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The Opera?
They say the stage imitates real life, and real life imitates the stage.
*wonk*

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[/url]When Cherno woke up, he felt that his face was heavy with a thick weight. His head was still feeling sore, and his stomach rather empty. How late had it been? Cherno stretched out his hands upward in a deep yawn, and raised his head.

Ah ... what-- what was this on his-- face--
He pressed his hand to his face. It felt soft-- linen-- wait. There were bandages on his face. What in the soaring heights of a fucking asymptote was on his face. Cherno clenched the bandages tightly with both of hands and began ripping them away from his face. Rrrrrrip. They were very loosely wrapped around his head -- some of the carnage simply fell to his lap in linenous strands. Ugh. They-- they seemed a bit dirty. Eeeeeeck. Cherno quickly flicked away parts of the bandages, and removed the rest. Some of the bandages were stained with his blood. Was he really hit that hard? He-- he couldn't remember much about the night, anyway.

Wait, what was that?
Beside him, he noticed something. It was a note. Stained a bit with blood. Jesus christ, what kind of insane roommate did he have in this place? He sighed and read the letter. It was-- it was surprisingly apologetic, if not holding hints of some sort of mental collapse. Uuuuugh. Cherno held his throbbing head in his bandaged hand -- not out of the pain, which seemed to be slowly ebbing away this morning, but out of his immense disappointment and chagrin. He picked up the bill that his roommate had left. Eh. Giving him money?

int logic ( ) {
The roommate had hit him with a rock?
He then apologized afterward.
Money was also given, as if in compensation.
Was there something wrong with him?
It is entirely possible that, because of this compensation, hitting him with a rock had been
an accident.
}

...

Damn crazy people in Brookridge. He-- he couldn't place his tongue on what was about it, but he felt that he somehow knew all of the people that attended this prissy old place had some sort of quirks to them. Not like he had ever met them before in the past, maybe.

But he should better give back his roommate this money. What was his name? Cherno checked the letter -- "Casey Heckles". Oh. Okay. That was a pretty mad simple name to remember. Heckles. Wasn't he the famous fishing conglomerate executive, or something? How in blazing vertexes could Cherno remember insignificant details like this and have a giant black hole without any Hawking radiation where his terrible past was? He pocketed the bill in his coat, changed his clothing, and returned quickly to the flyer.

It was for a party. Was that why there had been knocking at the door last time? Hosted by Marcus, too. What was with this Marcus kid? Well, it was pretty fly standin' of him to come and invite Cherno, and ... and Casey. At the very least, Cherno would have something to do today. But he felt ... worried? Something had been off ever since he slumped on the bed all those nights ago.

Cherno sat on his bed.
He took out his phone. Any new texts from John? No. There was one from the little dude. Ah, so sweet. It looks like he was going to the party as well. How long had it really been since he talked to him? He typed away on his keyboard in a reply.

He didn't send the message.
Something was very off about all of this. But he sighed, and sent it anyway. There we no new texts from John. Where did John go? This was very, very unlike him.

...

No, that wasn't true. Truth? Cherno had no idea if John was typically like this. But he wanted to find out soon. He stood up from his bed, and exited the empty, dusty room. Cherno felt tense and almost sweaty simply being there. Ugh. But through this, everything -- something was off. He stared at his hands; at his phone; at the cuffs of his jacket, and grimaced. He-- he couldn't. He couldn't tell right now what was wrong. It frustrated him. It frustrated him, and yet, his anger felt hollow, as if he couldn't even want to feel angry anymore. He walked off through the Cherryleaf Boys' Dorm, to reach the receptionist and find out the room of the student named John Quincy.

At certain times in the night, Cherno would wake up.
He would wake up and do nothing but re-read some of his text messages. He would read his old ones and try and figure out who he was. Sometimes, memories came back to him, but with them seemed to come sharp pains in his hand. It was an odd yet terrible connection. He would down the painkillers, and seemingly, the next night, there had been little progress with his memory. Cherno had suspicions. He would glance at the painkiller bottle and think about the old professor. Who was she? He would try and contact the "medicine seller" whenever he could, but the number seemed to not exist -- even the one used for the text with Temperance's letter.

How did this mysterious figure get their hands on that letter?
Regardless, Cherno would always have the routine of reading through its contents at least once per night. Even in the middle of the night. Though he had forgotten his heart and soul on the cliffs of a dark abyss, he would never forget the lady that had come into his brief, new life with a flashy spike and ended in just the same way. She had been important to the Cherno Plume of the past, and the Cherno Plume of the now wished to make sure she would not be forgotten, and why she had been such a major influence on him.

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cherryleaf | boolean symphonic ||| ​

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It was a strange feeling. Ever since being hit in the head by that damned rock, Cherno seemed to ... calm down.
Through all of these events, through all of his currently futile efforts in discovering who he was, he began to grow a hollowness in his heart that settled his mood to a less inclined melancholy -- a logical objectivity.
The receptionist had not been present, for some strange reason, so Cherno manually leafed through the thick student directory on the desk. But from time to time, he would stop and press a few fingers to his temple. He could not concentrate, something was off-- something was off. Jesus christ, what in heck was wrong with him today?

He walked over towards the hallway with John's room, and looked towards it. Was it over there? Bah. This hallway wasn't-- wasn't in the best condition. Quaint though. The entire place had a fancy, baroque feel, even in the dorms.

In front of John's dorm stood a little girl, her head down, close to a bouquet of flowers. It was-- what was her name? Hyperborea? What was she doing here?

Cherno walked over to her, and stared at her for a moment. She seemed-- seemed very sad.
Oh.
Was it best to disturb her right now? He scratched his head in contemplation, before deciding on a small, quiet notice.

"Excuse me, um, Hyperborea ... what-- what straight up mess have you got yourself tripping the wayside up today, here?"

And more importantly, what were the flowers--

The flowers--
The tulips, the-- the roses--
The sunflowers-- they--

They ...

Spoiler

int logic ( ) {
Why does the atmosphere feel so off?
You were hit in the head.
What did it do to you?
You have a headache.
That's not all.
The atmosphere has been off.
Why can't you see the colours of those flowers?
Not all of them. Only-- only some.
Why can't you see the colours of those flowers?
Why can't you see the colours of those flowers?
Oh.
The rock hit that part of the head anyway, right?
No wonder everything seems so grey anyhow.
It must have damaged the brain's ability to see colours.
}

Listen to her singing.

Yo man aiight let's check it y'all up in the heeeezy shizzle this ain't no gramma matta fo sho trackin' down the pants down swag 4 lyfe yo yo article bling ain't crunk nuff not sweet skillet home-slice cooked up the flipside turnside breakin' the ice ya'll like it ain't no thang dawg HOLLA swag

jerkin up the streetside pole dancin' and twerkin' up the words yo gang flash that mutha cus shizzle fadizzle ain't gonna rizzle mah hizzle yo man ain't gonna smacklip this beeeeeeeyatch swagswag grammar ain't sumthin to be even not to be that is the question whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the swags and arrows of outrageous fortune or by teaching me how to dougie end them

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Olivia's Diary Entry | December 17​

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« O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep?​

Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. »​

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{ ♫ } || astronomy tower ♛oratorio des étoiles

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The boy seemed complacent enough to wish to get rid of her. How quaint.
Olivia let out a soft snicker. It was getting late enough and it was for her best that she left anyway. Her snicker was of a different air than her giggle -- she reserved it typically for situations involving only Elliot, and it contained an oft-heard sinister tone to it. What was the ulterior motive behind? It changed as daily as the strings of the weather themselves. Olivia turned to the taller young man, almost looking up at him with the posture of a disappointed baroness. She adjusted the edges of her gloves, looking away with delicately closed eyes. She did not need to give the boy the dignity of-- of a direct stare at this moment. Pah.
"Look, malchik. I expect you, tomorrow, at where you need to be." She opened the lucid raindrops of her eyes and delivered a chilling, crystal state towards the malchik's own sky-coloured set. Why did this buffoon have to have such beautifully enchanting eyes? It was-- it was certainly a waste. "And if you decide to avoid our meeting, the consequences shall ... not be for the best, hm?" Olivia smirked, and it seemed intermingled with genuine melancholic pleasure and a sinister, foxlike trickiness.

Was that Miss Sario who had been speaking to her? She called out that the police and ambulances would be arriving very soon. She turned away to the window. The main entrances would probably be blocked. Olivia thought that the poor soul almost had a hatred that bordered on very fear of her own sex, so she did not try to cause unneeded complication with a complicated answer. It must have taken her enough effort to simply rouse Olivia. She turned to the window, now upright, the winds blowing through the observation chamber and dancing through her airy hair and light clothing. The evening moon was beginning to soar among the mountains of the Academy.

"I understand this, but I shall have no play at the very moment until I may settle things myself. My escape is of utmost importance for now, at least until ... I am certain he is not among them."

She walked to the other edge of the room, opposite Elliot, and sat on the enormous window sill which opened out into the frosty mountain air. The moonlight glittered through her hair as she stared directly at Elliot with a smile, holding her umbrella tightly. Viola had sat perched on her shoulder all this time, taking in the details of the room, but upon Olivia resting on the window sill, the little bird flew off out of the tower, towards Olivia's dormitory.

"My soul is light and unburdened. I am a free dove. I hope you, too, malchik, will soon remove the restrains upon your person." She giggled with a genuine smile, and brought out the umbrella in front of her. Snap. It opened, and looking at Elliot, she said her final words for the night. "I must not let the police see me, so I shall be taking an alternative route. Please, please, do not be alarmed."

She held out the umbrella above her, and slowly fell back into the emptiness of the air behind her, out of the tower. She closed her eyes. She had practiced this enough. She was no Mary Poppins, but the fall helped. She fell downward at a moderate pace, gripping the umbrella tightly. Quickly, she clicked a button on the handle and the umbrella's canopy launched upward into a full blown parachute, gently slowing her descent towards the ground, unseen by anyone else as she hid herself by the wall of the tower and the few trees around her. She would need to improve the landing system soon, sometime this week perhaps. With a gentle step, she touched down on the floor, almost like a graceful feather upon a puddle -- no effort, no stress, just a soft landing, and the parachute's canopy fell around her. Unclipping it from the skeleton of her umbrella, she rolled it up and carried it in a bundle close to her chest, running through the darkened grove of trees and the empty Heliocanthea before reaching her dormitory room after a good number of minutes.

She wondered when her roommate would be here, if ever. If she even had one.
With a quick shower and a change into proper clothing, she fell asleep, Viola scattering around in her cage. It occurred to her, in her dreams, her very diary routine had been shattered by the events of the day, but even in them she could hear the distant sirens of the ambulances and police cars on school property.

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Cherno thought this was dumber than a pile of imaginary numbers in third grade math homework. Who was this clown? He turned away from them. He didn't even want to see their face right now. He just wanted to go back to sleep. He just wanted to sleep. Only sleep. Nothing else to do. His soul felt so heavy and he couldn't help it. Why? Why did he feel so dreadful all of a sudden? Was it the change in weather? He forcibly grabbed his extra pillow and moved his body away from the voice, turning his back to it. How annoying. He was the guy's roommate. How couldn't he tell? Almost like a little kid, Cherno wrapped the pillow around the back of his head and held it to his ears.

Why hadn't John responded to his text yet?
He felt worried, really worried.

"I'm your roommate, you seismic charlatan. Cherno. Cherno Plume." His cheeks were wry and he looked away with tired eyes. Cherno did not want to leave his bed. He did not want to leave it for the duration of his time before school. "Get over it, and let's be fucking friends. Thanks, brother."His eyes began to dim.There were sirens off in the distance.
The constant knock on the door seemed intermingled with them. He didn't want to answer. Let the ass behind him get it.
His-- his head hurt so much-- jesus christ.
Cherno shakily grabbed the painkillers from his pocket and twisted the bottle open, popping one swiftly into his mouth.Maybe this would help. Please help.

Where was John?

Ah ...
The sirens were growing louder.
And louder.
What was ... what was going ...
On ...

Cherno slowly drifted off to sleep, under the influence of the painkillers. Talk about an uneventful day of sad reflection.

Yes indeed! The first line shows the acronym TARDIS. Though it may not be grammatically correct in the conventional sense, it is correct because it is referencing an actual object instead of simply being a title in itself. The capitalization of the "a" is a bit irrelevant.

EDIT:

I am not even sure where this is going anymore.
Why do I get into these conversations at 1:40 in the morning.

Ah, it was a reference to a science fiction series.

There is no such thing as a TaRDIS, sir!

I agree. A permanent romantic relationship with your homework is in both of your best interests.

Threads And Relative Dimensions In Space.

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Olivia's Diary Entry | December 17​

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« O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep?​

Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. »​

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{ ♫ } || astronomy tower ♛oratorio des étoiles

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Olivia was shaken awake, slowly.
But by whom? The woman -- it was certainly a woman, from how soft and delicate Olivia noticed her hands were -- quickly retreated away. She had an ... an almost characteristic grip. Olivia's eyes slowly opened to the afternoon light, and there she was, laying on the floor, looking directly at the far ceiling of the Astronomy Tower's observation deck. Viola perched on her stomach, but upon Olivia opening her eyes, the little dove immediately fluttered away to her master's side.
It was Miss Sario. That grip -- one of firmness yet with amazingly smooth hands -- was something nobody would be able to forget. Olivia continued to stare at the ceiling with a blank expression, her body rigid like a plank, her arms stringently to her side. She knew what was directly in front of her -- and if she were to simply turn her head just a few angles south, she would be witness to the terrifying scene yet again.

So she did not do anything of the sort, and instead continued to look at the ceiling flatly. There were no winds flowing through the spaces of the tower right now. No winds, no rain, not a touch of cold that could perhaps revive movement in Olivia immediately. Nothing but her own moods and thoughts toiling and tumbling through her mind as she fixated her gaze at the arched ceiling. The corpse of the man she had seen was John Quincy -- and it implied that the e-mail indeed had an extremely large amount of basis behind its contralto voice.

How ... displeasing.
Olivia's nostrils slightly flared at the mere thought of the confirmation of this e-mail's truth.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar boy -- a friend -- well, would his silly, ridiculous person really be called a friend? Olivia felt dragonflies in her belly just thinking about him. Why in the world was that philistine here? Perhaps Miss Sario was attempting to hold some sort of spiritual game with him as well. That was certainly Miss Sario's business -- but, but would it not be out of the question for someone such as Elliot to believe in the metaphysical so empirically? Although Olivia's face continued its well-trained, flat expression, she did feel very much like scoffing slightly at Elliot's mere presence in this room.

"Malchik, please be a dear and help me up," Olivia called out, extending her gloved hand towards his direction, while otherwise staying rigid on the floor, her back upon the cold stone. "And please do not dabble too much with the ... incident in front of us. It would be unfortunate for you to smell like entrails with our appointment tomorrow."

Ah, that was right. The lessons tomorrow. The buffoon would be visiting her room. The clown would be bringing his sordid baritone into her private sanctuary from the world. It was her fault anyway. She sighed.

Was Miss Sario still here?
In cases such as these, witnesses were usually quick to call the police.
If that was so, Olivia would have none of it.

"Miss Sario, did you call the police? If so, I shall take my leave right this moment, before they wish anything to do with me. I am a busy, busy lady, you know. And thank you for waking me from my terrible slumber."

So I will be watching Oreshura this winter because of its cast:

Spoiler

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Spoiler: Click here to watch Cherno's dream

You cannot watch Cherno's dream because Cherno's dream was interrupted by a goddamn projectile to the face

FLYING FUCKING COTANGENTS WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT

From around the boys' dorm, tens of hundreds of birds flew away from their perches on the nearby trees in a frenzy of terrified squawking. The sudden, obnoxious afternoon call of one of these young men seemed to ignite their escape response, and they flew off past the buildings of the Academy, far towards the mountains.


HIS HEAD
OH MY FUCK
HIS HEAD
IT HURT SO MUCH JESUS CHRIST O-OW THE PAIN. THE PAIN. AAAAACK. AAAAAAAA
Who the FUCK just did that--
Cherno jumped up with a scowl on his face, his eyes closed. He grabbed his heavy pillow forcefully and threw it like a sack of flour at the general direction of where the rock came from. Ouch-- Ugh god-- jesus-- jesus christ. He-- he couldn't-- he barely felt his eyes. Everything was hurting so much. So so much. He rubbed his forehead and fell backward onto his bed, his back slamming on the duvet.

He was in darkness, but he slowly tried to open his eyes. What was this warm feeling on his head? He slowly brought his hand to his forehead. Some sort of -- of liquid, warm to the touch-- wait. Wait. It-- it wasn't-- was he bleeding? Oh fuck. Oh goddamn it all the the furthest reaches of the limit approaching an asymptote he wanted to bounce on his feet right now and slug whoever the hell decided to do this in the face but jesus christ he couldn't move his head.

And-- and he couldn't remember what his dream was.
Was it something important?
Useful?

Ugh.
His eyes were dim, and he looked sorely up at the gentle ceiling, resting slumped and corpse-like on the bed.
"You-- you goddamn-- who--" He felt out of breath. "What the fuck did you just slug away at my head? The cement that takes the-- takes the space of your frontal lobe?!"

What a lovely way to start the morning-- wait. The light was more blue, Cherno could tell through his narrowed eyes as he turned his head towards the window. What a lovely way to start the ... afternoon. Whatever his dream was, it must have been vivid enough to keep him sleeping this late.

And he wondered if John replied to him yet. But right now he just wanted the pain to go away.

Time travel.

Time. What is time? There is no proper answer to what "time" is. Is time actually a component of the universe? Is time a component of all "universes" that may exist in a multiverse? Is time just something in our heads?

Time travel into the future is possible, but not in a conventional sense.

Now, I am no physics expert but I have read a few things so here I am carefully attempting to explain, I suppose. However, because I am not a physics expert I would generally appreciate it if others may help clarify and correct this rather heavy-handed and slightly confusing explanation of what "time" is, if it is necessary.

To put it simply, time is generally relative and is heavily based on the frame of reference. Let us say you have two people -- Arch and Patman. Both of them have fine Swiss watches that correspond as accurately to the time as a cesium-electron clock. Arch flies off to space because he feels he is too cool for Earth, while Patman remains on the planet. Both of them keep their watches, but use an ansible to stay in contact with each other, so they can theoretically relate the exact time they perceive to each other instantly.

Using Patman as a reference, Patman is stationary per his perspective, while Arch is accelerating close to the speed of light (while this is reversed for Arch -- under special relativity, there is no such thing as absolute space and time, and thus to Arch it would be Patman who is moving away from him). Arch blasts off into space with his rate of acceleration while Patman is accelerating at his own rate on a moving Earth. However, Arch misses his home and decides to return back to Earth, adding additional acceleration to his already present acceleration. When he returns to Earth, he has found that Patman is much older than he is. Rather, he has not aged as fast as Patman has, back on Earth. This is known as the "twin paradox" which is not exactly a paradox in the first place.

There are two explanations for this. One is that Arch's perception of time did not make him age at the same rate as Patman, because of the acceleration -- specifically, the extra acceleration needed for his return trip of his space ship. It was the acceleration that affected his frame of time, very much because time is relative! Thus, the amount of acceleration appears to have a definite effect on time frame in some ways.

The second is gravitational time dilation. The basic example used for this concept was placing two clocks on Earth -- one very, very close to the surface, and one high, high up in the sky. Although the clocks seem to be observed as fine when looked at individually, one notices that one clock is actually slower than the other. The times are different, what in the world even is this! This is gravitational time dilation -- the gravity of a mass in space affects time itself.

So how does this apply to time travelling into the future? Loriah hijacks Arch's spaceship and his fine Swiss watch and decides to fly over to a black hole because she is cool enough to straddle the event horizon without spaghettification. Arch is left on the planet Earth in the present day era -- in, let us say a city currently dominated by Justin Bieber and skyscrapers built by I. M. Pei. She moves at an acceleration close to the speed of light, which is also in turn affected by the black hole. She is catapaulted away towards Earth, with extra acceleration, and reaches the planet once again. All this time, Loriah has kept time using her fine Swiss watch. As has Arch (who stole one from Patman). However, when Loriah returns to Earth, everything has changed! No more Justin Bieber. No more glass skyscrapers. Now Peace and War is the biggest star with his face plastered all over the twisty, amorphous futuristic buildings made by the child of Zaha Hadid and Frank Gehry or something. Loriah has just "travelled to the future".

But what does that mean? It means that she travelled to a time she ordinarily would not have theoretically reached if she stayed on Earth, because of the very fact that her perception of time was changed due to the acceleration of her space craft.

Now, what about time travel to the past?

To do so would require the very possibility of exceeding the speed of light. Doing so means that you can effectively change the order of events that occur in your perception. But the problem? The speed of light is the very speed limit of the universe -- a product of spacetime itself, as we know it so far anyway. Nothing, (not even the neutrinos which did not actually pass the speed of light and that was actually just a major calculation error) is known so far to pass the speed of light; to be the mythical "tachyon" post-lightspeed particle.

That being said, it is not necessarily out of the question. For example, quantum physics is an extremely, extremely bizarre field. Uncharted territory that seems to show that the normal rules of relativistic space rarely, if ever truly apply at all, as if you brought US dollars into the middle of a Kazakh colony on Mars. It is entirely possible that the answer to time travel to the past may lie within the field of the very small. However, even relativity holds the possibility of time travel to the past -- the concept of closed time-like curves, very, very simply meaning that the positions of particles in four-dimensional spacetime will return to their previous state.

Time travel backward also gives us a few questions. Where are the tourists from the future -- a variation of the Fermi Paradox? What would happen if we were to change the past so significantly? There are a few theoretical explanations, of course, and I believe Arch covered a few of them earlier. A few comments about changing the past were brought up in the thread, however, so it gives rise to two interesting little ideas involving paradoxes.

The first one is Igor Novikov's self-consistency principle. This means that, if you were to go back in time with the probability of getting involved in a situation that would result in a temporal paradox (such as killing your own grandfather), spacetime would allow the very probability of this event to be zero. This is basically a physics hand-wave to all sorts of paradoxes, though it works for the universe game-breaking ones such as the grandfather murdering (who would even want to do that anyway). However, it also limits actions and poses a few questions/situations. Is it perhaps the reason why we are unable to see any person from the future -- the very possibility of our perception to do so is also at a zero? Does this imply that the universe by nature ensures its own stability and existence by the very fact its physical laws would prevent such a paradox from occurring? Would we be able to change anything under this principle if small changes resulted in big ones -- chaos theory, or the "butterfly effect" of small changes equaling large ones that would eventually result in temporal paradoxes?

But it is that very idea of small changes and large effects that brings us to the second possibility. Parallel universes generally stem off from each other depending on the changes made, and these parallel universes are the result of changes in time travel. It may not necessarily help with paradoxes, but if parallel universes would exist, what is to say the collapse of one universe does not mean immediate change to the other? Getting back into quantum physics again (oh boy here we go), the idea of quantum immortality -- you surviving anything even if there is a marginal chance of escape from death by your particles switching universes to one in which you reach the probability margin of not dying -- could support the parallel-universes-on-top-of-paradoxes argument. Time loops, the idea of ensuring your past self shall do things that will make sure that the act of travelling to the past is ensured by your future self, is typically a logical way (mostly tackled in fiction) that gets rid of the paradox of not making your future self travel back into the past.

Or perhaps Norikov and parallel universes could exist simultaneously. Who knows?

This most likely has a proper name to it like good ol' Novikov up there, but I am too tired to find it so I shall simply call it the Quantum superposition universe line hypothesis (which is a gosh-darned mouthful). In layman's terms, parallel universes of these alternate timelines that exist simultaneously at all states at the same time. I was researching things for a story involving time travel and I found this concept rather intriguing because it implies that all possibilities in time exist together but time is only perceived through our perspective due to wavefunction (time perspective?) collapse. All times -- past, present, future -- exist in their personal lines simultaneously but under our observations we perceive the current time. It sounds a bit silly, but quantum physics in general is crazier than a horse on bath salts.

Time travel to the future? Generally possible, but not in the conventional sense.
Time travel to the past? We have as just as good a clue as any major hints towards a unified theory of physics, honestly.

But remember one thing: when dealing with time travel in actual physics, there is still typically motion involved. No immediate change to the past while staying stationary. Well, yet, anyway.

At times our personal perceptions colour things. I am very doubtful anybody hates you (and considering the section this thread is in, a number of people are generally kidding if they do state as such). Oftentimes one has to expand the scope of their mind to get a clearer picture of the situation. For example, consider the time of year. Considering the prime demographics of the forum, academic work and other factors are in their high stages and people may simply be busy. This, of course, is just an example and not strictly the case. But regardless, there are always alternative reasons to people not being able to respond on time besides the surprisingly uncommon "I don't want to talk to you" that many people appear to fear.

(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Dear Hei! Hei there! You have been mentioned in the Hello Newbie thread!...