Heal the Sick; Raise the Dead

[Apocrypha]

"I miss you," he whispered.

"You're where you need to be," she insisted, and he awoke, as always, drenched in sweat.

He had dreamt of her for almost a standard year, now - definitely since Adarlon and the Glow Dome; since he had begun to rekindle his connection with the Force in earnest. With shaggy, beautiful black hair, stoic grey eyes, and a stolid demeanor - the infrequent smile or tear notwithstanding - she reminded him of nobody... yet he knew her as he knew himself.

Rorik's father was a man of few words, searching for answers at the bottom of many bottles, and when his disposition did not carry him to physical abuse, it would dump him, blacked out, in the back of their apartment. He had never uttered a word about Rorik's mother - aside from screaming out for her in his nightmares when he accidentally went to sleep sober.

Why she had chosen to inhabit his dreams instead of the Bothan - or anybody with more import in his life - was a mystery. Increasingly he pondered whether she might be real - or as real as any other vision, at least. His talent lay in healing, in subterfuge and deception, and to a lesser degree in combat; never before had Rorik shown a hint of precognition - nor was he a believer in the Unifying Force. He knew that his mother had passed decades ago, and yet his sleep was plagued by hauntingly vivid visions of her, despite having never met before.

Tired of rehashing bad memories and obsessing over dreams, Rorik swung his feet over the side of the bed and decided to begin his day. He bathed, shaved, and clothed himself, then put his gear together - medical supplies, a hacked credit chit, and his lightsaber - and stuffed them into an old, leather satchel, slinging it about his shoulder and heading out into the streets of Salis D'aar.

"Hello! Good morning, Rorik!"

"Good morning to you, Raatza," Rorik greeted as the Kurtzen slumlord rounded on him, swatting his shoulder with a scowl.

"You've become so very scrawny since you rent from me, my boy! Do you eat? If you want for food, I can -"

"No, no, Raatza, that won't be necessary," he assured her, hands raised with a smile; "I'm eating just fine, I promise. You haven't seen Jori, have you?"

"Ack. That gutter rat of a boy - no, fortunately. I expect he is scurrying underfoot somewhere, ruining somebody's day."

"He's a good young man, Raatza, not a gutter rat; I put an end to his stealing."

"Oh, I'm certain," Raatza scoffed. Abandoning their debate abruptly, she narrowed her eyes and groped at Rorik's chest, palming a tiny pendant dangling from his neck. She inquired, "What is this?" with unchecked fascination. Kurtzen reverence for any trinkets that brimmed with another's energy was common knowledge.

"A gift, from a friend," Rorik explained, returning the qukuuf pendant to its place beneath his tunic. "It was lovely seeing you, Raatza, but I need to find Jori - we've got a long day ahead of us."

"Yes, of course," she waved him off; "Go. Bakura is beyond saving, young Rorik."

Perhaps she was correct. Saving a person is difficult; saving a planet might just be impossible. However grim the reality of the situation, Rorik's spirit refused to dampen. He was put at peace by his work on Bakura, which in turn fostered stronger a bond with the Living Force than Rorik had ever dreamt of.

* * *​

"Please bring our next visitor in, Jori."

"On it, Mr. Grey!"

Sitting on his knees in the dirt, the young healer cast his eyes around the ramshackle tent that he had placed just on the outskirts of the largest quarantine zone in Salis D'aar. Keeping feral city critters and insects out was a challenge, and the only comfortable place to rest within the tent was a central piling of blankets and quilts, but Rorik and his guests were safe from the elements... and practicing his gift in public would be very foolish, even here, in Wild Space.

Shattering Rorik's reverie, Jori trudged back into the tent, helping a young girl along. Perhaps half Rorik's height, with short, dirty blonde hair, this girl couldn't have been more than thirteen years old - and she would have been quite the little heart breaker, had the plague not bequeathed upon her a rash of boils and a violent cough.

"Good morning," Rorik greeted, smiling despite the girl's affliction. "Jori, why don't you help our guest to lie down so that I can examine her."

As she settled, Rorik took her hand in his own, giving her a reassuring smile. "What's your name, dear?" he asked, exploring her with his senses, trying to get a feel for her health... and what he discovered was disturbing. The plague had progressed to within a hair of its most lethal stage; unaided, this girl - barely a child - would be dead within a fortnight.

"Asira," she murmured, hacking.

Rorik centered his palm on her chest, easing her breathing as best he could. "How old are you, love?"

"Twelve," she answered, her lungs soothed.

"Where's your family?"

"The quarantine zone." The young Jedi's heart broke, but he smiled resolutely.

"Where are you living now?"

"Here," she answered, wheezing. "Out there, I mean. Wherever I can."

"I see." The condition of Bakura and its people disgusted him - dying a slow, drawn out death, nobody would raise a finger to help. None of the countless wealthy mining corporations or the Empire - and certainly not the Jedi - could concern themselves with Bakura. Once it had been deemed unfit as a Jedi stronghold, the Order abandoned it.

"Here's the problem," he whispered, laying one hand across her cheek and the other on her belly. Shutting his eyes, the Jedi focused himself; he could feel the Force as it ebbed, using him as an agent through which to save this girl. Jori stood agape in the corner; no matter how many times he watched Rorik bring somebody back from the brink, it never ceased to amaze him.

Asira's boils subsided, draining in moments, replaced by splotches and minor scars. Her lungs tingled, their decay subsiding swiftly. In minutes Asira was near enough to healthy once more - and Rorik struggled to remain upright. Despite honing his connection to the Force, he was no master. His talent lay in healing, but it sapped him of his energy nonetheless.

Yet he grew stronger every day.

"There we are," he murmured, leaning upon the heels of his boots.

Asira righted herself tentatively, uncertain whether she should trust this new constitution. "You made me better."

"I did." Without warning, the girl lunged and embraced him, sobs racking her tiny frame. Unsure whether she was relieved or overjoyed, or some combination of the two, Rorik stroked her back reassuringly.

"Thank you so, so much... who are you? I have to let everyone known about you!"

"Grey," he answered as she helped him to his feet.

"Don't tell everyone," Rorik explained. "Just the sick. Send them my way, but discreetly - do you understand?"

She nodded, staring in awe - as if he were a god. Though maybe this was her first encounter with the Force... perhaps, in her eyes, Rorik Grey was a god.

"Jori," he addressed the boy. "Give my fifty credit chit to our guest. There's a hostel just outside of the spaceport - The Weary Smuggler, if memory serves. You'll have enough to lodge there for a week or two. Now that you're healthy, you should be able to find some work, too. Luckily, my patients seem unable to contract the plague a second time - be careful, though. Salis D'aar is dangerous, particularly as the plague hits its stride."

"Thank you for everything, Mr. Grey," she said, breathlessly - and reiterated as much several times before leaving with her money.

"Shut things down, Jori... the sun's falling and I think I've had enough for today. I'll see you tomorrow - early, if you don't mind."

 

[Bee]

If there was anything Aixa had learned in the past few months, following the destruction of her home, the loss of her family, the scattering of her clan, it was that life moved on. The galaxy didn't stop because one girl - one woman - cried herself to sleep at night with a lonely, broken heart, and that there was nothing she could do other than pick herself up, wipe away the tears, and keeping going forward. She refused to believe that her father was dead, refused to believe her clan was truly shattered, and even with her home on Dxun little more than a memory now, she would find them. There was no alternative - Aixa didn't plan for failure because there was no circumstance under which she would admit defeat, steadfast in her resolve to find those that she cared for. And in the meantime she would work, would take honest, ethical jobs that helped people, and be the person her father had raised her to be. Succumbing to a life of crime, with her particular abilities, would've been easy; staying noble, maintaining honor, that was difficult. But it was the path she chose to take, and one she walked - or piloted, at least - with pride.

When The Orca touched down on Salis D'aar's biggest - and quite possibly only - operating spaceport, the ship's dull grey color scheme and weathered paneling was enough to draw attention away from the craft's arrival, the short woman who exited down the loading ramp an unfamiliar, but unremarkable face in the weary crowd that shuffled through the lanes. Healthy looking families begging for safe passage to another planet, unscrupulous smugglers selling snake oil cures for what ailed the dying, and the smell of exhaust were enough to nearly knock Aixa on her ass. But the sense of despair, the hopelessness, the rampant sickness passed through her heart like a shot to the chest, a feeling of panic overtaking her as the Force flowed through her, allowing her a glimpse at how truly wounded the planet and it's people were. Her chest felt tight, her skin hot, and her pulse raced as her stomach turned. A hand against the dusty hull of her ship, her grey eyes closed as she pushed the anxiety, the fear, the overwhelming gravity of it all away.

"Just breathe," she whispered in her native tongue, the familiar Mando'a escaping her lips with a final, but not quite desperate gasp for air. Fingers pushing through her short, white-blonde hair, she straightened and wiped her sweaty palms on the thick fabric of her dark brown slacks, wiping the anxiety away. The sun was rising. She had all day to find someone who could help her, but could she even last that long?

--

All in all, finding the source of Bakara's only hope against the plague that chased itself down city streets, infecting everything it came into contact with wasn't a difficult task. Children were unreliable when it came to the keeping of secrets, and through luck or fate - or the Force - Aixa happened upon a plucky, roguish youngster who wasted little time in leading her to his keeper's tent. Four small words - I'm here to help - had gotten her exactly where she needed to be, and as she followed Jori beneath the flap and into the momentarily quiet mess of blankets and piled stacks of bedding, a quick glance at the gaunt man at the center of it all and the pendant around his neck was all it took to confirm she was in the right place, with the right people. Her employer had been very specific about the type of person she was to meet, after all, and the woman was so insistent - and frankly, a little terrifying - she didn't dream of acting against her wishes.

Short enough to stand up straight beneath the tent, Aixa cleared her throat, hand momentarily covering her mouth. Turning to the child who had led her into the tent, she managed a small but sincere smile. "Jori, right? Would you mind if your friend and I spoke privately?" Aixa wasn't a rich woman, and the credit chit she slipped into the boy's palm wasn't worth much, but it was all she had. Eyeing the payment, and the young woman with just the right amount of suspicion, Jori regarded Rorik with a questioning gaze, before raising his narrow shoulders in a shrug. Smart enough not to trust the stranger completely, Jori took up watch outside.

Don't let him know you know his name. Don't mention mine. Deliver the shipment and go. The woman's words ran through her mind for a moment, and Aixa offered her hand to shake. "I'm not sick," she prefaced with a sigh, trying to bury her presence with little success. Her training had been good, but the sickness of Bakura was overwhelming. It was almost impossible to concentrate on anything else. "Not yet, anyway. I'm here to help. You're the miracle worker, right?"

 

[Apocrypha]

"I had gathered," the Jedi replied, drawing himself up; more than a head above Aixa, Rorik was a formidable sight, if not imposing. His sharp face bore none of the warm and tender welcome that he had shown Asira earlier that day, but was instead neutral, uncertain of how to regard this woman's arrival. Stooping briefly, Rorik hefted the brown satchel on the floor onto his shoulder, considering the weapon inside - but knowing that, as a Jedi, he would not be the first to draw arms in a conflict. Unlike his "colleagues," he understood his place in the galaxy not just as a warrior, but more importantly as a peacekeeper.

"I am a healer, yes. I tend to the plague victims as best I can with the limited resources I am afforded by local merchants and government authorities." The truth was, of course, that his bandages were old, cleaned clothing torn to usable shreds - and that he had no supplies otherwise. He was not in contact with any government authorities for fear that they would report him to the Empire in the hopes of securing a defense against the Sith in the future, and furthermore, his only source of money - a series of credit chits in his bag - were in fact stolen from traveling criminals and repurposed via basic slicing to serve his own needs. On Bakura, Rorik was, first and foremost, alone.

"You've the look of a smuggler - not a particularly talented one, or perhaps a beginner. Criminals don't typically provide aid of their own volition, so who paid you to come find me - and, furthermore, how did you do so? You must know that I am not an easy man to find - which means that you're either particularly resourceful, or whoever sent you here is... and perhaps knows me personally?" There weren't many people in the galaxy that knew Rorik Grey on a personal level; a handful of acquaintances from his days as a Padawan under the Bothan - most of which would assume him long since dead, if they cared to remember him in the first place - one or two criminals, and what was left of the Jedi Order.

Of course, one person stuck out in particular in his memory - and only three beings in the galaxy had any idea that Rorik had ever set foot on Bakura; Orlaan Ghess, Ebberla Daw... and Vica Veszk. The list was rather short, but that didn't completely implicate any of the people on it - and despite the fact that he could sense no foul intentions in this girl, nor did she have a particularly nasty aura about her, he found himself on edge for the first time since Anoth.

 

[Bee]

The description she'd been given relied just as much on what one could see as what one could not. Aixa had thought it strange that her employer made mention of the man's peaceful nature, that she warned her that he was talkative and curious and very bright, but as Rorik - who looked as expected, minus the facial hair she'd been told to expect, anyway - stood and began to speak, she understood why. The pendant around his neck marked him unmistakably, but even without it she was sure that he was the one the shipment was intended for.

Despite the obvious size difference, Aixa wasn't cowed by him. He was tall, certainly. But despite her diminutive height she was sturdy and strong, and she'd spent her entire life looking up to men and women of different species, so much so that it would've been more strange if they spoke at eye level without her having to crane her neck to do so. "I'm not a criminal." It was hard not to interject as soon as the word left his lips, but Aixa was polite, and she was patient. She waited until he'd finished speaking, trying not to look like his words stung a little bit. She was a talented smuggler, but perhaps not on the same level as the foolhardy people who darted in and out of Imperial space with ships full of slaves and spice, but she was good in her own right, even if she knew better than to try and prove it to a stranger. It didn't matter what he thought of her - or so she tried to tell herself at least, trying to force the frustrating need to prove herself somehow out of the way. "But I am a smuggler." For a lot of people, there was no distinction between the two groups. Aixa wanted to prove those people wrong.

The woman shook her head, taking a look over her shoulder at the slight corner of the tent that appeared to be lifted up by nimble fingers. She smiled, but only slightly, before turning back to Rorik. "My employer didn't say anything about any of that that." It wasn't the best lie - and Aixa certainly wasn't the best liar to start with - but it was a harmless one, ending in a small sigh. "So.. I'm sorry if this seems a bit too good to be true. But I've got a shipment for you, it's paid for already. I just need someone to help me get it off the ship."

Another look at Jori's hand under the tent, and she lowered her voice some. Not quite a conspiratorial whisper, but an attempt to keep the young man - and anyone lingering nearby - out of the conversation just the same. "It's not a big order - a couple hundred medpacs, some bandages - but I'm not willing to start a riot if someone figures out what's being moved." Medpacs meant bacta, of course. And even in unmarked crates it was possible that someone could smell the substance, get a peek at the white and red containers through some kind of luck, or even just make an assumption and start a scene. He didn't look like much, but hell. It wasn't like there was anyone more invested in the cause at hand than the gaunt looking man in front of her.

 

[Apocrypha]

Without acknowledging the boy, Rorik - hands-free! - yanked the corner of the tent away from Jori; he would still be able to hear the pair, but it was a polite way to inform him that he should mind his own business. "You're delivering free medical supplies to a stranger on a dying planet," he said slowly, cocking a brow, "and you didn't ask who wanted them here and why? Either you're not particularly thorough or you're feigning aloofness for my benefit."

Rorik considered the situation; this could very easily be a trap, though he could sense no deception - and, furthermore, why lure him to the spaceport? It was a relatively busy place with a lot of curious eyes at any given time, and capturing, subduing, or even killing him here, in this back alley, would be far more efficient. If he was dealing with amateur bounty hunters, he might have an easier time of evading capture if he were to go along with Aixa now and then lose her in the crowded city square.

Alternatively, perhaps she simply was delivering a medical shipment free of charge. It seemed, as she said herself, too good to be true.

"All right," he affirmed, nodding. "I'll follow you. Let's go, then, before the sun gets any lower."

 

[Bee]

Aixa wasn't a woman who smiled easily. It wasn't for a lack of happiness in her life - though the past few months had been especially difficult - but because, quite simply, she was a quiet person. Her clanmates had accused her of being stoic at times, and they weren't wrong. But as Rorik carefully saw through her veil of poorly-constructed mystery, she flashed a grin and shook her head, trying not to look like some scoundrel in the process. "I figured you'd understand," she offered in jest, though truthfully she wasn't kidding around. Aixa really didn't want to talk about the forces that brought her to Bakura, and the less he inquired about her employer, the better. It would mean she could get the hell off the diseased rock sooner rather than later.

When he finally agreed to accompany her to the spaceport, the happiness reached her eyes even if it didn't quite extend to the other parts of her pale face. "Great. Let's go." Turning on her heel, Aixa lifted the flap of the tent to exit, holding it for the man to follow. With her hands in her pockets, she kept quiet throughout the trek through town, jaw set and eyes straight ahead as she tried to ignore the misery around her. She was more sensitive than she let on, be it through the Force or otherwise, and it took all her strength to block out the sad sight of what Bakura had become. Aixa had visited when times were better, when her father was still around, and it was hard to believe it was the same place full of the same people.

The trip wasn't a long one. Keeping a quick pace, they made it to the spaceport before the sun had a chance to fall beneath the horizon, and as they approached her ship she took a quick glance up at the sky through the open roof of the building. They had an hour at best - hopefully, he was stronger than he looked, and they wouldn't be stuck making more than one trip. Entering the ship through the loading ramp, she led him into the cargo hold where a pair of durasteel crates sat side by side. About four feet tall, they were long and flat and full of medi-packs, though the contents were thankfully impossible to discern without unlocking either of the boxes. The specific make and model of the kits were exclusive to the Hutt Cartel - but then again, they'd had a chokehold on the galaxy's bacta production for so long, who the hell else would have the resources to put the stuff into circulation?

"They're on wheels, it won't be too hard to get them down the ramp. But stuff like this always makes me kind of nervous, you know?" Taking a quick look at the crates themselves, double checking that they were securely closed and ready to be moved, Aixa took a look at Rorik from over her shoulder. "You have a problem with thieves out here?"

 

[Apocrypha]

"They're medical supplies," he replied off-handedly, perusing the crate. "Not military grade explosives."

Brushing a hand across one of the containers, Rorik frowned; he was more than thrilled to receive such substantial aids in his quest to defeat this plague - but at what cost? These were no doubt of Cartel make - he didn't need to peek inside to know that. Where else did anything medical grade come from these days? At any rate, was there a price attached to these that he couldn't pay? Nothing monetary - no, it was always more sinister with those sorts of people.

"The state of Bakura inspires a great deal of emotional turmoil in you," he surmised abruptly, turning to face the girl. "That much I can sense with ease. If you care for these people and their affliction - and were willing to risk breaking the law and incurring personal harm to bring these to me - then you must have a good heart."

"So you understand," Rorik continued, slowly stepping towards her, "that I need you to tell me who sent these, why, and what they expect in return. If I am to use them in good faith, I need to know that no harm will come of it."

 

[Bee]

"Medical supplies on a dying planet," she shot back, though not aggressively. Desperate people did desperate things, and the last thing Aixa wanted was to be overrun by feverish citizens in desperate need of medical attention. Not only because there was a chance they might get her sick - which was a real concern, even if she seemed a bit cavalier about it, what with her lack of a breathing mask - but because the force necessary to drive them back might be more than what she was willing to use. And losing a shipment for any reason was not an option.

Sighing, his words made her visibly uncomfortable. Being told she had a 'good heart' wasn't an easy pill to swallow when she could hardly help her people, though it was more her own failings that put her ill at ease. "I'm not exactly some hardened criminal, it's impossible not to want to help these people." Frankly, it'd be stranger to meet someone who didn't care at all. Or so Aixa believed, anyway.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she considered the man and his concerns, knowing well enough that they were more than valid. Pale eyes turning to the shipment itself, she said nothing. Instead, she pulled a small datapad from her back pocket, turned it on, and navigated through a series of menus. An indicator on the side made it clear she was connected to some kind of network, and after a few minutes of reading - of searching for something, it seemed - she finally raised her head to look at him, unhappy that he was in the right and she seemingly had no choice but to indulge his curiosity. The money was already in her account. It wasn't as though the woman could take it back, now.

"I got the shipment from a red-skinned woman in Hutt Space," she admitted grudgingly, shaking her head and refusing to meet his eyes. "Thirty thousand credits to deliver this shipment to you, no questions asked. She made a point about me not telling you where this came from. She said you'd be stubborn, but --" Maybe it was best to redirect that train of thought. "I don't know her name. So I couldn't tell it to you even if I wanted to." The deposit came from a temporary bank account, not surprisingly, and the name was probably a throwaway as well.

 

[Apocrypha]

He stared, for a moment - just a moment and no more, his blank face quickly shifting into an incredulous smile, and for an instant it was difficult to discern whether Rorik Grey was enraged or overjoyed. A hand came up, hiding the smile as he stroked the smooth skin on his left cheek - an old habit from a time when he wore a more grizzled face. With an about-face and a steady march towards the other side of the ship, Rorik began to giggle.

"You don't have to," he assured her. "I know it - though I find it rather brash of her to subvert these supplies so willingly -" from her employers, he almost finished. He caught himself, however, considering that a red-skinned woman in Hutt Space did not necessarily mean a red-skinned woman that works for the Hutt Cartel. Despite his confidence that she was a woman with a good heart, Rorik saw no need to entangle her in the messy details of his curious relationship with Vica the Zeltron bounty hunter.

It seemed that Vica had been doing well for herself, as of late, with enough credits to hire a smuggler and enough clout within the Cartel to have access to the syndicate's most treasured resource: bacta. It was also endearing, her desire to help Bakura and its people - though the intentional mystery was strange, and somewhat out of character, and it made Rorik wonder whether she was more interested in helping the Bakurans, or simply Rorik himself. That train of thought, however, seemed vaguely narcissistic, and so the Jedi abandoned it for the time being.

"I appreciate your transparency," he concluded, a broad smile on his face. "Let's get these somewhere safe, shall we?"

---

Somewhere safe turned out to be Rorik's tiny apartment; now, with the sun nearly down, the street outside the complex was abandoned, and Rorik was fairly certain that nobody had seen them lugging the supplies indoors. "That's the last of it," he breathed, no small amount of relief evident in his voice as he took a seat at the kitchen table. "Help yourself to a glass of water," he explained, motioning towards the only other seat in the room, on the other side of the table. His tone seemed to imply that no, there wasn't really much else to help herself to, but that she was certainly welcome to the water all the same.

"Where are you going next, then? Already have another job set up?"

 

[Bee]

Aixa didn't know anything about her employer other than what she looked like. She certainly didn't know her motivations, whatever they were, and whether or not she was hoping to bring relief to the people of Bakura or get in touch with an old friend. Hell, for all she knew the supplies were fake, full of enough spice to get an entire planet hooked on the stuff, and she was an unwitting accessory to one hell of a crime. And at this point, awful as it was, she didn't care: the man would accept the shipment. She had been paid. He seemed .. happy, sort of, and that was good, too. "Good idea."

Turning to take a look at the shipment, hands on her hips, she wished the order had been just slightly smaller. It was going to be a long day.

----​

It was a small wonder that she didn't fall asleep at Rorik's small table, the way she fell into the chair and pressed her arms against the the cool surface before her. She was a strong woman, one who had learned to pick herself up by her bootstraps and get shit done, but the shipment was large and they'd done a far bit of walking, a fair bit of climbing stairs and retracing their steps to do it all over again. Forehead on the table, she closed her eyes and managed something that was equal parts a tired sigh and contented laugh, lifting her head a moment later to slouch some in the seat. "Maybe in a sec. Thanks, though." Maybe if she didn't have to get up to get it, more like.

Considering his question, she looked up to the ceiling as though it would give her an answer, half-tempted to take a glance at her itinerary. "Naboo, I think. Just some ore. Raw gems, maybe? I'm not really sure. I try not to ask too many questions." As long as she wasn't smuggling drugs or slaves, Aixa wasn't in any position to be picky.

 

[Apocrypha]

"Raw gems, you say?" he parroted, rising to his feet after a moment to provide her with a glass of water. "Curious, that - you'd think that the royalty of Naboo would have enough gems to float Coruscant into the molten core, 'eh?" He set the glass down in front of her; "Hydrate. You won't do yourself any favors, robbing your immune system on Bakura - believe me."

"So," he pondered, stroking an invisible beard once more; "Naboo... you know, I've got some friends from Naboo, come to think of it." Well. More or less, right? "Which one of the posh, high society families wants raw diamonds?"

Examining the sour look that she gave him, Rorik raised his hands assuringly - "Trust me, I'm not trying to bust you, friend. I've spent the last few months with a fourteen year old boy and innumerable half-dead Bakurans for company, though, so I'm a bit starved for conversation." Truth be told, he was also starved for the company of an attractive woman - but that was far too forward of a thing to say, and completely outside of Rorik's more or less celibate nature. He was enough of a gentleman to avoid leering at a pretty girl every time she sauntered by, anyway.