It's been nearly two weeks since Billy was discharged from the hospital. Theoretically, things should be much calmer now - discounting any potential relapses, but really, he thinks that things are mostly kind of under control. Unfortunately, things have not been quite so smooth - and it's actually not his fault this time.

"Mr. Cohen, have you even been following the daily routine you were subscribed? The Grammy's are just days away! Need I remind you how incredibly important this is? Not just for you, but for me as well as your record label?"

God dammit.

"Miranda, please, I've totally got this. My makeup team can work miracles, anyway."

She pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "Be that as it may, you have a responsibility to appear presentable. At all times. You know exactly what it will be like once we get to Los Angeles - you won't have a break. You've got to maintain that natural flawlessness the teenagers drop their undergarments over."

Billy pouts. He thinks he is currently doing a fantastic job of maintaining natural flawlessness and isn't exactly thrilled that Miranda disagrees. "Okay, okay, relax Miranda. I'll do what you say. Or at least try to do all of it. As if I could forget with you around here all the time, anyway."

She sighs. "I'm just doing my job, Billy. Things will all calm down in a week."

Billy smiles widely at her. "I know. Thanks, Miranda."

She smiles in return.

Billy had made some sort of truce with Miranda, and while it's true that he really is trying to follow her endless guidelines and orders it doesn't make him any less annoyed by all of it. Every little slip on his part and he gets another lecture about his 'responsibilities'; not to mention Spencer's been acting odd as well. Billy doesn't see him as much anymore - he's off doing his own thing, though Billy doesn't know what it could be. And when they do interact, he's got the same edge as Miranda - like he's judging everything Billy's doing. It's maddening, and it's driving Billy absolutely crazy for the both of them to constantly be watching him like he's a fuckin' child.

It's when he's in the kitchen just grabbing a growler of La Fin Du Monde when his patience finally breaks. Spencer's floating near him, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, and Billy really can't take that look anymore, that condescending 'Billy-Joe-Cobra-You're-Doing-Something-Wrong-Agai n' look that Spencer and Miranda seem to constantly be sporting nowadays. Spencer says nothing, but that look is enough, and Billy finally breaks the silence.

"Look, if you think I'm gonna change my life completely you've got another thing coming, Brobadiah. I couldn't even if I wanted to. Which I don't. There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing right now. And I get that it makes you uncomfortable, but you're being way too sensitive and paranoid. I'm sorry. There's a difference between what happened two weeks ago and what I'm doing now - a really fuckin' big one. You gotta see that. I'm sorry, bro, that's just how it is."

Spencer looks down, defeated, probably realizing he's wrong. Billy sometimes forgets what a sheltered kid he is. He's probably just still a little troubled from the incident, which is understandable. But Billy' knows what he's doing for the most part, contrary to popular belief, and if he needs some goddamn alcohol to fight off the need for something worse - well he's damn well gonna get it.

He's just really fucking tired of being treated like some kind of delicate flower by Spencer and Miranda. He's an adult, goddammit. Maybe he doesn't have the best track-record in decision-making but he deserves some kind of autonomy. He carefully unlatches the cap, looking at Spence out of the corner of his eye as he starts the pour it into the tulip glass he brought with him, the aroma of hops wafting throughout the room.

"It's beer, man. Just beer. And nothing bad is gonna happen because of it."

Billy leaves the kitchen with the glass in hand, but Spencer doesn't follow.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says to Billy the next day. Billy's come down for breakfast and Spencer's floating in the living room, waiting and wringing his hands a little. "I know I'm being stupid and irrational. It's just...I still worry."

Billy sighs, plopping down on the couch and motioning for Spencer to join him by patting the cushion next to him. Spencer floats over, avoiding Billy's gaze.

"Look, Spence," Billy starts, "I can't just...quit. That's not how it works. I'm gonna keep drinking alcohol, I'm gonna keep smoking, and hell I'm even going to drop some acid every now and then. But I know when to stop. What you saw happen - that's not gonna happen again. I promise. Just...trust me a little bit, bro?"

Spencer nods almost imperceptibly before forcing a smile. Well, it's somewhat genuine, but Billy can see that he's not exactly happy with the information. Spencer exhales, poking absentmindedly at the armrest of the couch. Billy notices the cushion moves in response. Since when could he physically interact with the world so well?

"There's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about, too," Spencer says finally. Billy's not sure what to think about that. Spencer's still got this serious look in his eye and Billy has no idea where's he going with this.

"Uh...shoot, Brodysseus."

"It's about Miranda," Spencer admits, still being obtuse.

"Miranda...?" Billy breathes. "Uh, what do you mean?"

"Don't you think it's odd the way she acts?" Spencer challenges, looking Billy in the eye. "Especially now - she's coming every day, always checking up on you, giving you all these weird rules-"

Billy laughs a little, interrupting Spencer. "Bro, seriously, that's just her style. She stays on top of her game. The Grammy's are coming up, they're a big deal, and she's freaking out a little more than usual. That's it."

Spencer isn't backing down. "But what about at the hospital? When she was so angry about my watch? Isn't it weird she's so angry at the possibility that you have some sort of connection with another person she doesn't know about?"

Billy recalls the incident, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's definitely true that she was angry - really angry. But that didn't mean whatever Spencer was trying to imply. "Spencer, look, she was just upset about the incident, right? She came and found me all fucked up and was at the hospital and couldn't see me - you know, just like...stress or something. Stress does things to people, they don't always act how you think they should. You can't use that as an example for...what? Is this some kinda conspiracy theory of yours?"

Spencer sighs, but his eyes are still determined. "Why don't you see it?" he mutters to himself before continuing, "Billy, on that night...she knew to come here because she monitors your calls. She saw the call to 9-1-1. Isn't that odd to you? That she monitors all of your calls? That she has access to the speaker systems in your house? All of this?"

Billy is silent. He's not sure what to say to that for a while, or why the picture Spencer's trying to make him see causes him to feel so uncomfortable. "Look, Spence, for a long time Miranda was all I had, alright? She helped me get where I am today. She might have her quirks or whatever, but...she's pretty much the reason I have everything I do. I'm sure she's concerned about me just like you are, she just has a unique way of showing it. Maybe you think this stuff is weird, but that's just how it is."

Spencer doesn't say anything, just bites his lip. Oh well. Billy's hungry, so gets up to head to the kitchen. This time, Spencer follows.

The three days leading up to the Grammy's are always insane - full of media rounds, luncheons, and performances, all against the backdrop of Los Angeles. Performances? Billy can handle those. If there's one thing he's always had a talent for, it's putting on a good show - and he never tires of it. He could listen to fans chant his name forever. Media rounds? Now that is something Billy hates. It's the same bullshit questions over and over and as naturally charming as he likes to think he is, he can only keep it up for so long. How many Grammy predictions will he have to make? How many times does he have to tell people he's "damn sure" he'll be taking home at least one of those golden trophies? Jesus, it really is just the worst.

But the pace of L.A. is staggering as always, the city perpetually alight and people crowding on the sidewalks, packing together in cars, and shoving past each other on public transportation. It makes Beverley Heights seem that much more boring by comparison; sure, not everyone here is as wealthy, but Billy loves surrounding himself with others, and the spark he gets from the people is enough to drive him forward through the tedious appearances.

Spencer, however, has remained in a child-like state of complete awe - even during the interviews, which Billy thinks is pretty ridiculous. It's not like Spencer has never witnessed him being interviewed before. But maybe the city and all of the starlets have gotten to him too, so he doesn't mention it. Damn, what would Spencer do if this were the Oscars? With movie stars and directors roaming around L.A. for days? Probably shit himself.

The days pass in a way that seems to Billy to be both slowly and quickly at the same time until he finds himself in the hotel lobby with Miranda the evening before the Grammys. The hotel is posh, as one would expect, and Billy's managed to snag a suite on the top floor. He's not sure why, but he's always liked living on top of the world, able to look down over a city or town. Kinda like being on stage.

"Now, I needn't remind you that this dinner with your record label and several sponsors is of utmost importance and utmost formality," Miranda says as they stroll through the lobby. She's staying at the hotel as well, but Billy doesn't know which room. "Which means you're going to have to wear that nice suit we brought. Just leave your makeup on from earlier today and don't touch your hair. Also...you're going to have to take off that cheap watch. It's hardly fitting in such a setting."

Billy notices Spencer glaring out of the corner of his eye, but he finds it hard to argue with Miranda. Her reasoning is pretty solid. He rides the elevator to the top floor and slides his keycard to enter his luxurious suite. It really is a shame he's got such a nice bed and no one to share it with.

"You're not really going to take off the watch, are you?" Spencer asks, his tone incredulous.

"Look, Brosiah, I don't really have a choice here. The dinner is always so swanky and there are sponsors there and...well, it's just one night, okay? Not even one night - just a few hours. I promise it'll be alright."

Spencer looks skeptical, but says nothing.

"Spence, hey, nothing is gonna happen like last time. I'm doing a little better now, if I do say so myself. And I'll be surrounded by people. Just...go out and explore L.A., it's an interesting place. Go looking for rockstars, get lost in the crowd. Have some fun! It'd suck to go to this boring dinner, anyway."

Spencer manages a half-smile at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It wouldn't be much fun."

Billy grins widely. "That's the spirit, Brometheus!" He gives Spencer a mock-salute, then attempts to remove the watch while waving his hand goodbye, making Spencer laugh. It's the last Billy hears of him, and he places the watch on the dresser while he takes off his clothes to get ready for the dinner.

Suddenly he hears the click and beep of the electronic lock on his door, and the door opens to reveal Miranda. He is a little flustered, and quickly finishes putting the suit on.

"I thought you would have been ready by now," she says, raising an eyebrow and sitting on the bed as Billy buttons up his overcoat.

"Well I didn't know you had the key to my door," he jokes.

"Makes things easier," Miranda says nonchalantly, examining her nails.

The dinner is going pretty much exactly as Billy expected it to go: boring as shit. Sure, fancy food is nice but this isn't exactly his scene. He's never liked small talk or been very good at it. Most conversations that aren't about him he tends to tune out, anyway.

Billy pouts and prods at his salmon fillet. Don't play with your food, Mr Cohen! Yeah, yeah, I'm Billy Joe Cobra and I do what I want.

Suddenly, out of the dull noise Billy's been paying no attention to, he realizes someone is asking him a question directly. Most likely someone important. He sighs.

"Can you...repeat the question?" Billy attempts to say, but something is wrong. His words aren't coming out like he wants them to and his speech is slurred. He notices Miranda beside him looking at him very intensely. What the hell is going on?

"Billy, are you okay?" Miranda asks, hesitant.

"Yeah...yeah, just need to go to the bathroom." Billy tries to rise from his seat, but his legs are unsteady. He rests a hand on the back of the chair to hold himself up. He thinks he sees Miranda's eyes darting back and forth between him and the man who asked him the question, but it's hard to tell because his vision is starting to get blurry. He makes a move to leave the table, but promptly falls to his knees. Why is this happening so suddenly?

The last think Billy registers before his vision goes black is Miranda rising from her seat and saying, "Sorry, sir, I apologize for his behavior, I'll take him back to the hotel."

When Billy finally comes to his senses, he can make out a white stucco ceiling. He realizes he's on his back and on a bed. Turning his head to the side against the protests of his stiff neck, he assesses that he's back in his hotel room. But there is something wrong, something his cloudy mind can't quite decipher. He feels cold. Why does he feel cold? Right, he isn't wearing a shirt. Wait, why...?

When Billy instinctively tries to move an arm to his bare torso, he finds he is unable to. Is it because his body is still too weak?

No. His wrists are encircled by cold metal. He shakes his hand, and there is a sound of metal clanking against the backboard of the bed. F-Fuck...what...what the hell is going on...?

That's when he realizes it's not just his hands that are restrained. His ankles are also tethered to the bedposts near the foot of the bed. Before Billy has the chance to react, he's interrupted.

"Finally awake, are you?"

It's Miranda. Oh god, it's Miranda. Miranda, you gotta get me outta here, he wants to say, maybe make a joke about being in a 'bit of a bind'. But he still lacks control over his voice, so he just watches her for a bit and he notices...she's not going to let him out.

"W...What...?" Billy croaks, his voice hoarse and his tongue feeling like sandpaper.

"I guess you're still having difficulty realizing the situation you're in," Miranda sighs, moving over to sit on the bed beside Billy. "You've got the stupidest look on your face."

Billy wants to protest, but it's true, he really has no idea what the fuck is going on. Wait, no, it couldn't be...

"Is this a sex thing Miranda? I thought you didn't mix work and pleasure. All you had to do was ask," Billy tries to sound smooth like usual, but his voice remains unsteady. Miranda's lips curve into a smirk, and you know, Billy thinks for a second that she is rather pretty and all. He looks at her dark stained lips, her deep, almost purple hair and thinks - yeah, she is kinda beautiful, actually. However, his thoughts are suddenly shattered when she lets out a cold laugh.

"Oh, Billy. You really are such a fool. Tonight you're all mine, yes. But also," she smiles, and it's a wicked smile, a smile that makes Billy's insides churn. "Tonight I'm going to kill you."

Billy freezes, his skin suddenly cold. Had...had he heard right? He has to be dreaming, right, or something - he clearly isn't of sound mind. Or maybe this is some sort of sick joke, because this just can't be real, she couldn't have possibly just said that. That would just be comic book villain bullshit. Real life isn't like that, people don't actually do things like that, and certainly not the people in his life...right?

"It's a great headline, isn't it? 'Star dies night before the Grammy Ceremony'."

No, no, no, no, no-

"M-m-miranda, this is fuckin' crazy, you can't do this! This isn't you!"

She slaps his face, his skin stinging and no doubt bright red.

"You always did lack proper manners, Billy. Don't call a lady by just her first name! Call me Madame," she purrs. She slowly caresses the cheek she slapped and it sends a tremor down Billy's spine. "And you really think I can't do it?" She laughs, her body shaking against Billy's, each laugh slicing through the air like a knife. "You're such an idiot sometimes, Billy. I've already killed four people. What makes you so sure I can't kill one more?"

Billy's mouth suddenly goes dry as everything's finally fitting together - but the image the puzzle pieces are creating is so terrifying he can't bear to look at it or acknowledge it and God, could she really have killed Spencer's family?

"W-why?" Billy chokes out, still reeling from shock.

"Because after I'd killed you, they would get your house. That mansion is mine, just like you and everything else you own. So, if they would do something as despicable as taking your home from me, why shouldn't I take theirs? And if they all died in the process...well that would just make things more convenient, wouldn't it?"

A wave of nausea hits Billy and he seizes against Miranda's body. "Y-you're sick! They never did anything to you! Y-You killed them, y-you killed Spence...and for what? Some fucked up idea that everything I have belongs to you?"

"You belong to me," she hisses, and Billy struggles against the restraints, yelling in fit of rage, wishing desperately he could do something to punish her for what she did. She slaps him again, punctuating it with a cold laugh. "Or do you really think otherwise?"

Billy's about to make some kind of retort when she reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls something out of it; Billy registers a clicking sound and the glint of metal before realizing it's a switchblade. "F-F-Fuck," he stutters, "P-Please don't kill me, Miranda."

She slaps him again, but he barely registers the sting through his fear and the adrenaline shooting throughout his body. "I told you not to call me Miranda. Show some respect. Madame Xavier or just Madame will be sufficient. Go on, say it," she orders sharply.

Billy doesn't want to do it, he doesn't want to do anything she says; she's a killer, she's a monster, but he doesn't want to die and if he's gonna die please dear god can it please not hurt-

"Yes, Madame."

"Good," she says with a smile. Billy thinks he's never seen a smile quite so ugly in his life, but he keeps the thought to himself. "No more distractions, now. I'm tired of fucking around."

Billy shivers, kicking his legs against the restraints in futility. "Mi-Madame, think about this. If you kill me, people will find out. You're a great agent with a great career. You don't want to lose me, lose your job! You don't want to end up in prison! Sure, okay, you'd hypothetically get all of my belongings without any next of kin but-"

"They won't know it's me. They'll never get me."

"Y-You're insane! There's no fuckin' way you can actually hide th-" He's cut off by another slap, but this time he also feels something cold against his throat. It's the switchblade. He dare not even breathe.

"After that little show I staged at dinner, is it really so much of a stretch for someone to find you dead of accidental overdose tomorrow? Or just hurting yourself in some drug-addled stupor?" she whispers.

"I-I-I don't understand," Billy stutters, trying to keep his throat still. "If you want me dead, why were you so upset when I almost died before?"

She leans over to his ear and he closes his eyes because this just can't be real, it just can't be happening, and it's all so fucked up. The cold metal against his throat and Miranda's hot breath against his ear are his entire world right now and all he wants is to run away. "Because I have to be the one to kill you, Billy. And before I kill you we're going to have some fun," she whispers ominously. "I'm going to make all of you mine."

Billy's eyes jolt open when he realizes the implication; a gasp escapes from his throat and the knife cuts enough into it that it stings and he feels a trickle of warm blood. Jesus, no, no, NO, anything but this-

And then, suddenly, the hand of God knocks over a vase on the dresser across the room— a dull thunk on the carpeted floor.

Miranda jumps up from the bed, and Billy breathes a sigh of relief when the knife leaves his neck. She tenses, giving the room a cursory glance before deciding its nothing. He can see her thoughts dancing wildly across her eyes, thoughts of what was that? is something there? no, it's nothing, before she turns back to him.

A mirror falls off the wall and shatters.

It's then that Billy realizes it isn't God, or coincidence, or a miracle - it's Spencer. Miranda's eyes are wide with the terror of being discovered, maybe even the terror of divine retribution, as she walks over to the mirror. That's when Billy sees the key to his restraints floating over from the top of the dresser towards him. It previously must have been placed near the rest of Billy's things - his garments, his cell phone, his watch. He wants to thank Spencer but he's too afraid to speak, too afraid to catch her attention again. The key turns in the lock and releases his right arm with a click - a sound normally inaudible, but deafening in the silence. Miranda turns back to Billy immediately, eyes wide with madness, switchblade brandished in her hand. She realizes his hand is free and screams, god, such an unholy scream, and Billy is able to turn his body just in time to dodge a stab at his torso while Spencer hurriedly frees his other arm.

Billy's thoughts speed by, and he wonders if Spencer's realizing it as well: that there isn't possibly enough time for Spencer to completely free him before Miranda can kill him. She raises her arm again, preparing for another strike and Billy grabs it, using all of his strength to keep the knife away from him. Her arm is shaking, as is Billy's - it's like she's summoned some sort of inhuman strength, made some sort of pact with the Devil, and Billy's not sure how long he can hold her back.

Click. His left foot is free.

"What the hell is happening?" Miranda screams, gathering renewed strength in the arm that holds the knife. Billy deflects the blow sideways, the blade ripping into the mattress, then maneuvers out from under her. With only one foot still tethered, he almost has free range of motion. But she's fast, god she's fast; the knife is coming down to his chest and the split second Billy's mind uses to process what's happening doesn't leave him enough time to move-

Suddenly a force pushes Miranda aside, causing her to tumble to the floor in a heap of limbs. She shakily tries to rise, but she's trembling in a disturbing manner. Billy sees blood underneath her, and for a split second has this urge to check on her, make sure she's okay - because this is Miranda, his agent, the one who was always looking after him and taking care of him. But the click of the final restraint knocks him back into reality, the reality where Miranda isn't protecting him but trying to kill him, and he dashes for the door even though he's unsteady on his feet.

He slams the room door behind him, trying to block out what just happened, and attempts to come back to his senses as he runs to the elevator. He practically punches the call button, and for a moment the only sounds are his heavy breathing and the beeping of the elevator as it passes all the floors below him. Why the hell did I want the top floor, again?

Billy nervously shifts his gauge from the elevator floor display to the door of his room. Every passing second the elevator remains out of reach feels like an eternity. Sweat beads on his forehead, and when the elevator is just two floors away he notices the handle of his door down the hall begin to shakily turn. Fuck, no, no-

The ring of the elevator arriving is marked by the opening swing of his room door, but Billy doesn't spare it another glance. He hops in the elevator, frantically pressing the "close door" button over and over again. He hears Miranda, he hears her choking out his name - but the elevator doors shut before he can hear anything else. Billy reaches for his jacket pocket instinctively, forgetting it's not there and cursing himself for not grabbing the watch or at least his cell phone. But to be fair, he was pretty fucking distracted.

Billy's thoughts are racing along with his heart as he leans back against the elevator. He'll go down to the desk, call the police, tell them some homicidal woman is probably still crawling around in their fancy-ass hotel getting blood all over their expensive carpet and fuck he really can't process this. He's afraid if he seriously thinks about what's just occurred instead of forcing some semblance of nonchalance he'll lose it. He puts a shaking head to his forehead, as if he could physically ground his thoughts. Breathe in, breathe out. He remembers calming Spencer in the same way, a time that feels so long ago. Spencer.

"You've...been practicing. Touching things, I mean," Billy says to the empty elevator compartment, his voice laced with exhaustion, appreciation, and a bit of forced mirth. He exhales slowly, reminding himself this isn't over, Miranda's still out there, but maybe things will be okay. He's not alone.

"Looks like you've saved my life again, Spencer."

There's no response. But then again, there couldn't be, right? Billy doesn't have the watch. He forces a single laugh, one devoid of mirth, and his fingers ghost over the place on his wrist where the watch belongs.

Go downstairs, Billy. Call the police. When this is all over, you can get your shit back. You can get the watch. You'll be with Spencer and you won't ever have to think about this again.

"And how does it feel, Mr. Cobra, being one of only eight people to have received the Record of the Year, Album of the Year, and Song of the Year in one night?"

The ceremony is over, and the inevitable questions follow. Billy fiddles with Spencer's watch, returned to the place it belongs. You really don't wanna ask how I'm feeling, Keyser Broze.

"Feels good," Billy says flatly.

"Just...good?"

Billy smiles at the camera, trying to be charming. "I'm sure it will feel way better tomorrow after some rest. "

A chuckle. "Understandable, sir. Especially considering recent circumstances. I was informed your manager was hospitalized last night. How did it feel accepting those awards without such a supportive figure in your life being there?"

Insensitive as ever.

"You can probably imagine how I felt," Billy says. Better to be vague. Better to lie. Smile for the cameras, Billy Joe Cobra, they're your livelihood.

"Right, sorry, that was rather personal. Well, we all certainly do hope that her condition improves."

Billy thinks about the figure lying on that hospital bed, unconscious. How strange it had been to have their positions switched, to see that strong woman completely powerless. Her face had looked so peaceful, unmarred by the years of work that had led to obsession. It had reminded him of when he first met her, a rising professional trying to erase the remnants of her Southern accent and willing to take a chance on some overconfident kid.

Billy was the only visitor. He realizes now that she's just as alone as he had been before he met Spencer. Spencer...the boy she killed. He has to remind himself that she killed him, killed his entire family, stolen away all of the experiences that belonged to Spencer that he would never have. She's not the woman she used to be, and things will never be like they were before. Especially now that-

"Mr. Cobra? Are you alright?"

The voice jolts him from his thoughts.

"R-Right. Just a lot going on," Billy mutters, running his thumb over the watch face in his discomfort. "Just...thinkin' about how one person can really change your life, you know?"

"Ah, I see. Well, I hope such an important figure in your life will recover quickly. Thank you for your time, Mr. Cobra."

Thank you, Spence.

It's stupid to thank you in my head, isn't it? Well, I guess it wouldn't make a difference if I said it outloud, would it?

He's taken the watch on and off more times than he can count since he went back to retrieve it, but he can't see or hear Spencer anymore. He can only guess what happened to Spencer, when he disappeared, and why he's gone. Billy doesn't know where you go after you die, much less where you go after you stop being a ghost. He kinda likes to pretend Spencer's actually still there, just quiet - as selfish as that is.

I should want you to be with your family, huh?

It's fuckin' unfair, and it doesn't make sense - people will tell you that's how life is, though. Billy had always thought that didn't apply to him, that he'd rigged the system and his life wasn't subject to the rules that governed the lives of others. It hurts to be proven so wrong, but if Billy doesn't force himself forward he'll just fall backward - and he owes it to Spencer not to let that happen. He'd promised, and that's one promise he's gonna fuckin' keep.

Well, wherever you are Spence, I hope you're happy. And, well, more than anything...I hope you're watching. I'll make it worth it, okay, bromigo? I'll make my life one that was worth saving.

end notes: Well guys, it's over. Thanks for sticking around and reading this 'till the end (which, hopefully, you don't totally hate me for). I enjoyed writing this lil' dude, and the comments you guys made mean a lot to me. I really wanted to make an AU that seemed like it could have been a branch point from the original universe. One that gave Madame X a place in the story, one where just a few events prevented one universe from becoming the original. I hope I was at least somewhat successful in communicating that. Again, thanks to everyone for your support! Special shoutout to my main bro for attempting (but failing) to remove cheese from my diet and giving me that nice lil' tulip glass of La Fin Du Monde.