Boxing. It was one of those things that you just picked up in your life. Well, not really. There were people who made whole careers out of training, working out, and honing their boxing skills. They were masters of the craft who excelled at making the art look easy and punishing. After all, anyone could ball up a fist but not everyone knew how to dish it out. It was a skill that was hard sought after and few took the care and patience to truly understand and grasp its basics.

In the All-American Eagle Gym located on the corner of Tenth and Twenty-Ninth, was a gym for everyone, but mainly for those who truly wanted to get into shape. It wasn’t full of lunks who were trying to judge everyone who was trying to get something done with their lives and it certainly wasn’t a Curves where circuit training. It was a red-blooded, American gym with a sections for cardio, weightlighting, and, towards the back, a section dedicated solely to boxing.

A large ring towards the back served as the perfect backdrop for this section. In the ring was an experienced fighter, geared up, holding his hands up as a younger student was hopping around him, trying to get a blow in that wouldn’t result in a pop to the eye. A coach shouted orders from ring side, instructing the kid to his faults and his good moves. Along the rest of the room, other boxers were training against sandbags, speed training, taping up their fists, and so forth. At one particular punching bag, near a window, stood a rather towering figuring.

Booker B. Bookamn, librarian for the New York Public Library, certainly didn’t look like his namesake. He was an Adonis of a man with a densely muscular body, disheveled sandy hair, and a five o’clock shadow across his chiseled chin and cheeks that gave him a scruffy, devil-may-care look. His jade green eyes were focused entirely on the punching back in front of him as he delivered a black and gold covered boxing glove into the material with a rapid succession of jabs. Sweat dotted his fears, rolling down his neck, and soaking the very loose comic themed tank-top showcasing one of his favorite heroes, General USA’s insignia.

Loose black shorts covered his lower half and his bright black and neon blue sneakers adorned his feet, planting his stance perfectly as he bobbed and weaved around invisible strikes and lashed out at the punching bag again. Booker was by no means an expert but the work out was exactly what the man needed right now.

Truth was that Booker had been a little stressed with work lately. His latest librarian co-worker, Lisa, had been an absolute pain in the butt. A new transfer from a different library, the older, skeletal woman with the glasses took all the fun out of working in the library. She had a one-track mind and was unyielding with the rules of the establishment which needed to be accommodating on a case-by-case basis. Over all, Booker didn’t like working with her and hoped that she would find the library to be not up to her style and she would move on. But, until then, he had a punching bag to take his frustrations out on.

Delivering another punch with his strong arms that send the bag jiggling awkwardly, Booker sighed as he straightened up. Marching over to a nearby bench, he picked up his squeeze bottle of water, held it up, and took a sip. Just a quick drink, though, he needed to get back to the matter at hand. Namely, making this bag suffer…

Svetlana went out of her way to not fall into any recognizable patterns. It was a survival technique; changing where she shopped, where she ate, and where she worked out made sure she was harder to track down, follow, or anticipate. Technically, she could have just worked out at one of Haven's fine establishments for wellness and self-improvement, but she still enjoyed the anonymity of visiting random gyms around the city, checking out how they looked, what equipment they had, and mostly, who went there to work out. It was a holdover from her days as a vigilante.

Today, she ventured into the All-American Eagle Gym, a place that was famous for how seriously its clientele took working out - and also for the boxing ring and equipment included in their setup. Svetlana was not a trained boxer, as much as a self-trained bare knuckle fighter, but it was always good to spar with random strangers, and measure her skills earned in her line of work (and from some training with Sam) against their experience.

The blonde woman walked into the gym with a determined stride. She had had experiences before with dudes who did not appreciate a woman in their space, or quite the opposite, spent their time leering at her and making lewd comments. The best defense against that was to look like she knew what she was doing, and take no bullshit from anyone. Sveta was dressed in loose boxing shorts and a red tank top; a little on the nose, maybe, but just bold enough to be a warning. Her hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, and she dropped her backpack on the bench before she set to wrapping her hands. There were some bags free, but the ring was taken. No matter; she was here to get a good workout. Sparring was merely a plus.

As she worked on the wrappings, she watched the guy nearby go to town on one of the bags. He was quite pleasant to look at; Sveta appreciated the view as much as the next gal, and smirked as she watched not only his looks, but also his moves. He knew what he was doing, but every once in a while his frustration slipped.

"Rough day at work?" she ventured, once she was done with her preparations, pulling an arm across her chest to loosen up her shoulders. The guy looked like he really needed to punch something. Repeatedly.

Okay, so maybe he was going a little too hard on the punching bag. But the truth was that the gym was the perfect place to work out frustrations like this. It was as if the bad feelings and frustrations just seeped out of one’s body, along with the sweat from each and every pore. It was cathartic and punching a bag full of sand was far better than an actual person who could bleed and sue you for wrongful assault (even if it was TOTALLY justified). But Booker realized that it was best he start taking things a little slower lest he end up bruising his hand or stepping wrong. Then he would have to call off work and the place would suffer enough with Lisa there by herself. Bleh!

Retrieving his bottle of water from a nearby bench, Booker sighed as he took careful sips from it, allowing only a little in each time in order to ensure that he didn’t get water logged. He still had some sets to do before he could call it quits for the day, return home, and just allow himself to melt back into his couch, strumming a tuneless song on his ukulele.

However, Booker’s attention would be interrupted by the voice of another.

>> "Rough day at work?"

Turning his head, he found a young woman, close to his age, with skin of alabaster and golden honey hair. She was clearly dressed to get a workout in. Comfortable attire, her hands were being wound up with tape. She looked ready to rock n’ roll, honestly. It was a safe bet, asking about his day at work, as it was a blanket reason for most anyone’s frustrations. With a smirk on his own lips, the man gently nodded his head.

”That obvious?” he asked. His voice was low but had an impish like tingle to it that warned anyone listening to him that he was trouble. ”Damn. And here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

A chuckled danced off of his lips. Just a glance to his expression showed that his mood was already beginning to lighten considerably. Turning, he sighed as he took a seat on his bench, extending his cooldown time by a little bit before he headed back out onto the floor. He took another sip of water as he glanced over to the woman as she continued to prepare for her own workout.

”New to the neighborhood?” he asked, tilting his head. ”I come here often enough. I definitely would have remembered you.”

>>”That obvious? Damn. And here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

Sveta chuckled too. There was a mischievous glint in the man's eyes, both a telling sign and maybe a warning, but he seemed a happy-go-lucky type of person, even with the frustrations from work. And he was not making any lewd comments or cheesy pick-up lines. Yet.

"If you were trying to hide it, you'd be at home." she shot back, continuing her stretching routine.

>>”New to the neighborhood? I come here often enough. I definitely would have remembered you.”

"I switch gyms a lot" she shrugged, rolling her shoulders "I heard about dis one but never visited before. I thought, maybe it's worth a try." she smirked, and nodded towards the bag that had been thoroughly beaten up by the guy just minutes ago "They have things to punch."

And guys to look at. Sveta did not usually engage in this latter activity, but she was also not immune to eye candy, especially when it wanted to have a conversation.

Booker, despite some of his initial shyness, could be a talker depending on the person he was interacting with. If it was someone who was just giving him one word responses, grunts, or other various sounds for replying, the man would usually just raise his eyebrows and casually go back to whatever task he was doing. But in the case of someone who was interesting, who wanted to interact, it was a natural way to get the man to start talking.

>> "If you were trying to hide it, you'd be at home."

He had commented that he had been trying so hard to hold back his frustrations but the smart young woman nearby had immediately found the plot holes to his M. Night Shyamalan movie of a response. She had called him out, stating that if he had truly been wanting to hide his emotions then he certainly wouldn’t be out of his home, laying into a punching bag, knocking the ever living stuffing out of it with each and every single blow. Cleary he was dealing with a woman with a sharp mind and he had to give her props for that.

He paused. He nodded his head. Smirked. Then lifted his water bottle up towards her in respecting salute. ”Touche,” he defeated in an impressed manner.

This was entertaining, to say the least. However he had to wonder about this woman. Booker possessed a photographic memory, a curse in some respects but a boon in other. He knew most of the regulars who attended this gym, at least by face, and this woman was a complete mystery to him. However she moved and prepped like a practiced fighter so it wasn’t so strange to ask if she was new to the area.

>> "I switch gyms a lot…I heard about dis one but never visited before. I thought, maybe it's worth a try…They have things to punch."

”Hah. Now who’s having a rough work day?” He grinned to her response about having things to punch. In truth not everyone needed to have problems in order to let loose on a punching bag but it certainly helped to get the blood flowing. That was just his opinion though.

He eyed the woman for a second, smiling a little sheepishly at her; this conversation was nice. He started to stretch out his hand to shake hers, but midway through he had forgotten about the overly sized mitts he was wearing. The boxing gloves didn’t make for the best form of greeting so instead he opted for awkward little wave that was reminiscent of a toddler waving goodbye to their friends with giant snow gloves on. It was an adorable sight, to say the least.

“Booker,” he said mysteriously. He then rolled his eyes at himself and shook his head before he clarified. ”I mean, my name. It’s Booker.” She could give her name or not, he wouldn’t be offended either way.

>>”Hah. Now who’s having a rough work day?”

Sveta smirked and rolled her eyes. For once, her work days were actually pretty enjoyable. And relaxing. Haven - or rather, Devon - had a way of making her feel useful without being shot at, used as a battery, or put in mortal danger by anti-mutant fanatics. It was a nice change of pace, and came with a lot less frustration to work out.

No, she was not here today to punch things out of anger. But Haven or no Haven, Sveta was proud of her skills, and she did not want to get rusty in any of them.

The guy gave her a little wave with his boxing glove, and Sveta chuckled as she put on her own.

>>“Booker. I mean, my name. It’s Booker.”

"Svetlana" she nodded, in a way of introduction. Hand shakes were out of the question, of course, but that did not mean she could not be polite. Even with the gloves on, contact would...

... contact would what, now?

Sveta blinked in surprise as she picked the other glove off the bench. She was standing fairly close to the guy, not enough to be overly personal or uncomfortable, but still... she noticed a sudden change, a kind of radio silence that took over from her usual background buzz. A stillness she had not felt for a long time, but instantly recognized.

"... huh." she arched an eyebrow at the guy. Sure, adapteds had no reason to come with tags or warnings, but they were so rare, she had only ever run into one. Other than... this guy. Sveta held up her free hand and wiggled her fingers. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be... normal. "Neat."

He introduced himself. To be honest Booker wasn’t quite expecting a response back. Normally whenever he introduced himself, it was quickly met with an “I have a boy/girlfriend!” or “Oooh, wanna go someplace private?” The librarian was happy to see that neither of those seemed to be the responses he would be subjected to. The blonde woman had rolled her eyes and laughed at his earlier comment and, upon receiving his name, responded in kind. That made the man smile good naturedly. He liked it when people were open to meeting others and not simply trying to get something from the other. That was what society was really lacking these days, wasn’t it?

But back to the matter at hand. Svetlana. That was decidedly an unusual name for him to hear. It wasn’t impossible but it definitely added to the fact that the woman was from an ethnicity that he wasn’t one-hundred percent sure on. He suspected somewhere around Europe or Russian, but it would be rude to ask right off the bat. Maybe he would research in his time off later, in the meantime, he offered the young woman a brilliant smile and a nod of his head.

”Svetlana,” he echoed. ”I definitely won’t forget that.”

Standing up, to his impressive height, Booker prepped to get back into the swing of things. He loosened his muscles, he rolled his neck, and he hit his two gloves against one another so that he could psych himself up. However, in the process of doing so, he found that his new friend, Svetlana, seemed to be wrapped up in a perplexing mystery. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. She was standing now, a little bit closer to him than when she was sitting, and seemed confused for some reason.

>> "... huh… Neat."

He arched his eyebrows. She seemed to be utterly dazzled by her own fingers as she wiggled them around in front of her gaze. Booker watched her, wondering what was so interesting about all that, before the wheels started to click in his head. Oh great, was she high off her a**? He’d seen this behavior before from certain individuals who wandered into the library, looking for a warm spot and/or a place to come down from their latest high. He sighed, somewhat disappointed that of course another junkie would find his way into his path. But, he was nothing if not helpful.

He gave her a small, compassionate smile. ”Are you okay?” he asked in a lower voice and took a step closer. ”Are you…like…on something right now? It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” he said quickly. ”But I have a couple of friends who work at rehab centers. I’m sure they can help you.”

>>”Svetlana. I definitely won’t forget that.”

Sveta rolled her eyes again, but chuckled none the less. Okay, so the guy was a flirt. Nothing she had not dealt with before... hell, she had been trained by Sam, and Sam would flirt with a chair if it looked pretty enough. On the other hand, this guy got her name right at the first try, which gave Sveta the suspicion that he was more than meets the eye. Which always surprised her with guys who could have gotten by on looks alone.

His powers, however... Sveta found herself momentarily distracted, and she only looked up when he was standing next to her, looking down with a look that she did not like at all. She had seen that look on people, back when she used to live on the streets.

>>”Are you okay? Are you…like…on something right now? It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. But I have a couple of friends who work at rehab centers. I’m sure they can help you.”

"What?..." she blinked, too surprised at first to grasp what he was referring to. On something?... She looked down at her hand, and finally realized what a strange sight she must have been, stepping into his aura and then instantly spacing out. Good job, Sveta.

She laughed a little, shaking her head.

"Oh, god, no, no" she waved her hand "I'm off something, actually... Do you" she hesitated, not sure what the polite way of asking someone about this was "... do you know, this effect? You have on people?"

Booker was used to dealing with the high and off-their-rockers before. The library was a public place, full of dark and warm corners. There have been moments where a particularly unobservant night crew would unwittingly lock a homeless person into the building overnight, only for him and his morning staff to find said individual sleeping soundly in periodicals with the weekly newspapers from across the country stretched out over him like a blanket. This, admittedly, was not a severe a situation as that but the it was safe to say that Booker B. Bookman knew exactly when he was dealing with someone who was high, and Svetlana seemed like she was high.

What else could he do but show compassion for his fellow human being, approach, and inquire if she was okay?

>> "What?..."

Dammit, was she too far gone for him to offer her any assistance? Odd considering that she seemed fully functional a second ago. Maybe he should direct her to one of the nearby benches and let management know so that they could deal with her appropriately. Either they would kick her out or take her to a back room to ride out the high until she was functioning enough to head home without getting herself killed.

But, even as these thoughts ran through Booker’s head, he could see that the woman had finally processed what it was he had asked, was shaken from her thoughts and began to laugh a little. He arched his other eyebrow, scrutinizing her, just to make sure that she wasn’t playing some kind of game with him but was glad to see that she did actually have her mental capacities.

>> "Oh, god, no, no…I'm off something, actually... Do you…do you know, this effect? You have on people?"

”Ahhh okay,” his smile continued.

He was still momentarily unsure of what she meant about being “off” something, though. Still, despite that, if he really looked at her, she have any other symptoms of being on any kind of drugs. She actually was quite pleasant. But it was then that she started to inquire about this effect that he has on people. His brow furrowed as he watched her, shifting legs and placing his gloved hands on his hips.

”Svetlana, forgive me if I’m wrong…” he started. ”But…is that some kind of really stretched out, long-way-around way of hitting on moi?” He placed a glove on his chest. He then gave her a smirk. ”You realize we just met, right?”

>>”Ahhh okay,”

Oh good. Misunderstanding cleared up, case closed. He must have known how his aura would affect mutants, but since she had no visible mutation, he had no way of telling, until she pointed it out. She imagined adapteds had these kinds of encounters all the time. Some were just jarder to notice than ot...

>>”Svetlana, forgive me if I’m wrong… But…is that some kind of really stretched out, long-way-around way of hitting on moi? You realize we just met, right?”

What. The what.

Sveta stopped laughing in order to stare at the guy, who obviously did not get what was going on after all. Hitting on him? Really?... Okay, so maybe he was used to getting by on looks alone... She looked him over, not sure what to say to the accusation for a few moments before she sighed.

"You don't know what you are, do you." Leave it to Sveta to have to break someone the news about her powers in her downtime... She put on the other glove as he mulled over her question. Hitting on him she was not, but maybe she could still hit him...

The way that she stared at him after his accusation was a little unnerving. It wasn’t so much that it made him scared or anything like that, it was more like he was being scrutinized so hard by the woman that he felt like a lab rat under the microscope of a pesky scientist. She was staring at him as if she were utterly confused about everything that made up his atomic structure. While before there were just the glances of everyday conversation, now Booker was finding himself a little uneasy by the staring. But why was she staring at him so hard?

Finally, seconds passed that felt like hours, and Svetlana seemed to find her voice. She was unsure of how to say what she wanted to say, but when she did, Booker found himself even more confused than he did before…

>> "You don't know what you are, do you."

…Okaaaaay. Now things were starting to get weird again. First he thought she was high, then he figured she was hitting on him, and now he was beginning to wonder about her mental state. Why did all the crazy ones have to be pretty. She really needed to make sure she didn’t leave the house without her tinfoil hat on. Booker was about to comment on this when he stopped himself. No, that wasn’t right…something in the back of his head was screaming at him that this was not the correct interpretation of what the woman was saying.

A deep sigh and he could feel his well-educated and sharp mind digging back through the conversation. They seemed find when they were talking on separate benches, but it was when she got up and stepped closer to him. What was it about that? Drawn by his good looks? Curious about him? The gap between them closed…he suddenly blinked. His mind connected puzzle pieces he didn’t think he would connect and the man realized exactly what was going on – she must have been a mutant. And if she were a mutant, then that mean that…

”Oooooooooh…” cautiously he looked from side to side as he stepped up closer to her in order to lower his voice. ”…you mean my…um…adaptable presence, I take it?”

For a moment, Sveta feared that she would have to spell it all out for him. He looked vaguely disturbed, and definitely confused, as he stared at her for long moments after she asked him the question. Did he really not know that he had an aura? Sveta assumed adapteds had to find out, just like mutants, what they were, and they needed chance encounters to do so... but still.

After what felt like hours, but was only a few moments, his eyes finally lit up as the pieces connected. Sveta sighed a small sigh of relief, immediately followed by a surprised blink as he stepped closer and lowered his voice. She was very much not used to having people in her personal bubble without an immediate sense of danger, and she had to remind himself that in this case, the danger was not there. Not from an accidental boosting of powers, anyway. She barely knew the guy after all.

>>”Oooooooooh…you mean my…um…adaptable presence, I take it?”

Adaptable?...

"Thank god you caught up" she smirked, nodding to his question "I was worried dere for a moment that you were going to call the cops or something..."

Now that that was cleared up, she finished putting on the other glove.

"No, I was not hitting on you. And yes, it is your aura. I can't... usually touch people, it's dangerous. I was just surprised when I suddenly felt normal."

It kind of just slipped out. Sveta knew better than to equate 'human' with 'normal', but there was no easy way to describe the sudden lack of a coffee buzz. She shrugged it off the next minute, not willing to dwell on semantics.

"Are you up for a real workout?"

>>"Thank god you caught up…I was worried dere for a moment that you were going to call the cops or something..."

Booker couldn’t help but let a soft chuckle escape from his throat. It was clear that he and this woman were finally on the same page. Truth be told that Booker still wasn’t entirely sure what he was. He had an idea, though, after running around the livecast that that woman, Gemma Taylor had down a few years ago. She had explained what adapteds were and, through her podcast, was able to get a bit of an understanding as to what he was. It was by no means a perfect answer but it did fit the mystery of his “luck” that followed him his entire life.

The fact that he realized this about himself seemed to appease Svetlana who commented that she was glad he knew and that she feared the cops were going to be called soon. Well, that was still an option he was keeping holstered just in case things went out of hand. He didn’t know this woman, after all, so it always paid to be on your guard.

”Cops? Naaah.W-Who would do something like that?” His slapped on, incredulous expression wouldn’t last more than a few seconds before he awkwardly looked away, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand.

>> "No, I was not hitting on you. And yes, it is your aura. I can't... usually touch people, it's dangerous. I was just surprised when I suddenly felt normal."

Well at least she cleared up that she wasn’t hitting on him. It took her a while to confirm that but it certainly did help to ease any awkwardness. It seemed that she was a mutant who couldn’t usually touch people and, though he didn’t touch her, being in his aura may have somehow affected her abilities. She felt “normal”. Booker was one of those people who never truly knew what people said when they said “normal” but he wasn’t going to call her out on that. He didn’t live her life, he didn’t have her powers, so really he couldn’t judge.

”Well, thank you for clearing that up.” He gave her a charming, beaming smile. Maybe it was time to cut this out before he put his foot in it again. So, assuring that his gloves were tight, Booker made ready to head off to continue his work out when the woman snagged his attention again.

>> "Are you up for a real workout?"

His head tilted towards her. He smirked as he watched her pull on the last of her gloves. She definitely seemed to have the confidence and some of the practices down. Hmm...

”Oh yeah?” he asked. Also, did this woman say anything that couldn’t be misunderstood as a pick-up line? ”I thought you said you weren’t hitting on me?” He teased with that same devilish twinkle in his eyes. Out of the corner of his vision, he caught the trainer and the two people in the ring begin finishing up their set. There was going to be an empty ring in a few minutes. He then smirked to her. ”I was kidding…you know? What did you have in mind?”

>>”Cops? Naaah.W-Who would do something like that?”

He was totally going to call the cops.
Sveta didn't really blame him. Junkie Russian blonde at the gym? No one could be expected to deal with that.

>>”Well, thank you for clearing that up.”

"Uh-huh." Sveta nodded with a smirk. He looked... almost surprised, that hitting on him had not been her main goal with the whole conversation. He must have been used to the opposite. Bless his heart. She had other things in mind - workout, mostly, and as they were both ready for it, she thought she might as well ask. It was always more fun, sparring with another person, rather than a bag of sawdust. Or maybe it was just what she was used to.

>>”Oh yeah? I thought you said you weren’t hitting on me?”

Sveta gave him a look that said seriously? with one arched eyebrow and a small frown. He was going to run that running joke straight into the ground.

>>”I was kidding…you know? What did you have in mind?”

"Well." she said with a smirk "We both have our boxing gear on, and the ring's about to open up, so I thought we might play Scrabble or something." she deadpanned. Not waiting for his reaction, she turned to climb into the ring, and only looked back once she made sure no one else was going to take it before she did. "Coming?"

For as charming and good looking and kind-hearted as Booker was, there was inevitable flaw in every polished, handsome face of armor. For Booker it was the fact that he didn’t always know when to let a joke drop. Really it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t doing it for the ego boost or to make someone feel like sh*t, he was doing it because it made them smile once so why not keep the smiling going? He liked it when people smiled. He liked humor. However there was such a thing as too much of a good thing, right? It was a lesson that Booker was still learning and, on occasion, needed to be corrected by.

Svetlana seemed over the fact that he figured she was hitting on him and merely gave him the hardest and most icy look that any woman could have given. While Booker towed that line of over-beating a dead horse, he knew damn well when to back off before it became a zombie. Right now, Svetlana was giving him that zombified horse look (…w-whatever that means) and he knew it was time to cut it out. So, he relented, bowing his head slightly as he explained that he was just teasing.

But, back to the matter at hand. She wanted to have a real workout. He noted that the she eyed the ring that was beginning to empty, the idea dawning on him on what she was suggesting. To be honest he was a little unsure of this. She was only about, what, 5’6 or 5’7, and he was a towering 6’2. The last thing he wanted was to hurt the poor girl, but considering that she came here of her own accord and knew the prep, it was clear she was experienced. Such prejudices were unwelcomed here so he voiced none of them.

Besides, he knew better than to assume that she wouldn’t be able to handle herself just because of her size. Hell, his sister was smaller than him and she had enough upper body strength to dip him while dancing! Plus, when he really pissed her off, she had a punch like a motherf—

>> "Well…We both have our boxing gear on, and the ring's about to open up, so I thought we might…play Scrabble or something."

As she began to explain her intentions, Booker smirked a little nodding his head, following the direction of her train of thought. However, once she revealed the faux-plan to play Scrabble instead, Booker placed his gloved hand over his heart, smirking and shaking his head.

”A-A-Ah-ouch.” he said, bending his knees a little to mime being injured but only bounced before straightening his legs again. ”First blood’s on you.”

>> "Coming?"

He chuckled as he followed her towards the ring. For a second he watched as she climbed in, waited, and then proceeded to climb in after her. There was an air of confidence about her that was more than striking. She definitely knew what she was doing in this ring so he was going to have to be on his guard. Once on, he sighed as he started to stretch out his limbs, twist his torso, and sigh as the muscles warmed and loosened even more. With a grin he turned back to face her, moving into a boxing position, gloves up, stance bent and loose.

He gave her a nod. ”Whenever you’re ready.”