Daily Excerpt Post - November 1st

[alison-sky.livejournal.com]

This is where you can take a snippet from your writing from today that you want to share with the other members of the community. And feel free to comment on other people's snippets.

We're all about love and support here, and this is a great place to give it.


Comment limit is 4000 words. Please do not post multiple comments to show your entire NaNo.

Comments

[n-e-star.livejournal.com]

01 - Take shopping carts for the express purpose of filling them and stranding them at strategic locations.

It was a week later Jolene had to run into the Wal-Mart to pick up some poster board for Grace and that e-mail came back to her.

“What could it hurt?” She asked her self.

Remembering the first task on the list, Jolene grabbed a cart and headed off into the super store.

The gray cart had a wheel that pulled to the left as she made her way through the Misses clothing department. Jolene stopped and looked at the racks spread out around her. She quickly picked a few things and put them in the cart. The clothing gave way to shoes, and a pair of rain boots were put into the cart. Next came the cleaning supplies and a broom, a dustpan and a box of Brillo pads were added to the total.

Making a U turn, Jolene headed across the store, ignoring the CD;s and games, and made her way to where she really needed to be – paper goods.

She stopped in the main aisle and picked out two large pieces of bright white poster board. Leaving the cart where it was, Jolene made her way to the bank of cash registers.

[swingsister-t.livejournal.com]

how awesome - a book about that? total win.

Shards and Spackle

[direcorrector.livejournal.com]

It was not a dark and stormy night. The clocks were not striking 13 in London…or at least I guess I would not have been hearing them strike 13 if I had been anywhere near England. Please don’t call me Ishmael. I think it sounds too much like Ishtar, and besides, it’s a boy’s name. Masculine though I may seem at times, I am most definitely all woman. It wasn’t particularly the best of times OR the worst of times. It was one of those mildly gray valleys that wouldn’t really qualify as a depression. A word that sounds like a cross between dysrhythmia and dystopia. It wasn’t that long ago, and I’m assuming it was in a galaxy near near to where you are. I have yet to encounter avid readers of English from outside the Milky Way.

Re: Shards and Spackle

[stephiesama.livejournal.com]

ohman, I like that. It made me giggle.

[lackofsound.livejournal.com]

Simon Amstell paused and collected his thoughts.

Whatever was happening over at the door, did not concern him in the slightest. Except for how he had to go to the door to get out of this establishment. That meant it did concern him, just a little bit. But he could always wait till whatever it was that was causing such a commotion over there was gone and he could safely escape from this place and back to his flat. His nice, safe, clean, flat.

(Because seriously. This bar was dirty. Of course, it’s not like Simon Amstell had really expected much better, seeing as it was a bar, and filled with louts, but really. Did it even abide by general hygiene standards? Somehow, he expected the owners may have been bribing any inspectors that had happened to come and inspect the place. Or simply disposing of them in some horrible way. Perhaps they ate them, to get rid of the evidence. That would be kind of cool, in a kind of ‘I can’t look away’ sort of way.)

Simon Amstell eyed the person tending the bar uneasily. What if they were planning to do away with him too?

With a mental sigh, Simon Amstell reminded himself that he was not actually an inspector. And there most likely was not a cannibal ring operating in this bar.

[lfvoy.livejournal.com]

Talk about a twist in that last sentence...! Wow.

[ink-kee.livejournal.com]

A field of seemingly endless, rich gold was spread out before him, like an old, warm comforter he wanted nothing more than to curl up in. The breeze sent a sunflower bumping gently against his shoulder. Its head recoiled and it seemed to bow apologetically. He gave a small smile and touched the face of the sunflower gingerly with his fingertips, as if stroking the face of someone he was fond of.

He stood there, short, slim and blond, blending in well against the bright yellow heads of the sunflowers.

Waiting.

[shiny-rosie.livejournal.com]

The dream always began this way. The sun, the breeze, the gentle slope of green grass slipping from under her feet and running down to the edge of the lake. She doesn’t turn around. She knows what is waiting for her, she’s never been much of an artist but she’s pretty sure she could reproduce the image in perfect detail. He’ll be there, stretched out on the old ratty blanket that he refuses to throw away no matter how much she teases him about it. There will be books in sloppy stacks around him but he will have given up on studying. He’ll be laying back, his arms tucked behind his head, staring up at the June sky his thoughts a million miles away or more. Yes. She knows this day well. Every moment of it is crystallized in her memory, like a fly trapped in amber, beautifully intact and long since dead.

[saltintheoven.livejournal.com]

It was morning, barely, but would soon be afternoon and Aster was ready for lunch. It wasn't as though she were particularly hungry; only it was so off-putting to not eat lunch at lunchtime. Besides, she would be sorry later if she didn't have anything. She wondered whether there would be any more of those purple fruits, the unpronounceable ones. She liked those. Except for the pits - those tended to pop up and unexpected moments and it was unpleasant. She wondered whether it would be quiet proper to dig out all the seeds first with her fruit spoon.
A soft knock on the door brought her out of her reverie of fruit pits and spoons.

[princessstarr.livejournal.com]

Jay stroked the frets of his guitar, trying to look past the haze of stage lights and smoke that currently blocked his view. Kayla said she was going to wear her bright pink halter top tonight. “You know, the one I wore to the first show after we met,” she said on the phone earlier. Whether or not that it would be bright enough for him to see him was another question. That, and Vince’s groupies cloistered in the middle of the pit all seemed to be wearing varying shades of rose. Or that might have been the glare from the spotlights.
Oh, wait. Kayla’s bleached hair glowed against the club’s black lights, making her look even eerier with the top. She half-heartedly waved, signaling, “Here I am, being the supportive girlfriend of the backing guitarist.”

[fiveredsnakes.livejournal.com]

That last sentence is pretty gloomy and so, so perfect.

[theratwhispers.livejournal.com]

It was three in the morning and I was out of ninty-nine cent shampoo. I was also out of soap and newspaper for the bird cage. The apartment was the smell of wet rocks and ditches. There were brown stains on the ivory carpet. Spilled cereal, some generic Lucky Charms knock-off, had summoned a swarm of flies. A cockroach had made a home under the sink. In my dreams, that cockroach had a family and friends, perhaps a late night sitcom. Inside my mind, a cockroach was having a better life than I was. I was laying on a torn comforter with the radio next to my head. It was a black radio with a missing battery cover, the antenna was bent. I had been laying on my stomach all night. The glass sliding doors had been left open and a cold breeze was blowing inside. I crawled forward and rested myself at the threshold of the open door, the balcony was long gone. I watched a woman hang up sheets and a few shirts, they were all yellowed. I was on the seventh floor, so the view was enough to see the plastic bags that had been torn and taped as curtains, the stained clothing that hung from the the clothelines, and the shoes tied to the tree branches. I was still tired. It was time to find breakfast. I closed the slinding door and went for my cardboard boxes, they might earn me enough for a piece of a biscuit.

[ultimatefate.livejournal.com]

Wow, I totally love this and it's made me want to read more dammit! lol

[virgoearthgirl.livejournal.com]

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“What do you mean why am I looking at you? You’ve been sitting here for approximately three minutes staring off into space somewhere or avoiding my eyes so you wouldn’t have to answer my question.” He tenderly touched the inside of her scarred wrist.
She hated when he did that. It made her skin crawl to know that he knew one of her secrets and felt bold enough to arrogantly touch her like he owned that secret.
She slid her arm farther away from him and looked out into the vast expanse of water. If things had gone as planned yesterday, she would be bloated to three times her size right now and drifting out to the edge of that sea, part of her body already digested by some overzealous fish. She blinked her eyes in a lame attempt to shake the image and the latent sad feelings.
“There you go again,” he said, almost to himself.
She put her face in her hands and then smoothed her hands over her face and down through her hair. How did they get to this point? When did it become okay to have a sexual relationship with her therapist?

[kittieonmyfoot.livejournal.com]

Novel Title: Untitled

Jen smiled to herself as she fished for stray dollar bills in her pocket to pay for her Items. Barely enough, but isn’t that how life goes. Barely sliding by with barely enough crumbled dollar bills in your pocket. Jenn would write another letter to someone about this insight that she suddenly found so delectable. Who talks like that?
It was then that Jen realized that she had ten minutes to catch her train. Her heels clicked noisily through the station drawing attention from the scattered few who remained. She wondered how many in the small town weren’t here because of her shotgun wedding across town? All of her musings fell silent to the click of her white shoes that she willed not to slip. So much for the white, unscuffed purity of her wedding shoes. The shoes she knew her father would never see her daughter wear. She was the clicks of her shoes with a twenty five dollar wedding dress stuffed in the trash can in the handicapped bathroom. She was the beautiful twenty something with somewhere to go and a white plastic bag in her hand flinging as she ran. She was the beautiful, skinny girl who got to eat chocolate bars and run in heels. She was the envy of everyone in the bus station who caught her gaze.

Gosh, this is so corny, but I love it.

[agmoore.livejournal.com]

“Have they even tried, Ivy? Have you ever gone in to have tests?”

The man crept forward at a slow pace, cursing silently at himself as she continuously stepped backwards, farther and father from him. She shook her head. They had not done tests on her. Her father had made sure of that, but now that he was gone… “Shut up!” she clawed at her parted lips with quivering fingers. “Stop talking! My head. The, the throbbing.” No manner of biting back her pain could stop Ivy from whimpering as her frontal lobe began to pulse. It was like a heartbeat, filling her ears with the steadily increasing beat. She knew what happened when it stopped. When it stopped, the Blackness came.

Re: Gosh, this is so corny, but I love it.

[incandescence.livejournal.com]

Crazy people! :D

[incandescence.livejournal.com]

Then there'd been the morning rush because her father had overslept, and the hour and a half drive to San Jose that had somehow turned into two hours because they'd make a quick stop for coffee (and Satsuki would never understand how a quick gas station stop could add thirty full minutes to travel time), but somehow — somehow! — she'd made it safely onto her plane with enough time to give her father a strong hug, a reminder to feed her cat three times a day, and to even put her driver's license back into her wallet instead of shoving it into her pocket after showing it at security.

Even then, despite how her entire morning had seemed to go wrong, Satsuki had been happy. Hell, she'd been ecstatic. Who wouldn't be? While she was younger, Satsuki had virtually no interest in her culture and heritage, but all that had changed years ago. She was struggling to learn more than the basic Japanese she used with her father (which, even then, was quite limited — for they were a fully Americanized household) and had even developed a taste for sushi, which was a rare treat. And now she was going back to Japan, to be a tourist, to get in touch with her roots, and to see family she hadn't seen since childhood, back when her mother was still alive. Oh yes, Satsuki had been excited and practically wiggling with delight as she got ready to buckle herself into seat 14B.

Then she'd realized that she was sitting next to that woman.

Now, to be fair, Satsuki was normally very friendly to strangers. In fact, she liked to think of herself as a very nice person. But today she had learned of her limits.

It wasn't really the fact that that woman chattered incessantly. Some people, after all, liked to talk. Satsuki liked to talk. Talking was not the issue. Or at least, it hadn't been the issue — but that woman hadn't stopped. Ever. Even during the small safety brief, where the friendly stewardess taught people how to use a seatbelt and that in the case of emergency there were oxygen masks above their seat so they could do their best to feed themselves air (though everyone was fully aware that since they were in a big, flying hunk of metal, they'd probably die regardless of their success in using those masks).

[pixiemarie.livejournal.com]

“What the hell is that?” Sophie asked. She was staring in what looked like the general direction of her husband, but in reality, was actually staring slightly behind him, and bit to the left. It— it almost looked like a freaking squirrel, she thought. But, it almost looked like it had a huge... Wings, she told herself, concentrate on the wings.

[dragonbloodink.livejournal.com]

Ooh. I like.

[swingsister-t.livejournal.com]

this is the prologue that may not be a prologue (as it gives away a later bit of information). but it came to me so I wrote it,....


Prologue:
It was a dark night with clouds skittering over the crescent moon and few stars. It was cool enough to see one’s breath, and folks stayed wrapped deep within coverlets and cloaks as they hustled along the street. The town’s stone wall loomed tall and dark in the shadows of the flickering oil lamps mounted along it. The crier had come through calling the ten bells some minutes past and those still out on the paths moved quickly, quietly, and with a purpose. Each one kept to themselves, eyes down, as they traveled along the dusty walkways.
A door towards the center of town opened and then closed quickly, cutting only the slightest sliver of lamp light into the street. A bundled figure glanced up and down, then made its way with a determined step towards the wall. As they neared the wall, they placed one hand on it to support themselves, then leaned back into the wall pausing for a moment. The oil lamp flickered in a sudden breeze, casting long shadows over the figure. As the wind ceased, the light resumed it’s normal cast. The figure was no longer there.

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania - 1998

[magebear.livejournal.com]

“Can we get the hell out of here now?”, Rattan moaned, “I'm freezing my ass off.”

Danis looked back up the hill and sighed, “Yea, let's get going, there's nothing here.”

They moved to they side of the road, out of sight of any possible passers by. Danis pushed up the sleeve of his coat and revealed a nylon strap band with a wrist top device. He adjusted something on the device and nodded to Rattan who put his hand on Danis' shoulder. With a rush of static in the air, the Pennsylvania countryside swirled away replaced almost immediately by stark white walls. Rattan removed his hand and stretched. Danis kicked a bit of dirt off his boots as they stood waiting.

“Matron, can we get a move on, love?”, Rattan quipped.

“Scans are complete. You are both contaminated with non-contemporary biomatter. Stasis sweeps will take two spans to complete.”, Matron responded.

Danis hated this part. Stasis scans always gave him waves of pins and needle sensations, but better to be safe than sorry, or dead. Matron, the computer overseeing the day to day operations of the temporal portal dock, didn't have much by way of a sense of humor. Then again, it's AI only had the basics of a personality matrix. The designers didn't see a point in making a user friendly gatekeeper, just an efficient one. Once the sweeps were complete, he followed his hasty partner out the biolock doors.

“Where are you in such a hurry to get to?”

“Have a evening planned with an Arkazian mind sculptor. If you don't hear from me in the next 48 hours, inform my kin I died with a smile on my face.”, Rattan grinned as he headed for his alcove.

Danis shook his head as he headed across to his terminal. After tapping the surface and adjusting a few things on the 3D desktop, he turned and hung his coat on a rack along with half a dozen other coats of different time periods. Thinking only briefly that he should have them all laundered, they may all have been cleared of biomatter, but dust and dirt remains. Not all adjustment details were as simple and clean as this last one. Now he just needed some sleep. He scooped up a couple data tablets and headed to his quarters.

Re: Just the beginning

[trainwind.livejournal.com]

Hee! My attention is piqued.

[ruth-the-sleuth.livejournal.com]

She smoked too much. We all smoked too much back then: I smoked too much, our parents smoked too much, our teachers smoked too much, everyone smoked too much. It was 1980, and you could smoke on an airplane, in an elementary school, in the cancer ward of a hospital. It was the golden age for smokers, and everyone seemed to smoke, but Raina smoked more than anyone I had ever met. She was always wreathed in smoke, exhaling it, trailing a slow cloud of it wherever she went, so that in time it seemed like another part of her, like skin or hair, a voice, a song she sang, something she would be incomplete without. I kept track of her comings and goings by her clouds of smoke and by the sweet, tarry smell of her cigarettes: she smoked a brand called Red Chief that was manufactured by inmates in a prison out on the eastern edge of the state, near Milton-Freewater. It was maximum security, not far from a reservation, and most of the men there were Indians. Other prisoners in other places made blue jeans, key rings, license plates, pencils; it seemed to me like strange and almost perfect punishment that the men of Blue Mountain Penitentiary would spend their days manufacturing Tonto 100’s, Sitting Bull Cigarillos, Powhatan King Size, Sacajawea Peace Pipe Blend, and Pocahontas Lites. As far as I could tell, the only good thing about Red Chief brand was how little it cost—less than half the price of the second-cheapest brand, about fifty-five cents a pack back then. For this reason, they were the brand of choice for most of the citizens of Snowden.
I smoked Tontos, Shyla Pocahontas Lites, my father Sitting Bull Cigarillos, but Raina favored the least popular brand: Sacajawea Peace Pipe Blend, three or four packs a day, unfiltered. It was a sweet blend of good tobacco, red willow, bearberry, and sage, and it was Raina’s smell for as long as I knew her, and for a long time after that. Years later, sitting in a bar somewhere in Texas, in Washington, in California, I would smell the sweet spice and tar of Sacajawea blend and find myself, again, in high school, again at sixteen, stranded in that small town by the river, sitting on the gold velvet couch with Raina, stranded forever and ever in that perfect world of sweetly stinging smoke.

[pixiemarie.livejournal.com]

Wow, I love this. I love all of the details--so fabulous. :)

[stephiesama.livejournal.com]

I stare at the young man claiming to be Theodore Stark, my son. There are so many things wrong with his claim, the most important of all those reasons is that my son, Theodore Stark, is barely two years old. I’ve invited him into the house, and we sit in the living room, and I can’t help but stare. I know I shouldn’t. But honestly, how often does someone appear at your door claiming to be your own child from the future?

When he first showed up, my first instinct was to go and get Theo from his playroom upstairs. To check on him and make sure that he didn’t somehow get into one of Harper’s machines and age himself twenty or so years.

Sitting here, I still have the urge to go upstairs and check on Theo, to make sure he’s alright. This just gives me such an uneasy feeling.
Especially since the young man sitting across from me is so familiar. His eyes especially. They’re… They’re Marcus’s. The almond shape, the dark brown shine. They’re just like Marcus’s. I should call Marcus at work. He should be here too. But I can’t bring myself to do anything but stare at the supposed Theodore Stark.

[ohendless-night.livejournal.com]

Oh! I like where this is going...

[lizwontcry.livejournal.com]

On that afternoon in the brightness of my life, I only knew one thing for sure, and it was not that I loved Avery or that I was about to become a father. I was going to be a rock star, maybe the biggest rock star the world had ever seen. I also knew this would not come without a cost. Things would get lost along the way, I knew this deep down in my soul. Ideals, dreams, perceptions…and people. That’s why I made an oath to myself so many years back, as a teenager even, that I would not get attached. And the day Avery told me she was having a baby, I was sure she’d be the first casualty on my road to fame. And I didn’t even have the heart to warn her.

[alouette-sparra.livejournal.com]

“Emily! There you are! I was worried when you didn’t come calling yesterday. I feared you had been hurt.” The crinkle of satin being forcefully crushed by an impact punctuated the exclamation as Genovef swooped in and pulled Emily into a fierce hug. As quickly as Genovef had appeared, she removed herself from the sapper, smoothing her skirts and bodice back into order. Always, she was a study in motion, never remaining entirely still. Her hair trailed loose and free down her back, kinked slightly from the severe braids it had been tugged into for the morning’s audiences in court, while the slight adjustments she made to her stance caused her dress to rustle as though she were a tree caressed by the wind. As soon as her dress was neatened, she set to rubbing her temples, wincing at how tender they yet were from being pulled so forcefully by the tight plaits her father had deemed appropriate.

She smiled up at Emily. “They pull the braids so tightly, my handmaidens do. I think you ought to teach them the plaiting of hair. You must be masterful at it; you walk around with all your hair in that huge plait every day and I never see you in pain from it.”

A short, barking laugh finally escaped Emily at that. “You have no idea how long it takes to get used to that much weight tugging at your forehead. Listen to your maids; they have the right of it when they loop your hair around your head. With a good, tight plait so the hair stays in place, you rip hair out from the weight sometimes.” She laughed harder when Genovef’s eyes widened in horror at the end of her speech. Knowing the young Prinzessin, she would not complain so much anymore about the braids she was bade to wear to court. It would be a mercy for all involved. As beloved as the girl was, she could be astonishingly childish sometimes.

Just the beginning

[evaleastaristev.livejournal.com]

Prologue

This is a story about the time when things started going to hell. We'd just finished a war, and though it was all over. But we didn't know that it had only begun. We were about to go from fighting the enemy to fighting our own. And it was going to be bad.

[inugrlrayn.livejournal.com]

He held out two perfect arms, evidence of Al’s sacrifice, to the barricaded chasm that was the gate. The offer was made, his life for his brother’s, and he swore he could hear its voiceless laughter, cackling just beyond the reach of his ears.

So, once was not enough for you. All that you have lost has not deterred you from returning, and what will you give this time, Alchemist? Will you surrender your arm and leg? Your life, perhaps?

“Whatever it takes. Just give my brother his life back.”

Ed could feel the gaze of a thousand hungry eyes, gnawing at his being from behind the heavy doors. He swore he could see a vindictive sneer in the back of his mind, twisting its way across the gate, though there was none to be seen when he turned his gaze to it. Still, its meaning was clear. Words swam, vile and threatening at the back of his mind, soundless, but impossible to ignore. And so, his offer was accepted.

Ed bowed his head in resignation, letting himself to be dragged beyond the multitude of eyes, the tugging arms. He was falling, drifting, sucked into the void he’d never been aware of until this day. The dark consumed him, mind, body and soul, shattering him to pieces Only the knowledge that this was for Al sustained him when it left Edward in a sort of agony that ripped through him as if he were no more than scraps of paper. It felt as if an eternity passed in that state, but in a moment’s time, the world ceased to be, and he knew nothing any longer.

[netbug009.livejournal.com]

FMA! We can do fanfic? I keep hearing people are, and now I wish I'd know I could. I can write decent fanfic @ 2k a day.

[netbug009.livejournal.com]

"It was a dark and stormy night. In fact, it was so dark and stormy, you can't even read how cliche this opening sentence is."

The scary thing is, this actually affects the plot and actually seems to be working. O.o

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

Heh. Nice. ;)

[allez-cuisine.livejournal.com]

Me, I didn’t feel any loyalty toward my parents – or anything, really – one way or another. I didn’t remember them at all. I think Matt resented me for that, too. Stupid of him – as if it was my fault our parents died before I even knew either one of them well enough to remember them.

Sometimes, I can almost see a fleeting shadowy shape that I think is my mother. It usually happens when I’m trying to fall asleep, and can’t, for a myriad of trivial reasons. I’ll close my eyes and picture this silhouetted shape of a woman’s face; her hair is pulled up into a loose bun, and I can see – or maybe just sense – a tender smile. I get the sensation that I’m looking up at this face; maybe it’s my mother looking down at me in my crib? No…the very thought is ridiculous. There’s no way I could remember anything that far back, not that clearly. Still , I hold on to those little visuals whenever they pop up; it’s a fleeting thing, but it’s the most tangible evidence – other than actual photographs – that I have to prove to myself that I once had a mother.

[ultimatefate.livejournal.com]

"what are you in here for?" a young boy, not much older than my sixteen years asks me when i'm sitting waiting to get my stuff back from the strip search. "you won't get your stuff back by the way. they don't give anyone anything back. well except these" he says pulling at the dusky light blue scrubs on his body. he pulls a face as and shrugs "that's all anyone has. that and their mind. so why you here kid?" he starts to call me that, even though he only looks at least no more than a year older me.

"i told my therapist to go to hell" i say, and he laughs and then i laugh and we both just sit laughing until i can't breathe and then i'm falling to the floor and my head is spinning and i can't see anything except blurs of white and blue. the boy is standing over me, and he's holding my body still as it convulses, a sharp pain shooting to my head. i feel like i've been lying there for hours, and when it finally clears, the boy is still standing over me wtih a look of sadness in his eyes, he says "that's the medication. if you laugh too much it does this" he gestures to my body. "you get used to it, i guess" he reaches his hand out and i take it andh e pulls me to my feet, i stumble slightly and he steadies me and assures me i'm going to be okay. i think i'm going to be sick. "the names joe, and welcome to saint nicks" he smiles but his eyes are blank and i wonder just what exactly this place is.

[d-kel689.livejournal.com]

The feathered mask tickles my nose as the drag queen bends low to intimate something to the crowd. She whispers to me, "Dare to dream, stud." Then she pulls me on stage with just her index finger, intent on showing me off to the crowd. "Isn't he just the biggest, butchest stud you've ever seen? Isn't he simply delicious?" She spins me slowly, letting them see my every angle.

"Do you know what they do to these fine men out there?" Hell, she's getting on a soap box for me. "They beat them, ladies, they molest them, they ruin their clothes and jobs and relationships and lives. All because they haven't got what I've got under my skirt. It's disgusting, what is done to fine young men like these." The crowd murmurs its agreement, I try desperately not to blush.

She pulls me close then, stage-whispers into her microphone, "Handsome stud, warrior that you are, never feel alone. They've made us all old before our time; our innocence is lost before its even gained. You are not alone. You have family, you have friends, you have lovers, sisters and brothers. When you have to fight, remember we fight too." now I do blush, here I thought she'd just needed a prop. But, she's seen my wounds. She recognizes me. I've been called a warrior, but, I just feel like the world's punching bag most days. And she knows that, I can see it in her eyes, and I hate that I've been seen like this.