Chapter Text
“What is it with the Aos sí and antlers?” Íþróttaálfurinn muttered next to him as they surveyed the courtyard fountain with its statues of three fair maidens, all of which adorned antlers, pouring jets of water out of urns into the basin at their feet. In the water a farrago of colourful exotic fishes swam, that he was pretty sure wasn’t native to Connemara, let alone Ireland, or the British Isles for that matter.
“Maybe it’s a local thing,” Sportacus said back. He tugged on the collar of his formal wear for the umpteenth time. “Are these really necessary? I can’t properly move in this dress coat.”
“We’re here on court business, not as regular numbered heroes, remember, Tíu,” the elf by his side reminded him for as many times now, though he kept tugging and adjusting his formal wear as well.
One of them was going to bust a seam by the end of the event. The perks of being invited as a third neutral party he supposed.
He’d told the residents of LazyTown that he was off on an expedition in another town. Which was not entirely false. He was sort of on an expedition in another town… A diplomatic venture of sorts. On the other side of the globe. He knew that he didn’t have to worry over the townspeople’s wellbeing, he trusted them to take good care of themselves and stay clear out of trouble for as long as he was needed elsewhere. They would be doing just fine without him. The question was, if Robbie could reel in on his schemes and not go overboard as he tended to do, until Sportacus got back. Thinking of Robbie, the strange man would probably thrive in this environment. Deception and betrayal was probably something that he could very well flourish in.
As for Sportacus himself, give him a real immediate problem to deal with and solve through physical means, not that he wished for trouble to arisen, instead of this tottering mine field where a glance in the wrong direction could get him into trouble.
Forget pollution, deforestation, or the general exploitations of land and sea brought on by the humans. Their people would probably end up destroying themselves from within.
Being away from LazyTown was making him almost as cranky as Robbie, he thought sardonically.
His colleague’s voice brought him out of his dark musings. “Do you have your mask ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because I spot the queen’s diplomat, we should be ready to enter soon. Do you also remember the rules?”
Sportacus put on the ornate Domino mask. The masquerade mask in patina brass was in stark contrast to the rest of their getup that was of the more traditional Nordic cut, but the theme for the event had been inspired on their respective communion. The Hidden People, as was his creed, -then what more fitting than obscuring their faces completely or partially? Sportacus had picked out the mask hiding the top half of his face and framing his cheeks, rather than a full-face mask. He was already constricted in this getup, he did not need to add a full facial mask to the claustrophobic sensation. “Speak only if spoken to, keep an eye out for trouble, and be weary of Finbheara’s subjects?” He combed his fingers through his hair, pushing the caramel blond locks back and behind his pointed ears. He was so used to concealing his ears and hair, that the opposite concealment felt, off, for lack of better words.
“Almost right, I see the queen now and I think she has seen us as well.”
Íþróttaálfurinn put on his own mask, his facial features obscured completely by a black square Bauta, save for his steel blue eyes through the openings.
They bowed before her as the elven matriarch neared them, along with the rest of their entourage trailing behind her, “your highness,” they greeted their chief in unison.
“Níu,” she acknowledged them with a small nod, her eyes were framed by a dainty Colombina of leaf gold, she momentarily halted at the sight of Sportacus, “and Tíu. I must admit, I did not foresee you partaking in this event. You’ve been scarce lately.”
Staying as far away from court business as he could, more like it. He had a feeling he would get reeled into more such things in the future, now that his monarch had been reminded of his existence.
Sportacus stayed in his bowed position, his eyes set on the hem of her black skirt, the golden embroidery of flowers glowed like embers. “Sjö has not been feeling well lately, so I’m here in her stead,” he said and straightened up. Even without her white headdress and band of gold on top of her head, she would have been at least one head taller than him.
She eyed his crystal pinned to his ascot like a brooch. “As you should, Númer Tíu,” she said dryly and flowed past them.
Sportacus let out a breath in relief, their queen was a creature of beauty and grace, but she was equally frightening so, as most chiefs were. He couldn’t see Íþróttaálfurinn’s face, but the crinkling of his eyes gave away his smile behind the mask at Sportacus´ demeanour.
They fell in line with the rest of the group and followed the monarch into the palace where the Connacht held court. Sportacus had never been to Cnoc Meadha before and he came to a halt as they passed through the threshold and into the reception hall. The courtyard of the underground palace had been impressive, but the inside was breath-taking. By glittering jewels embedded and charms, the ceiling high above them sparkled like the starriest night sky. The walls covered in paintings and rich burgundy tapestries, and the floor was not of stone, or marble, but mother of pearl. It somehow stayed on the right side of becoming garish.
His colleague discreetly nudged his side and he shut his mouth. Not to shame Álfaborg, but Sportacus had to admit that Cnoc Meadha was very different from the cascading waterfalls and the crystal springs that he was custom to.
Flustered, he ducked his head at the giggling Connacht faeries they passed by, as their attendance was announced loudly through the cavernous hall. He had to have appeared as a yokel to them by his awed reaction, -someone to exploit. This event was in the gesture of diplomacy and peace. That didn’t necessarily mean that this was a safe haven. Things could turn ugly at the drop of a hat.
Whilst some Huldu in their own capital Kópavogur seemed to thrive on petty intrigues, Sportacus detested this cloak and dagger business. Sometimes, he wondered how he had survived his training in their Queen’s court and gotten out unscathed on the other side without losing himself to its never-ending machinations. Times like these he was glad he had Íþróttaálfurinn, his cousin and senior colleague, by his side.
“Queen Hildur of Iceland and of the Huldufólk,” their whole group was announced as. They followed their queen as she made her way straight to greet their hosts and pay her respects.
Up on a throne of black Galena polished to a shine, sat the king of the Connacht Faeries, Finbheara. Draped in a navy-blue cloak brandishing their coat of arms, with the eagle and the sword wielding arm split in dimidiation. Íþróttaálfurinn was right, they did have a thing for antlers. On top of his head of long wavy copper was a crown of elaborate twinning of the golden band the chiefs usually wore along with deer antlers and thistles.
“Finbheara, I am honoured to be invited to your abode,” she said and did a curtsey.
The man stepped down from his throne with a flair to greet his guest. “Hildur, it is always such a pleasure to have you.”
“You flatter me. Pray tell, how is your queen?”
“Oona is entertaining the diplomats further in, we will join her shortly.”
Sportacus fought the instinct to roll his eyes at the pretentious display, a bad habit that had gotten worse over the years.
Sensing Sportacus’ frustration, his cousin gave him a warning glance. They were both stuck here until the end of the evening and there was nothing they could do about it. As numbered heroes, their job for the evening was less of protecting their queen and more of showing off her assets. Look at the elites she had at her disposal.
Everybody knew that the Connacht faes were allies to the Unseelie court, since they shared common roots and beliefs. The Huldufólk’s attendance could be seen as superfluous, given their own alignments.
But, there had been incidents, the Seelie and Unseelie court over the sea were relatively young in consideration of the vættirs and faeries measure of time. By incidents; there had been, land grabs. Two or three generations ago that would not have been an issue, but now, when you could travel the world in one day and the human’s taking over more and more…
This discord created unrest between all and could cripple Sportacus’ own autonomy. Flying his airship across borders without a fuss from human and faery officials was a privilege, he reminded himself. It was easy to take his own freedom for granted.
Their own diplomat was renowned for his mediating skills. Perhaps, their presence wasn’t as redundant from a strategical perspective. Iceland was a prominent nation too, in its aspect, and they were more lenient towards the Seelie court’s customs. Sportacus could endure one night of playing the game if it led to reconciliation between the two parties. It wasn’t like much was asked of him. Just, stand around and be pretty. Even if every fibre of his being begged to do something, anything.
“Don’t look now, but I think trouble just arrived,” Íþróttaálfurinn murmured for him to hear.
He turned his head to look at the direction of the great entrance.
Two tall figures entered through under the banner of the Unseelie court, a man and woman he gathered. He had already spotted some of their colours among the other guests, but Íþróttaálfurinn’s reaction and the couple’s outfits had him curious.
The closest towering figure was dressed in a leather and black feather cloak, making his broad shoulders even more comically so. He figured he was in his early middle-ages, but it was hard to tell with some fae, middle-age could be anywhere between thirty-five, to one hundred and fifty. The tips of the feathers of the cloak were dipped and glistening in an insidious red and the outfit that could be glimpsed underneath had far too many buckles for convenience. The stranger’s dark hair was cropped short, making his ears stick out in an unflattering manner from his square face, which donned a contemporary make up of dark eyeshadow under bushy eyebrow and lips like a gaping wound cross his face, however, there was something familiar about him, something about those grey eyes.
The figure by his side was the complete opposite of the dark gloomy attendant. From Sportacus’ position, their face was obscured by a hooded cloak in cream and orange lining. The outfit underneath was what drew his attention. It looked like a scandalous evening gown in peach silk gradient into pink and was held up by a necklace of rose gold by the front. Sportacus realised that his first conclusion was wrong, judging by the wide span of their shoulders and glimpse of pectoral muscles along with the narrow hips under the cincture, the wearer was very much male.
Any doubt he had about the figure’s sex got cut down when they stepped forth completely into view from their companion.
Throwing their hood back with the same cream white evening gloves and shrugging the cloak off their naked shoulders, they revealed their face.
Sportacus’ jaw dropped. That was-
“Robbie Rotten and Glanni Glæpur, of the Unseelie court and heirs of Rosalina Glæpur!” the announcer’s voice rang loud and clear.
“Robbie?” he said in disbelief under his breath.
“You know the Unseelie?” Íþróttaálfurinn whispered in his ear.
They were not the only ones to start whispering, as the hall filled with a low murmur. “He’s the man from the town where I’m stationed. The one that’s always up to mischief.” He could not believe his eyes. Robbie, his Robbie, was a fae? And one of the notorious Unseelie ones on top of that?!
“He’s one of the Glæpurs. I’ve dealt with the one called Glanni before, nasty piece of work. You know, if half of what you’ve told me about your small-town antagonist is true, then this shouldn’t be such a big surprise.”
Sportacus nodded dumbly. He was right. In light of this new knowledge, all of Robbie’s shenanigans and disguises made sense. It wasn’t just good craftmanship behind his ploys, but charms and glamour! The Unseelie’s attitude towards magic was beyond casual and without any regard to consequences. Having magic and not using it, was seen as a disgrace by their beliefs. The thought had never hit him that Robbie was one of his own, one of the ultranatural spirits, he’d dismissed him as another one of the quirky humans that resided in LazyTown. A mistake it would seem.
The other man said something into Robbie’s ear and he snickered, his gaze met his own and Robbie’s brow creased slightly. Sportacus ducked his head in fear that the expression flicking over the man’s features was one of recognition.
“Seriously, Robbie? The instructions were clear. Dress as your affiliation. Everyone knows that we are the baddies. You know, dark, edgy?” Glanni gestured to his own feathered getup, then spat, “and you pick Salmon Pink and Rose Gold?”
“You look like a vulture during mid-moulting,” Robbie pointed out in retaliation and swept his cloak off his shoulders and made it disappear with a snap of his fingers. “Besides, I’m Robbie Rotten first and most importantly, and looks can be deceiving.”
“Fair enough. Oh lord, yes alright, you’re in the clear,” he leaned in and spoke directly into his ear, “have you seen this joke? What are the Huldufólk wearing?”
Robbie surveyed the entourage of Nordic elves and snickered. What indeed? Robbie was always up for a little bit of masquerading himself, but mixing that droll Nordic formal wear and venetian masks? Hysterical!
“They look ridiculous,” he murmured back.
His gaze swept over the offending party. He recognized a few of them despite their shoddy masks. The sneer on his brother’s face confirmed his suspicion that that head of auburn had to be the one Glanni always went on and on about. His brother had been no slower in pointing out, whenever he got fed up with the ranting, that Robbie whined to no end and obsessed over Sportacus too. Yeah, right… Urgh, no, Sportacus was the last person he wanted to think about right now. That blue Kangaroo had gone on one of his little expeditions, as far as he knew. Robbie could once again have had LazyTown all for himself, but nouh! He had just kicked his feet up and instantly had a letter with the family sigil tumbled down into his lap. Of all the godawful luck he had. So, here he was. Entertaining his mother on yet another one of these ‘diplomatic’ gatherings. This was why he had trust issues! He’d grown up on the outskirts of the Unseelie court, but he had enough experience to know that you were as likely to wake up face down in the buffet, as you were to be found dead in a ditch in the morning. All depending on a whim.
Robbie liked drama. From a safe distance.
He drew his gaze from the red head and settled on the man next to him. A man that shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, who he’d never seen before, as he was pretty sure he would have remembered such a wild mane of dark gold. The elf didn’t seem to fit in with the court, he was too… Fidgety. The elf turned to him and Robbie’s gut dropped. Those cobalt blue eyes and absolutely ridiculous pencil moustache was so much alike Sportacus’. But, that couldn’t be right, could it? They locked eyes for a beat before the stranger ducked his head and continued his conversation with Glanni’s obsession of the decade.
His whirling thoughts of paranoia came to an abrupt halt by the loud outcry of a familiar female voice in a New England accent.
“Darlings! You made it!”
Yes, well, what other choice did they have?
Glanni visibly winced next to him. “Hello, mother,” he greeted her as the slim woman embraced him, before Robbie found himself on the receiving end of his mother’s public display of affection too. The tall woman was clad in a crimson evening dress, her dark hair in a fanciful coiffure and thin lips painted deep red. She looked like she was out for a cocktail evening with the rest of the trophy wife’s, if it wasn’t for the glimmer of sigils in the hem and glittering stones rattling around her wrists, neck and hair. She might as well have attended the event in riot gear, or a tank. If someone even so looked at her the wrong way, they’d regret it sorely.
“Oh Robbie, look at you, yes lovely choice of colours. Desire, excitement and passion,” she said as she inspected his gown and gave him a pointed grin, “smart choice.”
“I should have gone with black,” Robbie muttered in dismay under his breath.
Glanni was laughing at him as Robbie got dragged away further into the parlour of the palace. He cast one last glance in the direction of the stranger, but could no longer spot him. With a frown, he turned back to chat with his mother and try to liberate his arm out of her vice grip.
Frankly, he didn’t know what he was doing there. His family was of no greater political standing… Okay, his mother did have stakes in what went on and maybe Glanni too, since he was the first in line of inheriting after her, but Robbie himself had no stance on the matter. All he wanted was to be left alone to his own devices. And it wasn’t as if anyone favoured his opinions whenever he actually did speak up.
After half an hour of entertaining his mother and chit chatting with her associates he was thoroughly fed up.
Ugh, no. To hell with this. He nudged his brother to come with him to inspect what the Connacht passed for as hospitality.
Robbie took in the tables brimming with food and he felt his mouth water at the sight. This was what made all this inane socializing worth it in the end. He reached beyond the fruits, another fleeting thought of Sportacus and wondering if he would lose his marbles over the sight of this much sportscandy, and homed in on a purple delicacy in the centre. He served himself a nice big slice of cake, Robbie could have done without the decorations of violets covering the frosting, but it was at least aesthetically pleasing to the eye. You could never go wrong with purple.
It tasted of violets too, saved by the secondary taste of pure sugar and he groaned in delight. Yes, this was the good stuff.
Sadly, his joy didn’t get to last for long, as he dropped the plate, narrowly avoiding getting purple cream and pastry over himself with a surprised shriek that matched the shrill giggles of the children that ran past him from under the tables and nearly knocked him over along with the tidal wave of ankle biters.
So much for that.
“Please don’t tell me those are changelings,” he lamented while trying to find his bearings. Human children brought underground and into the courts had never really sat right with him for some reason.
Glanni asked him around a mouthful of… Something he’d plucked from the table, “why do you care anyway?”
“I don’t, but I get terrorized enough as it is at home, at least here I was hoping for a breather away from those screaming little terrors.”
He didn’t look like he believed him. Glanni swallowed what Robbie now figured was chocolate covered cherries. “Right. If it gives you any peace of mind, they’re not. But, I would keep it down if I were you. We can’t have people think you’ve gone soft.”
“Shut up, Glanni,” he sneered and bared teeth.
“That’s more like it.” He took another handful. “I never thought I’d say this, but you got to try some of this.”
“Fruits and berries?” He gagged. “No, thank you.” The fruits here may be a tenfold sweeter than the ones the humans grew. But, he had principles! Instead, he reached for the pitcher and poured himself a glass of amber liquid, swirled it and took a sip. Nectar and spices, he should probably take it easy on it, it didn’t burn as it went down his throat, but he wasn’t in the mood of getting drunk and make a fool out of himself… Unlike his brother, who had found the Connemara and Kilbeggan. This was going to be a long night, he thought and he poured another glass to bring to his mother.
“Oh, thank you,” Rosalina took the offered glass from him and patted his cheek, “you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”
“Mother, I am not one of your dogs,” he complained loudly and stepped out of her reach. Their relationship was finnicky, to put it bluntly. Officially she was loving, almost overbearing. Privately, she was somewhat absent and more interested in her own whims. Unless said whims involved her sons, let’s just say, that it wasn’t Robbie’s idea to take up fine arts, or that Glanni was fluent in over six languages.
“So you keep saying, darling. Tell me Robbie, what do you think of these meetings,” she said and took his arm, trying to get him involved in the conversation with her gaggle of associates again.
“These diplomatic meets are a farce,” he hissed.
“Don’t be a mood killer, dear.”
“Oh yeah? Besides that neither ours, or the Seelie court’s royal members has shown up and only sent low tier diplomats? Has anyone else noticed that the Mikumwesuk are mysteriously absent?”
Their company, uncomfortable with Robbie’s bluntness and the direction their conversation was heading, silenced and shared uneasy looks.
“That’s… quite an unique take on it,” an older man said, while another companion, a woman of oriental descent, nodded her head to concur the statement, the peacock feathers in her ridiculous whimsey hat bounced with the motion.
“Robbie,” his mother warned him. But, he continued regardless.
“Everyone is going on about Seelie this, Unseelie that, but let’s face it. It was never our land to begin with.” He took a swig of his drink and smacked his lips. “We’re no better than the humans. I should know, I live amongst them. My bet is that their tribes weren’t even invited. Imagine the outrage if a Mikumwess had a say in the matter?”
“Don’t stir trouble where you can’t win,” she chided him lowly, her grip on his arm hard enough to bruise.
“I’m not looking to win. I’m merely stating facts,” Robbie said dryly and finished what was left in his glass.
Rosalina massaged her temple with a finely manicured hand, “I cannot take you anywhere, can I?”
Robbie only smirked down at her. If she dragged him all the way out here to play nice with the court faes, then he would not make it easy for her.
She sighed in defeat, “where’s your brother?”
“Mr. Silver Tongue is horking down on the buffet, do you want me to fetch him?”
“Do be a dear and do so.”
“I say, I never expected your son of being a native sympathizer, Rosalina,” he heard one of Rosalina’s company say, some old harpy, he didn’t look. “It’s rather odd. Seeing as the Unseelie and, you personally, own land in those regions.”
This was why no one favoured Robbie’s input.
He could feel his mother’s gaze burn a hole in the back of his skull. Good.
“What did you do?” Glanni asked him when Robbie found him and interrupted his attempt of wooing one of the Connacht. A tall lithe fae in blue. It wasn’t Robbie’s place to question Glanni’s tastes, at least he wasn’t going on about the damn elf that drove him off decades ago.
“Nothing, just making sure that I’m not getting dragged into political nonsense again,” he grinned.
“Stop undermining our standings, please.”
“You sound like mother, go play footsies with her gang, bring your date with you.”
Glanni sneered, but did offer his arm to the fae by his side and walked off to salvage the situation.
With a heavy sigh and a refilled glass, he positioned himself by the edge of the different groups. Standing by a rather impressive statue of black marble depicting a strapping young man in nothing but his birthday suit and vines snaking their way up his thighs. Some import from elsewhere he figured from first glance, probably Italian.
“Come here often?” he joked up at it before he turned back to his people watching.
The sound of children’s giggling could be heard again. Dear lord, was there no one to supervise them?
He idly watched the different cliques of fae. There was a mixture of the different colors and banners of their own, along with the Seelie’s crisp ones, a few of the Huldu and a whole lot of their host’s banner of dark blue.
What a farce. The real diplomatic meeting took place somewhere in the back rooms of Cnoc Meadha while the rest of the guests wasted time here. He could have been snug in his arm chair back at home right about now, watching infomercials and eating comfort food. Ugh, the things he did for family…
His musings stopped with the ear-splitting screech of stone breaking up from the statue he was standing beneath. Its shadow grew over him.
“You got to be kidding me.”
Without the casing, the crystal’s alarm of danger was muted and felt more as a pulse through Sportacus’ chest. Both Íþróttaálfurinn and he looked up in unison in search of the source of peril.
Across the vast room he spotted the movements of one of the great statues and heard the crack of its marble giving way at its base.
“Someone’s in trouble,” he muttered to himself and dashed, to save whoever was at the foot of the statue. His cousin followed closely behind, but Sportacus was the closest of the two of them to the collapsing structure.
He vaulted over some of the guests in the way, earning him cries of protests, and zig zagged through the crowd. Trying to make way past them as fast as he could and for what his formal clothes allowed him.
It was Robbie, why was he not surprised? He tackled him to the ground, catching him around his chest and pushed him further away from harm’s way before he turned to block the falling structure.
He didn’t have time to properly catch the falling statue and was forced to block it with his left arm. The blow jolted all the way up to his shoulder and momentarily numbed his arm as he let out a pained grunt, before he could steady it with his right hand and redirect it to land on the floor next to them, the weight of it forcing him down on one knee. Sportacus was glad that he had decided to wear his bracers underneath his dress coat, or the impact would surely have shattered his bone, not that this wouldn’t leave an impressive mark.
The culprit behind the crumbling statue stuck their head out from behind the rubble. A small child, with golden curls framing its cherubic face and he caught the sight of translucence wings fluttering from its back. It covered its mouth and giggled. Where was its guardians?!
“I hate children,” Robbie spat from behind him after coughing and gingerly clutching his chest from where Sportacus’ had gripped him.
“They don’t know better,” he huffed and dusted himself off. People were too fast in judging the actions of small children, when, in his opinion, it was the grownups duty to watch over and teach them right from wrong.
“Did I ask you?” he sneered.
'You’re welcome,' Sportacus thought.
“I apologize my colleague’s indiscretion,” Íþróttaálfurinn jumped in, along with what looked like an older relative, or caretaker, who caught the child to drag it away by the ear, its small wings flapping angrily at the harsh treatment.
“That’s more like it,” Robbie muttered at the sight.
“Are you alright?” Íþróttaálfurinn asked and surveyed the scene.
“Just dandy. I only got nearly decimated.”
If Robbie was feeling well enough to start throwing around his sarcasm high and low, then he was indeed, dandy.
Without thinking, Sportacus offered his hand down to Robbie.
Robbie in turn looked at the offered appendage like it was a personal insult and swatted it away with a scoff and got to his feet on his own. Sportacus spotted neat sandals underneath the dress, before Robbie got to his full height again and stared him down.
Well, so much for going unnoticed by Robbie. This would be fun to explain. ‘Hey, so you’re here as well? Why, yes I’m a fae too.’
Robbie couldn’t use this knowledge against him, if Robbie was a faery too, then he had no grounds on using this to drive Sportacus out of LazyTown, except Robbie seemed to pass for human without problem or use of glamours. He didn’t see any wings procuring from the taller man’s exposed naked back where a fine golden chain was holding the back of the dress up.
Said tall man was glowering at him, before he spoke again.
“Not that I’m grateful or anything, don’t get any ideas here. But, what’s your name?”
Sportacus’ pre-prepared speech died in his throat.
So, Robbie didn’t recognize him?
An idea started to form in his mind. Robbie was always messing with him in his disguises. It would be fun to pull one on Robbie for a change and let the self-proclaimed Master of Disguise have a taste of his own medicine. It was all in good-natured fun, of course.
“Hello? I know you speak English,” Robbie said again irritably.
Yes, why not? he finally decided.
“Tíu,” he introduced himself and gave a small bow. It wasn’t a lie, that was his formal title. Number Ten; Númer Tíu.
Íþróttaálfurinn gave them an inquiring look from behind Robbie’s back while he moved the fallen statue away as the palace’s staff swarmed them to clean up.
Robbie tilted his head to the side, sizing him up. “Have we met before? Your ghastly moustache… Seems awfully familiar.”
His mouth tugged into a small smile at that. “I do not frequent these events unless I really have to.” Another dismissive answer. Sportacus was a horrible liar, but he could try redirection. They had never met in this fashion before.
“Oh hell, not you,” a sneer brought their attention away from each other and up towards the stairs.
His colleague straightened up from his work and glowered right back at the emerging strange man clad in the feather cloak. “Glanni,” he said evenly.
“I should have known that you wretched sports elves would cause an issue, sooner or later.”
Íþróttaálfurinn didn’t say anything back, but Sportacus could see him working his jaw behind his mask.
With one last dirty look in Íþróttaálfurinn’s direction he turned to Robbie. “Robbie,” the man named Glanni tapped Robbie’s naked shoulder, “don’t bother with these elven guards. They’re a dull bunch most of the time anyway. Mother wants to have a look at you after that nasty fall.” He glared over at Sportacus. Yes, Sportacus had in the heat of the moment pushed Robbie to the ground and out of the way, but it was favourable over the option of getting squished under the statue.
And he was foolish enough to voice so, “I pushed him. Would you have preferred if I hadn’t?” Sportacus crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yes,” Glanni growled.
He shrugged. “If you say so,”
The other scowled at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” His face one of innocence beneath his mask.
Glanni bared teeth at him and was about to say something when Robbie intervened with a hurried, “okay, I think that’s enough. Glanni take me to mother, so she may properly fuss over me and fill up her quota of maternal behaviour for the next year to come,” and was the one to drag the furious man away.
Íþróttaálfurinn didn’t look all too pleased with Sportacus either and they had attracted a crowd of curious onlookers.
“What on earth has gotten into you, picking a fight with the Unseelie?” Íþróttaálfurinn hissed when they’d gotten a safe distance away. “This isn’t like you.”
“It’s Robbie, he’s harmless… More or less,” he added.
“His family isn’t.” That thought hadn’t registered with Sportacus. “And neither is the diplomat,” he sighed dejectedly.
Contrary to popular belief, their diplomat wasn’t an elf, but a second-generation dwarf from Norway. The short man reached up to about Sportacus’ navel, yet somehow managed to ooze an air of dominance and valour. Not to sound prejudiced, but part of Sportacus suspected that it was the man’s nature of strong headedness and relentless determination that had given him his long streak of successful negotiations thus far.
As the other representatives from Iceland his face was obscured by a mask, but unlike their Venetian ones, he bore a Viking mask, staying true to his roots. It worked very well as an intimidation tactic too, he would have to admit.
For his short stature his voice carried strong. “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he said.
“I-”
“No, spare me your apologies. You Sports elves, what am I to do with you? Don’t answer that. Saving the faery was all fine, nothing more than expected of you, but do not, and I mean it, do not antagonize the Glæpur’s. They have a major role in the negotiations because of their own claim of land in the North-eastern parts of North America.”
The look Íþróttaálfurinn gave him was pure, ‘I told you so’.
“I understand.”
“Do you have any idea how far back you have set my work?”
“No.”
“No, of course you don’t,” he sniffed. “I suggest you either make amends, or stay as far away from them as you can.”
That Sportacus’ could work with.
“That went better than expected,” his cousin said after the diplomat had left. “And no, he is not all bark no bite. I wrestled him once,” he finished and pushed a glass in his hand.
“You know I can’t-”
“It’s nectar water. No stronger than deluded Crowberry wine. I’m not trying to get you tipsy or into a meltdown, we’re still on the job. But, just having something to hold in your hand might be helpful.”
“Thank you.”
“So, you want to tell me what’s up with you and the youngest Glæpur?” Íþróttaálfurinn asked and polished one of the golden apples from the buffet, before he tore it into two even pieces and offered one to Sportacus.
“Nothing,” he said and took the offered half.
His cousin gave him a disbelieving look from behind his mask.
“I mean it,” he sighed and bit down on the piece of apple, it’s crisp texture and sweetness had him pause just to savour the taste. “I’ve tried to reach out to him, offering nothing, but friendship and well-meaning.”
“But?”
“He’s set in his ways, I’m afraid. I didn’t even know he was a fae until he arrived here.” He gave his cousin a pointed look. “That older Glæpur seems to have it out for you.”
“I caught him red-handed taking over a town and using the residents for his own gain,” he replied and lifted his mask to eat from his half of the apple. “You know, just doing my job.”
Sportacus hummed and took another bite. “He’s sore about that?”
“You have no idea,” Íþróttaálfurinn snickered.
“Aren’t you worried that he’ll, you know-?”
“Not really, he’s had ample opportunities. Glanni seems to have simmered down a bit lately, could be because he’s realizing he’s getting older. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You know what they say; when the devil grows old, he grows a conscious.”
“That doesn’t translate the same into English, you know?”
“Oh?”
“Their version is that he turns hermit.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Sportacus shook his head and smiled,” I know.”
They joined their entourage, ignoring the whispers behind hands and fans by the other guests.
Court faes had too little practical things to do.
His mother’s fussing over him was enough to last into the next decade. And he’d barely gotten out of her manicured claws just as soon as Glanni sunk his not-so-finely-tended-to ones into him.
“Nice work, idiot. Barely two hours and you’ve already managed to have an attempt on your life,” Glanni seethed at him.
“I’ve had worse from younger tots.”
“Yes, because a small Sidhe not even old enough to use its wings could surely topple over a statue of that size.”
“Now you’re being paranoid.”
“Am I? Am I?!” Glanni’s eye was twitching and the contents of his new glass in his hand spilled over in his agitated thrashing.
“This isn’t about me, is it?”
“Oh. Ohohoho, it very much is.” He leaned in, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I heard that you’d been spouting nonsense of who has the rightful claim to the land.”
“And, so what?”
“So what? For fu-! Listen, that’s a very unpopular opinion. Now, I don’t trust the Seelie any more than I can throw a giant, but you’ve gone and become a liability for the Unseelie court as well.”
Robbie’s blood ran cold at the implications. “Crap.”
“To put it mildly, yes. I hate to say it, but you were lucky that the Huldufólk were here to save your hide. Their numbered champions are notorious well-doers and those stupid crystals are probably the only thing that saved you from a world of pain.”
“Wait,” Robbie blinked, “crystals?”
“Yes. The Sidhe here are obsessed with deers and the Huldu have the hots for crystals. Don’t ask me why.” Glanni stared him in the eye. “What just happened was probably a warning and with the champions running around the place you’re fairly safe, but if you continue like this, you’ll have more to worry about than pissing off some pompous upper cruster.”
Robbie nodded dumbly. He had, narrowly so, avoided being the poor sod ending up stone cold in a ditch it would seem. “I think I need some space,” he said.
“Don’t stray too far.”
He only waved his arm in vague affirmation and trudged away. He went for the buffet for a new piece of cake to comfort himself with and grabbed another glass from one of the waiters as he passed by. Robbie had already made a fool of himself, he might as well check off the rest of his list of ill-advised decisions.
This was an absolute joke. Well, if you didn’t like what he thought, then maybe you shouldn’t ask him! Of course Robbie would cause discordance in his wake. He was a Glæpur, an up to no good trickster with nothing to gain, literally the last person you wanted around for these kinds of things, just as little as he wanted to be part of it.
No, he preferred his life out on the country side. Call him old fashioned, but there was nothing wrong with the simple life of getting back at the townspeople that dared to disturb him or his property and try to chase off the latest hero with schemes and wagers. It was in his nature after all… Or, so they said. Even if he admittedly had a soft spot for the children of his town and had yet not been able to get rid of that outrageously soft-hearted Sportacus, who he couldn’t even on a good day explain how he felt about. One part of him wanted his approval and affection for who he was, and the other wishing to chuck him off the face of the planet. Stupid Sportacus, who had everyone charmed since day one, including Robbie, ugh. Maybe Glanni was right, maybe he was obsessing over the hero.
He stabbed his slice of cake and brought a piece to his mouth. The taste didn’t bring him the same feeling of contentment that it previously had and he sighed in frustration, but ate it all non-the-less, more out of spite than actually enjoying and savouring it. He should look up on his mother, he shouldn’t stray so far away on his own without company in case his brother’s paranoia wasn’t completely unfounded.
He couldn’t see them anywhere, ‘gee thanks for telling me you left,’ he thought and followed the sound of music coming from the grand ballroom. If he didn’t find them per se, he was going to find a secluded nook or cranny and take a nap instead.
As he suspected, he located his mother amongst her peers by a balcony, Glanni standing by her side with another fae on his arm.
Robbie decided to sulk nearby, surrounded by people and far away from hulking statues or other overhanging structures threatening to turn him into a Robbie sized stain on the shimmering floor.
Well, someone seemed to enjoy the festivities at least, he noted sourly. The Huldufólk had taken to the dance floor and bullied the orchestra into playing something a little bit more contemporary. Their feet dancing over the floor in a flurry of what he supposed was some type of dance game filled with laughter and throwing each other. They had even managed to get a great deal of the other faes to join in on their, urk, fun.
It didn’t take long until he spotted the elves who had saved him earlier in the parlour, in the mash of dancing people. His eyes were drawn to look at their ascots, and there it was. Crystals in their brooches, one for each of them.
Sportacus had a crystal like that tucked inside that casing on his chest.
Speaking to the dark haired one of them would probably make Glanni blow a fuse, however that blond one that had introduced himself as, Tim? Tinnie? Whatever it was, he might be a little more lenient in answering his questions.
Besides, if it was true that the incident with the statue wasn’t purely a prank by a toddler gone awry, then it was strategically sound to be as close to the elves as he could.
He watched for a little longer and finally the blond one decided to take a break from the never-ending dancing and lean against one of the pillars with his arms crossed over his chest.
His feet carried him on their own accord it felt like. He could probably blame it on liquid courage later on.
The elf jumped in surprise when Robbie cleared his throat behind him and twirled around.
“Easy, tiger,” he said in surprise and took a step back. Boy, someone sure was jumpy.
“Sorry, you startled me,” the stranger said sheepishly and settled back against the pillar to watch over the crowd. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, his cobalt blue eyes darted up to him. That shade of blue was downright unnatural.
“Not specifically.”
The elf nodded, then pursed his lips, seeming to think over something. His eyes flicked up to him again then up to a platform past the crowd of dancing guests. Robbie followed his gaze and saw that up there was where the negotiations were taking place.
“Is it really safe for them to do this out in the open?” Robbie asked, trying to initiate some sort of conversation before he could start grilling the man.
“It’s pretty safe,” the elf smiled. “Well,” he shrugged, “as safe as anywhere here, I suppose.”
“Especially with you lot around.”
“Sorry?”
“Eurmh, I mean, especially with you and your friend around.” He tried to make a quick save. “You were rather fast back there, though I think you need to work on your conduct.”
“Thank you and sorry about that. There wasn’t much time.”
“I get that. Well, I’m used to it anyway. Not a stranger to a little roughness,” he joked. The wide-eyed look on the shorter man’s face under the mask had him rethink his choice of words. Oups! Oh well, in for a penny. Robbie could do worse. He could’ve been accidently flirting with Sportacus. That idle thought had his mind careening, nope no nopedy nope, not going there!
The other turned to watch over the negotiations again, absently licking his lip.
That small act wasn’t really helping.
“I’m sorry,” the elf laughed lowly, “it’s just…” He continued, “I’m sorry if it seemed like I picked a fight with you and your family after the statue, it was not my intention, even if others think so.”
“Others?”
He nodded discreetly up towards the platform. By the edge of the group one of the Huldufólk’s representatives was glaring at the elf. The short man stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of the Huldufólk with his archaic mask instead of the silly venetian ones. Robbie looked back at the elf by his side and up towards the platform. This could work to his advantage indeed.
“That’s your diplomat?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in trouble?”
“Maybe?” he answered and clasped the back of his neck in bashfulness. A good look for him, of what little he could see anyway.
Robbie grinned, excellent. “Would you like to get out of the fire?” He smiled up towards the dwarf and raised a hand at him in a silent greeting, acknowledging that he saw him as well and all was, relatively speaking, fine.
The diplomat gave them an incredulous look from behind his steel mask and shrugged to turn back to discuss whatever the royalties and negotiators discussed that was so damn important they had to throw a party.
He took him by the arm, noting that his forearm was hard and bulky under his grip. Was it splintered? “C’mon,” he urged him and wonder of wonders, the stranger followed.
Their diplomat wanted him to either make amends, or stay away from the Glæpurs. Since Robbie had approached him for whatever reason, he might as well go along with the first option. Maybe Robbie had figured out who he was. Who knew, curiosity incited him to follow Robbie’s lead.
Sportacus cast his cousin one glance, he had seen them as well and nodded, he’d take his point instead and left the dance to oversee their queen’s wellbeing. “I… Thank you?” he said and looked back up at the taller man.
“Don’t thank me just yet, Tinny,” Robbie said cryptically.
“Tíu,” he corrected.
Robbie shrugged. “Eh, close enough.” And continued to pull him by his forearm. Sportacus tried to bite back a hiss, as a spike of pain shot up through his limb, but was too late to mute it. He hadn’t broken anything, but he was sore. Robbie froze, eyes widening, his mouth formed a surprised ‘o’. His gaze flicked down to his hand on Sportacus’ arm and switched his grip from it to around his back instead. “You’re hurt,” he stated quiet enough so that only Sportacus could hear him.
“A bruise,” Sportacus answered. He could not survey the damage properly yet, not until this was over with at least.
Robbie took him to a secluded alcove in the ballroom where benches framed the incurve and filled with lush embroided pillows.
“Sit,” he said to him. The demanding tone was something he was more used to hearing from Robbie.
He complied, giving him a lopsided smile as he did so. Robbie seated himself in front of him and fluffed some of the pillows to accommodate him more comfortably.
“Do you drink?” Robbie asked him.
“Not really, I’ve tasted the spiced nectar, but, no,” he replied and scrunched up his face. Sportacus had abandoned the glass he’d been given after only one sip. He’d never understood the appeal anyway, and had taken another one of those golden apples instead.
Robbie hummed and sipped on the last remains of his own glass. Nursing it in his hands as one of his gloved hands idly tapped the side of it in a slow rhythm.
This evening was a strange one. Finding out that Robbie wasn’t human? That had been baffling. Saving Robbie? Not so much, it was, more or less, standard procedure by now. Sitting close like this, fumbling with their words, under the deception of not knowing each other? Very, very weird.
“May I ask something?” he started, since Robbie had gone awfully quiet.
“That depends, but shoot.”
“Why isn’t your king here?”
Robbie scoffed, “way to start small talk. How should I know? Why isn’t the queen of the Seelie here, for that matter? They probably had the wits about them to stay put and not waste time on this drivel.” Robbie fell silent again, but kept worrying his lip and his tell-tale twitch of his nose was a bad sign.
It wasn’t his place to pry. Not in court business, anyway. He had joined Robbie because he was more curious about the man himself. He’d obviously had something on his mind when he'd dragged him with him.
“I’d very much like to talk about something else,” Robbie announced. “That brooch of yours, for example…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve seen something similar to it before.”
So that’s what this was all about.
Sportacus leaned back against his own cushions on his end of the alcove and smirked. “Oh? Where, may I ask?” He blinked innocently. He had to admit, it was a bit fun to string Robbie along like this.
Robbie worked his jaw. “A bleeding heart in my hometown, who fancies himself a hero. He has a crystal very similar to that one,” Robbie said and pointed to the crystal pinned to his ascot, “I’ve… Been suspecting for a while that he’s one of your people.”
Sportacus froze. Robbie… Had suspected that he was an elf? “Well, you might be right.”
“I knew it!” he leaned forward and raised a fist in triumph.
“But, it might also be a human gifted with one of our crystals.” Sportacus continued. The look on Robbie’s face was priceless as it shifted from glee to frustration. However, his next choice of words soured the moment for Sportacus.
“Oh, c’mon! Sure, the moron is proof enough that you hand out these noisy rocks like participation trophies, but I don’t buy it. There’s no way that that freak is human.”
Moron? Participation trophies? Freak?! Wow, thanks, Robbie. He knew full well that there wasn’t much love lost between them. But, that was uncalled for. “I earned my crystal,” he growled and stood up, effectively towering over the other man, “and what do you mean by freak?”
The warning tone in his voice had Robbie jolt. “I, uhm, I, I’m sorry?”
The fun was since long over. He scoffed and stepped away to get back to his own company. Revealing his identity just out of spite crossed his mind, but, no, he wasn’t that petty.
“Wait,” a hand grasped his uninjured arm.
Sportacus spun around, eyeing the man holding his wrist. Robbie looked up at him, hesitating, his gaze flickered to the side before he took a shaky breath and spoke again.
“It’s a… Personal matter and I let it get the better of me. I ap, I, I apologize if I offended you,” he forced out and then promptly ducked his head to hide his nervous tic.
An honest apology, from Robbie? The evening kept getting stranger and stranger. But, Sportacus wasn’t one to hold grudges. “He must really get under your skin,” he said and sat back down again.
“You have no idea,” Robbie laughed under his breath. “You somehow reminded me of him and I… It doesn’t matter.”
“No, do go on,” he coaxed him, “how do I remind you of this strange man?”
“Apart from saving me from my usual misfortune? The moustache, crystal and whatnot?”
Sportacus hands slowly rose to undo his mask. This was probably as good as any time to reveal his face and cut this farce short, before things got too awkward. He could just laugh it off that Robbie was right and end it at that.
“You’re very handsome.”
His hands froze halfway up and he dropped them back to his sides. “I… Oh.”
Robbie appeared as surprised by his admission as he himself was, before an ugly flush rose to his cheeks. “And there I’ve gone and messed up again. Forget I said anything.” Robbie grimaced and hid his face behind his hand.
“No, no, I’m flattered!” He could feel his own face grow hot. Robbie thought he was handsome?! Someone must have put something in his food, surely.
“I should go find my brother… I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“What kind of faery are you?” he blurted out.
Robbie arched an eyebrow at Sportacus’ equal blunder in etiquette and calmed a bit. “A Taffy fairy, of course,” he said in a lofty response, trying to regain some of his stature.
He levelled him with a look. “What if I didn’t believe you?”
“Among the Sidhe, I’m what some call a trickster,” Robbie admitted.
Sportacus pursed his lips. That… Made so much sense. “How does a trickster find his way into the court?” Sportacus remembered the diplomat’s claim of the Glæpurs owning land, but he’d rather hear it from Robbie himself.
“That’s entirely my family’s fault. The shoddy vulture looking man is my brother and my mother is somewhere out there greasing the wheels.”
“And you, specifically?”
“Me? I just want to go home, but I guess talking to a good-looking stranger isn’t such a bad way to spend my time.”
Sportacus swallowed hard. Were they… Were they flirting? Taking the mask off at this stage, or admitting his identity would be nothing short of humiliating, for the both of them.
Robbie settled back down among the plush pillows in the alcove. “My turn, how did an Icelandic elf get all the way to Ireland? You’re some sort of bodyguard? In that case, you’re doing a pretty bad job out of it.” He jabbed a thumb out over the floor. “Your boss is thataway.”
He snorted in amusement. Robbie was the one who had taken him away and out here in the first place. And, oh boy, how should he say this without letting too much slip? “I’m one of the numbered. We’re champions of our kind. And… We mostly look over and aid where we are needed. Tonight, it’s more about to put on a show, when I instead could be out there doing something.”
“Ooh, someone sounds bitter.” Robbie wiggled his eyebrows.
He smiled at the jab and let out a low chuckle. He did sound like it, didn’t he? He felt like a fish out of water. Among these people, in this place, where he was talking to Robbie like they were on friendly terms and not adversaries. “Not really, not now,” he winked and took Robbie’s since long empty glass out of his hands to settle it on a ledge by his head.
It was Robbie’s turn to look a little flustered. Oh no, they were flirting!
He cleared his throat. “Robbie, was it?” He knew very well, but for the sake of keeping up appearance he couldn’t go right on about it. “Tell me a little of yourself.”
“My favourite subject, me!” Robbie grinned.
“Why is your name Rotten?”
“And not Glæpur? Power in names and yadda yadda, nah, it’s a taken name. It has a better ring to it than Robbie Glæpur does, doesn’t it? Besides, I’ve never been one to conform. I have a, what used to be at least, a quiet place where I have property. You know the classic thing. Terrorize the neighbours, a few wagers here and there, long naps underground.”
“The classic, huh?”
“I’ve heard of your people messing with road constructions, don’t get all high and mighty with me,” he sniffed, but started laughing again.
Sportacus liked the sound of Robbie’s laughter. Not a sinister one when he was up to no good, but, this, them together and Robbie smiling for real.
“And you then? You said you earned your noisy crystal. How?” Robbie nudged him. He had gotten closer to him on their seat and he could almost feel the heat radiating off him through the layers of his formal wear.
“Uhm,” he wetted his lips, “by training for years in Álfaborg and out in the harsh terrain of the inland. It’s hard, disciplinary, physically and mentally.”
“Mentally? So, you’re not just a pretty face under that silly mask?”
“The mask was not my idea,” Sportacus defended.
Robbie laughed again and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
The dancing games had stopped and the music had returned to its previous program of slower melodious pieces.
He didn’t know what came over him when he stood up and offered Robbie his hand. “May I have this dance?”
Robbie blinked. “Sorry, what?”
Sportacus answered truthfully, “you’re very beautiful in your gown. I’d like to have at least one dance with you.”
“I don’t do these dance games that you Huldufólk do.”
“A waltz then?” Dancing games involved switching partners and Sportacus had no intentions of dancing with someone else right now. It was stupid of him, a voice in the back of his head screamed. Robbie didn’t know it was him and he shouldn’t ask for more than he’d already been given under false pretence. Yet, he was still holding his hand out, hoping that Robbie would take it.
“I suppose one dance wouldn’t kill me.” Robbie shrugged. “But, shouldn’t you be by your queen’s side?”
“My crystal would alarm me if something was to happen. And as you said, you appear quite misfortunate.”
“Are you implying I should expect another piece of structure falling down on me. Again?”
“Is it a reoccurring thing?”
Robbie scoffed, “more often than you’d think.”
“Then, I’ll stay by your side for a little while longer,” he smiled.
To Sportacus’ surprise, Robbie smiled wide at him, took him by the hand and led him out on the ballroom floor without another word. Much more so when he put his hand in the small of his back and was the one to lead the dance.
It wasn’t a waltz, instead a slow foxtrot that allowed them to move smoothly with the music. Or, well, tried to move smoothly. Sportacus struggled with the rhythm sometimes.
“Have you actually ever done this before?” Robbie asked when Sportacus, not versed in being the passive role and, once again, got the steps mixed up. It could have been meant as a taunt, but the words lacked the usual edge to them.
“Sorry, I don’t get to do this often.”
“Relax and follow my lead,” he murmured into his ear before he straightened up again and tugged him back in the same rhythm of ‘slow, slow, quick, quick’ and Sportacus let himself do so.
This… Was nice.
One dance turned into two and then many more. He glanced over to the side where the company of Huldufólk had last been. Queen Hildur was immersed in conversation with her royal counterpart Oona under the watchful eye of Íþróttaálfurinn. No need to worry on that front. He turned his attention back to his dancing partner. Robbie was looking down at him, his pale grey-green eyes meeting his own and holding his gaze. Sportacus felt his mouth go dry and butterflies in his stomach. He had passed some sort of threshold and now there was no going back. He would be lying if he said that he’d never thought that Robbie was attractive, that he was attracted to him. This became blaringly obvious as they shared the same breath and moved across the dancefloor. Seeing Robbie in a different light, without looking at Sportacus with distain, but in wonder and a soft smile on his face. He drank it all in.
Robbie manoeuvred them to the far edge of the floor, until they stopped dancing completely and merely swayed slowly to the music.
Robbie tasted of violets. His thin lips slotted against his and he could not for the life of him hold back the groan rumbling in his chest. Robbie hummed back and tightened his hold around his middle.
“Robbie Rotten, there you are!” a woman somewhere cried.
Robbie pulled away. “Sorry,” he murmured before he pressed his lips against Sportacus’ one final time and stepped away. “Thank you for the dance.” And like that, he was gone without a trace.
Sportacus stumbled back to Íþróttaálfurinn in a daze, not sure if it was brought on by sugar residue or the experience of the kiss itself. His cousin kept looking at him with wide eyes and shook his head slowly, whenever their gazes met.
He didn’t see Robbie for the rest of the evening and maybe that was for the better.
Íþróttaálfurinn wasn’t the only one who had witnessed what had happened. Far, far from it.
The diplomat looked more than pleased, he was practically beaming, as he took off his mask to reveal an equally bearded face as the one portraited on the slate of metal, on their journey back to Álfaborg. “That did the trick. Save the faery in distress, dance the night away and a passionate kiss. The Connacht will be over the moon, literally, over this. They love a good old romantic show and the Unseelie are also known for being hopeless romantics.”
Sportacus didn’t dignify that with an answer.
They swore as a collective when Sportacus managed to get the dress coat off and roll up his sleeve.
Yup, that blow sure had left an impressive mark. “Wow!”