of course, the fact that it's probably the biggest blindspot in the Capitol probably appealed to him as much as it did to her.

She sits down next to him, holding her drink which is pink, bubbly, and smells ridiculously fruity. The strand he left on her door clatters slightly from it's spot on her left wrist as she moves while trying to keep the bandaged stump of her right as inconspicuous as possible (she can't help but wonder if the cybernetic replacement Dr. Norton's making for her is going to be better or worse in that regard). "I can't blame you, it's definitely an acquired taste."

Re: F

[carnagecarnival]

It's not his scene. Not really. It reminds him of a Market Tavern. It reminds him of rough strifes, dirty looks from lowbloods, and a good number of bad smells. It reminds him of biting his knuckles to silence himself and hiding in the back until sunset.

But it's just the sort of place he'd expected to have carried the Gin. He just sort of expected it to not taste so bad.

He's just as surprised to see her here. He associates here with nicer things. Not the shady business what gets the fuck up in places like this always.

But he's more surprised to see how she looks. Oh shit... He thinks. She won. It hadn't done her well. Scars were one thing. He could favor a scar. Limb and other loss was a different tier. That could've been him, if they'd decided to let him last to the end. His eyes move instead to the bracelet she's got of bones, the one he made for her.

"You're wearing it," He says, decidedly pleased over this small little thing. "DID IT FIT ALRIGHT? Can get up for adjustments where it be needed. AND COLOR..."