The Prophecy of Destiny

2. The Superlegerra 150

If there were anything apart from a good night’s sleep Kanselia could use at the moment, it would be a respite from Mr. Wilson’s nerving knack to guess what she thought.
‘Had to stay back. Don’t worry, had a talk with Miss Fathima regarding the chapters taught today. She should send the notes by tomorrow,’ He notified.
For a change, Kanselia was on similar lines with Marcus. Academics were the last thing on her mind after the day and she wished teachers weren’t so inclined on their subjects. Especially when something similar in essence had caused a consequence only few could evade centuries ago.
‘Min’ dropping ya home?’ Mr. Wilson recommended, removing a bunch of oddly shaped keys from his pant pockets. His voice dropped from a stern, stoic battle master’s to a friendly-guy- who-loves-bird-watching one.
‘Roger that!’ Marcus cried, hinting he had noted something of interest. Something he would call cool and Kanselia would label as dangerous.
In response, Mr. Wilson tossed a bunch of keys at Marcus, who caught it one-handedly and held them up to Kanselia’s face, almost shoving a few in her nose.
Out of them, she noticed an arrow-shaped key among others, all of shapes varying from simple cross-designs to symbols she couldn’t decipher, partly because Marcus snatched them back to have a closer look himself.
Before he began to abbreviate them with stupid acronyms, Mr. Wilson cleared his throat and guided them to a corner of his cabin. Wedged between the wall and the bookshelf was a tiny cupboard about the height of the twins, with bent nails sticking out all over the joints and wood panels ready to cave in at the drop of a marble. Kanselia doubted whether its doors could live through another couple of swings without splintering in half.
As the twins looked on, Mr. Wilson produced an ordinary broom stick and asked Marcus to hold, who rushed back to the table for a closer look. Meanwhile, Kanselia was made to drag a heavy gunny bag, which she guessed to have smuggled elephant tusks as sharp edges protruded out of the bag at awkward angles.
‘Why do women get to do all the hard, boring stuff?’ She grumbled, unfortunately loud enough for the battle master to hear.
‘Because I, dear, get to do all the exciting ones!’ Marcus chimed. Had it not been for Mr. Wilson, Kanselia was confident about him going on to list on his self-proclaimed title:
Dr. Marcus Ashwood – CEO, Ashwood Research Centre & Services Pvt. Ltd.
While Kanselia doubted about his correctness, she noted a sly smile curl up in Mr. Wilson’s lips. Marcus derailed her train of thoughts with a loud scream.
‘It’s a freakin’ SL-150!’ He cried, pointing to a small, bolted metal plaque near the rider’s seat.
‘The what?’ With their fancy candle lighting detention, she had enough of numbers.
‘A Superleggera 150, Italian for Superlight.’ Mr. Wilson explained, ‘The Nysarians have a special liking for Italian craft.
Kanselia did not know why it was worth yelling out loud for, especially when it looked like one of the flying broom sticks witches were seen cursing trespassers on in storybooks. Somehow though, she had a feeling it was a far cry from ordinary, partially given its owner.
It had all the basics of a traditional broomstick- A sleek handle and shiny brown hair and then a few more. Its front half rose by a gentle rising kink, tapering off with a arrowhead shaped tip while the rear-end was cloaked with hair strands unusually stiff and shiny for a broom’s.  When Kanselia grazed her hand through them to inspect them, her fingers stuck halfway. And when she tried to pull her hand free, she almost yanked her palm apart from the fingers which upon release, dripped drops of blood.
‘Copper strands, not your average broom hair. Be careful dear, haven’t used it for a long time, and they may be intertwined,’ Mr. Wilson cautioned.
Brilliant. All Kanselia wanted was to bleed a bit more and receive a warning with perfect timing.
***
Once they were just outside of the school gates, Mr. Wilson stopped so abruptly that Marcus would have impaled his face with whatever was in his backpack. Then, he pushed a button on the broom’s shaft tucked under the rising kink, which made the broom hover on the spot where he let go like it was hanging on invisible strings. The battle master then unstrapped his bag and littered out its contents – nuts, bolts, spanners, weird devices and an old book which Kanselia assumed to be a user guide, in a wide arc around him.
‘Here, fancy assisting me?’ he asked, posing the question only for Marcus.
Kanselia doubted if he needed to ask him to do so, for she noticed his hands itching to grab the largest thing he could find in the mound of metal junk.
With a word with Mr. Wilson, Marcus pressed a button on the front end which caused two doors on its tail to open from opposite sides, revealing a narrow slot barely wide enough to fit a hand. Kanselia’s best guess for it was to be a coin holder for those pesky toll booths.
But a portable piggy bank, it was not. Marcus returned to the pile and under Mr. Wilson’s instructions, fished out a cylindrical device and a similarly sized block of Igneus. The former had a hook which somehow made sense to Marcus, who slid it in the slot opened before and popped a hatch open on the device.
‘Wanna do the honors?’ Marcus offered, as he tossed the Igneus at her. Kanselia barely saved her face from ending up with coal soot with an instinctive catch and did the only thing that felt right to her- Slide the block inside the device.
The instant she did it, the broom whirred to life with a soft hum. Mr. Wilson returned to the broom too, somehow managing to pack his bag before the twins took notice. In his hands were a red key and a small bag. He approached the broom, and twisted the red key twice clockwise in a keyhole dotting the centre of the arrowhead tip. On cue, the broom’s shaft elongated by twice its original length, once for each twist, with slots similar to the one Kanselia had seen before.
From his pocket, he removed a long wand and quickly set to work by bolting small leather pads with their mounting points. The wand’s tip morphed between varying types of screwdrivers and spanners, in accord with his need. Then, he set out to bolt the assembled seats on the shaft’s slots, and dusted his hands with satisfaction on completion.
‘Technician’s Wand. Got this when I…’ Mr. Wilson addressed Marcus, who eyed the wand with curiosity.
‘When I…?’ Kanselia reminded, noting that he had stopped.
‘Long story,’ he replied, as he twisted the arrow-shaped key in the same keyhole. Apparently, this key started the whole thing as two curved handles arced towards the front-most seat and a windshield rolled up from its edges. Buttons of varying sizes lit up at once, some blinking, some beeping and some flashing but all tripping Kanselia’s senses.
When Mr. Wilson bestrode the broom and gently twisted the throttle, a pair of stubby handles popped out horizontally opposed in front of the pillion seats.
‘You need feet harnesses?’ Mr. Wilson asked from upfront, punching a few buttons every second or two.
‘I doubt if I ever need these handles even,’ Marcus answered as he took the second seat, ‘Maybe for Kanselia?’
‘Hey!’
And then, Mr. Wilson fired up the broom. The whine got louder and a steady thrum ran down the broom’s length. As Kanselia marveled the start, she had plenty of questions. How can a broom ferry three people? Will it snap in two mid-flight? In three? How did it stop? Was it capable of cleaning like an actual broom? And did it still deserve to be called a broom, if it failed to?
She had an answer to her questions however. Flying carpets.
‘So, how many buff horses does this bad boy pack?’ Marcus asked, as he rubbed his right hand with his left’s thumb for some reason.
Mr. Wilson chuckled and with a pause, briefed, ‘Some say one-hundred-and-sixty-two but the folks at Nysaria Broomworks, the makers of this very model, preferred to be modest and went for one-fifty.’
Kanselia pictured an army of one-hundred-and-fifty horses pulling a broomstick and wondered if it even needed to be a flying one, despite of feeling better that it was capable of ferrying three.
‘How much did it cost?’ He asked. Kanselia had a gut feeling that her brother was already itching to throw a tantrum at home for a broomstick. Kanselia half-wished it wasn’t affordable, for she could only imagine how dangerous it could be in his hands.
‘Two-hundred Verums at launch. Rumors say the first five were sold for around two-fifty. If you’re wondering the same thing I would have, I didn’t buy it.’
‘Please tell me you barged into this store stocking these pups in the middle of the night and-’
‘Won it.’ Mr. Wilson noted.
‘Twisty… Where do I sign up?’ Marcus asked.
‘Long story. Maybe we’ll talk over this in a future detention,’ Mr. Wilson replied, ‘Try for the Z-300’s. They don’t make the SL series anymore and the newer editions are just too powerful, not to mention a little less exciting with all the mandated safety tech and stuff.’
As Marcus pondered over which one to pick in his head, Mr. Wilson gave the throttle a full twist, to which the broom responded with a soft but heightening growl. Odd numbers and graphics began to flash up on the windshield, out of which Kanselia could only figure out a graphic displaying the speed readout with another one reading, ‘Mode: Ferry’. Projected on the top right corner of the windshield was a series of intersecting lines, highlighted in different shades from green to red, and a silver location pin which Kanselia guessed was the broom’s GPS system.
‘It has an HUD?’ Marcus cried an octave higher than usual, more than making up for the wind noise.
‘You mean a hood?’ Kanselia asked, assuming it was another one of his stupid codenames. Her best take on it was Highly Unpredictable Disaster; for something made up in seconds, it was not a bad try. Had it not been for one of those days when she had no more storybooks to read and resorted to his automobile magazines, she wouldn’t have ever known what hoods, or even cars where.
With magic widespread throughout Veratius, big bulky four wheelers made little sense when broomsticks capable of holding upto ten were a common sight.
‘Heads-Up-Display. Think of it like a screen, minus the screen,’ Marcus turned back to explain, but that was all she wanted to hear – Another tech explained to her as though she were a toddler learning the alphabet. She zoned out of his tech-talk and soaked in the evening warmth.
Volcania, in more ways than one was a city frozen in the past. Old fashioned street lamps dotted the pavements, the road was made out of gray cobblestone while the shops and houses were decidedly old-school; most of the shops resembled what they sold (so the city often looked like a toy-store’s floor after an angry kid had just ripped off a set of play sets).
In typical magic realm fashion, the houses were unordered columns of storey’s bent at awkward angles, some entwining with neighboring buildings like upside-down braided hair so one could just walk from one building to another through the windows. During night, they would straighten up on their own and either elongate or shorten to varying heights to prevent easing theft.
A few minutes in the ride, they rode by what Kanselia had been waiting all the time- A candle-shaped, light yellow building, with a real wick alight on its top, and a humble shop tucked at its base. Behind the counter was Kanselia’s best friend Alba, helping her mother Asbelmy with their evening special gateaux’s. 
Though seemingly old, what the shop did not reveal at first glance were Asbelmy’s magic, the baking kind. Her lava cookies had more chocolate than any other bakery in Volcania, and she didn’t charge as though she were demanding a ransom, unlike some of present-day bakeries – One could buy the best of Veratius’ sweets for something as little as half a Verum and even the most expensive ones did not cost a dime more than twenty-five. Adding to her fan base was the fact that Asbelmy was the only one to have a dark chocolate variant on offer, something which her rivals simply couldn’t match in quality. Alba claimed her mother’s confections were made from sustainably grown and outsourced cocoa powder by her cousins in Sameria (also unlike present-day), the realm of the east.
As Kanselia had turned to wave hello to Alba, she noticed the copper strands glow red in heat and a stubby metal tube, supposedly the exhaust tip concealed neatly within them. And when she turned ahead, she dropped in the conversation just at the right time.
‘How does this dish out one-fifty horsepower?’ Marcus was asking. As far as Kanselia could recollect, the best of cars from his magazines topped off at two-thousand-ish horsepower, and what essentially was a flying broom making one-fifty was something worth knowing about.
‘Efficiency.  Does more with less,’ Mr. Wilson explained, ‘Igneus-fueled powertrains are upto eighty-four percent energy efficient, so more thrust on tap. Impressive, if you ask me given the best IC engines of the past only managed upto forty five.’
‘So what about---’ Marcus began. Apparently, his magazines did not cover over-complicated broomsticks.
‘The remaining fourteen percent? Ha! You remind me of my parents when I missed out on a mark or two in a test. The SL series was the first to feature an Energy Recovery System, long for ERS in a broom. The copper strands at the back absorb the heat from the exhaust and relay it back to the powertrain. Sort of like an MGU-H used in the past, minus the motors and engines.’
Kanselia sensed a few dots connect in her mind, but failed to pinpoint on them.
A few minutes later, they passed by Brayla’s Ring Road, a four-road junction named after Brayla Archeletta, the first woman to win five consecutive Veratius Grand Dueler’s Tournament, a once in a decade event in both singles and doubles. Kanselia had idolized her as her role model; until she had retired from dueling and became an historian. Rumors had it that she foresaw a strange vision and couldn’t focus on dueling anymore.
There wasn’t much to the junction, apart from a life-sized statue of Hephaestus, the Greek god of the forges where the four tangential paths converged into a circular ring, like a shuriken. Having seen the marble statue about to hit a piece of metal with a ball peen hammer for her entire life, she didn’t bother much about it also for (a) She was about to have Greek & Roman Mythology as a subject next year (History that doesn’t exist, really?) (b) She did not have a taste for glorified egomaniacal men serenading women in every opportunity.
Little did she realize she had zoned out again. This time, she had missed upon a discussion on MGU-K’s and how racing drivers loathed it for its unreliability.
‘…V12’s sound better,’ Marcus was commenting.
‘Oh boy, you bet they did, quite literally,’ Mr. Wilson lamented, ‘Wish they were a bit easy on the emissions.’
Before they could pull up another topic to speak and leave Kanselia to daydream, they were already in Mantegna Street, a humble cobblestoned lane branching off from the main roads, flanked by two quaint houses on either side. It led straight to Tatiana’s Park, named after the Ashwoods’ grandmother (long story) which was like Brayla’s Ring Road, albeit for much smaller lanes.
The broom slowed down, and it took a while for the girl to realize it was also lowering down at the same time. Marcus leaped off before it came to a halt and almost stumbled on the streets, but quickly recovered and flashed his signature grin to cover it up.
But their neighbors Matteo and Fosca, with their three month old son Tommi had already seen his goof-up and smiled (Tommi in his mother’s hands had a wholesome laugh). The couple had moved to Volcania from Astrapollius, capital of Keravnos, just two months ago.  Both were hardly at home for Fosca was a nurse at the town’s infirmary and Matteo was a member in Volcania’s defense crew, leaving little Tommi in their custody but when they were,  they were the sweetest people Kanselia could hang out with.
But soon, Tommi began to wail and the couple had to go indoors.
As for Kanselia, Mr. Wilson lowered the broom further, so she debarked with far more dignity than Marcus had.
‘Why don’t you join us along? It’s tea-time,’ Kanselia offered as she straightened her robes, noticing that Mr. Wilson didn’t seem like getting off the broom.
The battle master glanced at their house, and then met Kanselia’s eyes with the slightest visible sign of concern. She had noticed that expression a few times during their detention, but much like the previous instances couldn’t locate the reason.
‘I don’t drink tea,’ a calm Mr. Wilson replied.
All Kanselia could manage was a weak smile as he swiveled his broom in a tight U-turn and twisted the key to its right. The SL-150’s whine got louder, as though it had a speaker playing a soundtrack of a scalded cat scream in super slow motion. Its front end rose upward, the screen displayed a few more info graphics, and soon red embers escaped the exhaust tip. Mr. Wilson smiled at her before setting off in blinding speed, blackening the cobblestoned road with a long, comet-trail sized patch of Igneus dust.
The twins gazed at their (soon-to-be) teacher darting through the sky till they could no longer see the broom’s tail, which now spew a trail of white flame in its wake. For one odd moment, Kanselia was reminded of the black horse’s eyes from the detention but a part of her snapped her out, with a notion that the name Dolly did not suit it.
‘Man, race-spec brooms are hella cool,’ Marcus said, wringing an imaginary throttle. He was comparing them to the usual school brooms that they weren’t allowed to ride, given their house’s proximity to the school. School brooms were elongated pairs of brooms, connected with a central shaft for the driver resembling a wonky ‘H’. Some got roofs and body shells (Kanselia’s school didn’t offer those), but all shared one thing in common: Speed. All were limited to 40 mph or less for ‘safety reasons’.
Kanselia did not require any evidence to realize that her brother wanted the broom. But when she noticed the blisters in his arm were burn marks under the lamp lights, she did need some.
‘Your hand is burned.’
‘Thanks for the diagnosis,’ he replied, ‘told ya, you are hot.’
He then paused for a brief second to see his hand before getting back to riding his own imaginary SL-150.
While Kanselia knew their mother won’t be buying him a broom any (birth) day soon, she secretly wished he had one.
In complete silence, the two walked upto their house, much like the others sharing the street with only a nameplate to set it apart. It was a two storied house with a roof steeped towards a side and a humble chimney atop it.  While other houses nameplates read out the owners’ names, the Ashwoods’ read ‘The Ashwoods,’ followed by a tiny scribbled subscript:
Ashwoods Research Centre, Head Quarters
An even tinier subscript, courtesy Kanselia, said:
Beware the ridiculous, inside
For Mr. Doofus aka Marcus, resides
A nerdy madman promising harm
Oh visitor, for your wellness I warn.
Marcus walked up to the lacquered Flarewood-finished door and knocked in a very particular pattern.
Three long taps.
One short. Two long.
Another short tap.
One long and followed by one short.
It was Morse for ‘Open’. While Kanselia was initially against this over-complication co- developed by Marcus and his friend George Smith, she stopped complaining when she mastered it faster than her brother did. As for the notes, the twins used their palms for the long taps and knuckles for those short. 
The door, which Kanselia was thankful for not being glorified with a codename yet, was one of Marcus’s many stupid tricks albeit one of the lesser stupid ones in his spectrum of inventions. This one was less stupid, thanks to some of their mother Trecia’s magical touches. She made it possible to open the door only if the door were knocked in the right pattern, either outside or inside (to make it less awkward for occasional guests). Three wrong tries and Marcus’s upcoming secret project would blow up from the visitors’ feet.
All of Kanselia’s worries faded away when she saw Ruddy, their six month old rescued puppy nestled quietly against one edge of the couch. Their mother greeted them with a warm smile, impossible to not replicate.
That is, until Marcus became Marcus.
In one inelegant pirouette, he swirled around one heel and flung his bag straight at poor Ruddy, which dashed to Trecia’s feet and whimpered.
‘Oopsey.’ Marcus commented.
In one elegant pirouette, Kanselia swirled around one heel and bashed her bag against his head. By no chance was Marcus going to make it out without falling.
And he did not.
‘Aaargh!’ Kanselia hollered.
‘Powerful,’ she heard Marcus mutter before she saw black.
She did everything Marcus should have, from shrieking with pain, feeling dizzy and then to be called out by her mother.
‘Kanselia, what did I tell –,’ her mother began, but stopped. She then approached to Kanselia, with her eyes fixated on her chest.
‘What happened dear?’ She asked, dropping her voice to the gentlest tone Kanselia knew.
‘Nothing,’ Kanselia grumbled, not knowing where to begin from. Part of her wanted to start from Marcus’s sketch which in essence was the cause behind everything she had faced that day.
Trecia smiled, and placed her hands on the wounds. Kanselia closed her eyes to best feel the warm, tingling but pleasant sensation running though her body. Though she could still sense the wounds contracting and expanding with her breath, the pain subsided to non-existent; it was nothing new to her, given her mother was in addition to being the town’s chief, also its infirmary’s chief medic. But when Trecia repeated for her shoulder, she felt as though glass shards were impaled in her wound and the young girl couldn’t help but holler in pain.
‘Can’t be…’ Her mother muttered, holding back from revealing anything more.
Something had to worse enough to unsettle even Trecia, who had experience with almost every injury. Kanselia could not decipher which side of her mother, town chief or medic was worried more but she had a gut feeling it could be both.
‘…Mah man George?’ Marcus finished.
It was him, the Ashwoods’ Research Centre’s co-founder (and Kanselia’s worst nemesis) standing at the doorstep with the same maniacal grin Marcus had.
‘Why does he know the code?!’ Kanselia yelled. Ruddy, though a bit hesitant at first on seeing Kanselia in her rudest, teamed and barked as loud as it could at his friend alias their common enemy. The previous week, George had added crushed chili powder in its dog food and raw lime juice with its water, making it fear eating for an entire week.
‘Oh dear lady, is that how you welcome our guest and co-founder of our research centre?’
‘Duly.’
‘Grrrr…’ Ruddy approved.
Kanselia collected the puppy in her arms, which licked her in happiness and walked towards her room, unwilling to deal with two nuisances at once.
Just as she had begun, she regretted remembering that she had to share her room with her brother and whatever peace she had was going to be short-lived. Had it not been for one of his heroic failures, she wouldn’t have had to put up with him, who had now begun to claim it as his research centre’s branch.
Her worry was not missed by Trecia, who despite being tense about her shoulder cut, managed to smile.
‘A week more and his room should be fixed,’ she said.
‘Yeah ma, not cool for four straight weeks,’ Kanselia grumbled.
She wanted to smile, but chose against doing so. It had been a whole month since he had blasted his room with his ‘project’ and she had to deal with his sleepwalks where would pace in circles in her room in the dead of the night.
Once in her room, she stopped thinking about Marcus and pondered about the day, blankly staring through the window at the full moon. Its glow bathed her room, finished in a warm sunset yellow paint with orange painted tendrils of fire snaking towards the ceiling. Her brother labeled them as witches’ hair suspended in zero-gravity.
All of a sudden, she was reminded of the worst part of the day- Dolly. She anticipated a pair of ruby red eyes to flare out of nowhere and hear its cold voice again.
‘The time shall arrive…’ It had warned.
But why her? She failed to remember any wrongdoing. Yes, she did slide a few spiders in Marcus’s bag the previous week (to which his reaction was pure comedy gold) but then he had woke up her with the stench of a dead lizard the preceeding day too. And why weren’t other kids from Volcania greeted by creepy horses with creepier warnings for mischief?
As she started to wonder about the rest of the day, she could feel the pain sear in her wound, to an extent where she almost cried. She did her best to not startle the neighborhood, in particular Tommi, and turned away from the window only to notice a wide grin fading to concern.
‘Bow?’ Marcus uttered, with his hands outstretched, ready to make her scream if she already hadn’t felt like doing so.
Kanselia managed a weak smile as Ruddy barked to remind him how an actual one sounded.
‘All okay? Don’t suppose mom’s making onion soup tonight,’ He implored, offering his hand for Ruddy to lick. The pup sniffed it with suspicion, but began soon to play and gnaw his index finger with its half-grown molars.
Kanselia sank in her bed, unsure whether to respond or hold back and peered out the room’s window, half-anticipating for her cut’s pain to shoot up again.
‘How did the first one disappear?’ Kanselia began, interrupting a tussle between him and Ruddy for a glass jar with a grayish-black powder in it. Under normal circumstances, she may have likened that for being cute.
‘You mean Draggy?’ He asked back, ‘Everything just turned black ‘n poof, it’s gone.’
‘Draggy…’ Kanselia sighed.
‘That thing whatever it was, clearly hated wind tunnels.’
Kanselia almost felt happy for their mother Trecia to enter the room before she could over think about the moment again.
‘Hey there munchkins! Made some sweet onion soup for ya,’ she announced.
Kanselia exchanged a glance with Marcus.
‘Wasn’t it going to be tomato soup with pizza?’ he asked, visibly not in favor of the dinner, partly because onion soup was Kanselia’s favorite.
‘Pizzas for dinners…not the healthiest choice around but maybe we’ll do that someday, or some night.’
As the three had their dinner, Ruddy huddled near Kanselia’s knees with its share of dog food. She accompanied the dog by sitting on the floor next to it, just so she could give it a few scratches as they ate.
‘So, how did the day go?’ Trecia asked, breaking the air of silence with another cheery smile.
‘Perfect,’ Kanselia thought. She began to sip her soup faster, despite almost scalding her tongue to make a dash for her room.
But to be faster than Marcus, she had to count her blessings which she doubted to go beyond one by the name Ruddy.
‘So, there is this wingless winged thingy with the worst drag coefficient you’ll ever see, maybe like .8 or something, worse than our school brooms…swooping down and doing what it did to Kanselia,’ He narrated rolling his eyes at Kanselia, piling his own details wherever he could (i.e., everywhere), ‘…And another pony later in our detention, which witnessed your boi’s signature double roundhouse kick and whimpered away to who knows where. Was cuter than the first though, will give it points for that.’
Kanselia, for once thankfully, busied herself with the soup and zoned out of his narrative, which somehow calmed her paining arm. If anything deserved a trademark TM, Kanselia thought, it would be her mother’s magic (and not her brother’s Research Centre). Also on her wishlist was a good partner for Marcus, to not screw storytelling as a grandparent.
‘Pony…’ Trecia recollected. She glanced for a brief moment in Kanselia’s direction, to which the girl pretended as though not paying heed to.
‘Yep, a horned one at that. Doubt was a unicorn though, b’coz those thangs are all cheery ‘n hippy,’ Marcus filled in, ‘And after facing my wrath, it cast these pink disco tiles wherever it stepped in air.’
Kanselia noticed her mother’s eyes widen with a sense of realization, but that was all she could bear for one day. She had enough confusing expressions, amongst strange encounters and a stupid detention.