Chapter 72: Trial 14 - Jaguars VS Salamanders
The villa held a new silence after Cesima’s departure. It wasn’t peaceful; it was the thick, heavy quiet of a chessboard after a major piece has been swept away. Alliances felt provisional, conversations were coded, and eyes tracked each other with fresh suspicion. The saltwater shower Rhomir took did little to wash the feeling of being a spared man. Spared, not saved. There was a difference, and it tasted like ash.
He needed air that didn’t smell of perfume, strategy, and regret.
The night beach was his sanctuary. The Atlantic’s constant, mindless roar was a purer thing than human scheming. He walked far from the villa lights, his bare feet sinking into the cool, damp sand near the waterline. The moon was higher now, a polished coin bleaching the world to shades of silver and charcoal. He followed the curve of the shore until the designated social beaches gave way to a more rugged stretch, where a small, shack-like mini-store, closed for hours, sat backed against a dune.
He was about to pass it when a sound sliced through the white noise of the waves. Not the wind. A gasp. Low, bitten-off, and unmistakably human.
Rhomir stopped. His predator’s stillness settled over him. The mini-store’s front was shuttered tight with a metal roll-down gate, but a side service door, often warped by the humid salt air, was ajar by maybe two inches. A sliver of deeper darkness. The sound came again, followed by a soft, wet smack and a low, feminine chuckle he recognized.
Elena EM.
His curiosity, a dry and rusted thing, creaked to life. He moved silently, the sand muffling his steps. He peered through the gap.
The interior was a cave of shadows, lit only by the moonbeams strafing through gaps in the roof’s corrugated metal. It smelled of stale sunscreen, cheap plastic, and dried seaweed. Shelves stood half-empty, awaiting the morning’s stock.
On a faded pool mattress someone had dragged into the center of the concrete floor, two women were entwined.
Nicola and Elena EM. Both utterly naked.
Nicola’s precious, hard-to-get armor was in a pile with her clothes. Her long blonde hair fanned out beneath her, a pale waterfall on the blue plastic. Her body was a study in elegant tension: small breasts tipped with tight, pale nipples, the dramatic curve of her fit, big round ass pressing into the mattress as she arched her back. Her narrow waist was cinched by the shadow where Elena EM’s arm wrapped around her.
Elena EM was atop her, her classy sociability transformed into something hungry and direct. Her above-average breasts pressed against Nicola’s smaller ones as she kissed her, not with softness, but with a consuming, open-mouthed intensity. One of Elena’s hands was tangled in Nicola’s hair, holding her head in place; the other was buried between Nicola’s thighs, the motion of her forearm a slow, deliberate pump.
Nicola’s eyes were closed, her sharp strategist’s face softened by pleasure, but a frown-line remained between her brows, as if she were mentally criticizing her own surrender. A low moan escaped her as Elena’s fingers worked her, the sound swallowed by their kiss. “Fuck… Elena…” Nicola breathed when she could, her voice raspy.
“You like that, you precious thing?” Elena murmured against her lips, her tone both affectionate and mocking. “You play so hard to get for the boys, but your pussy gets so fucking wet for me. It’s dripping down my fingers.” She drew her hand up, glistening in a stray moonbeam, and smeared the wetness over Nicola’s lower belly.
Nicola gasped, her hips lifting off the mattress. “Don’t… don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? It’s true. You needed this after today. We all did. A little truth. A little feel.” Elena ducked her head, taking one of Nicola’s nipples into her mouth, sucking hard.
Rhomir watched, a slow, joyful smile spreading across his face. This was better than the ocean. This was life, raw and sneaky and defiantly pleasurable, happening in the ruins of the day’s ugliness. The spare man was now a spectator to a secret. His own cock, thick and heavy, began to stir in his shorts, pressing insistently against the fabric.
The decision was instantaneous and uncomplicated. He pushed the door open just enough to slide his muscular frame inside, the rusted hinge groaning a single, low note.
Two heads snapped toward the sound. Moonlight caught the widening of Nicola’s dark eyes, first in shock, then in blazing, incandescent fury. Elena EM merely lifted her head from Nicola’s breast, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips. She didn’t look surprised. She looked like she’d been expecting an audience.
“Room for one more?” Rhomir said, his voice a calm rumble in the confined space. He didn’t wait for an answer. His hands went to the waistband of his shorts, pushing them and his boxers down in one motion. He stepped out of them, kicking the fabric aside. He stood there naked, all 183 cm of muscular, battle-scarred imposition, his thick 20cm cock now fully erect, curving up against his abdomen. The blue eyes held their usual dry humour, but it was heated now, ignited by the spectacle.
“Get out,” Nicola hissed, trying to sit up, but Elena EM’s weight pinned her.
“Oh, relax, Nico,” Elena purred, tracing a finger around Nicola’s nipple. “It’s just Rhomir. He’s not a threat. He’s… ambient decoration.” She looked at him, her gaze dropping to his erection. “Impressive decoration, though.”
“He’s not staying,” Nicola said, her voice cold and final.
“The door’s right there,” Rhomir said amiably, stepping further in. The concrete was cool under his feet. “You’re welcome to use it. But you look pretty comfortable.” He moved toward them, his shadow falling over the mattress. “And you,” he said to Elena, “look like you could use a hand. Or something else.”
Elena laughed, a genuine, horny sound. “I was managing just fine. But I’m not opposed to an upgrade.” She shifted her weight, finally releasing Nicola, but only to roll onto her side, propping her head on her hand, a spectator now within the spectacle. Her fit, big round ass was a smooth curve in the dim light.
Nicola scrambled to a sitting position, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. A defensive fortress. “This is private. You’re invading.”
“Nothing’s private here, darling,” Rhomir said, still joyful, still moving closer. “That’s the first rule they don’t tell you.” He knelt on the edge of the mattress, the vinyl squeaking under his weight. He reached out, not for Nicola, but to brush a strand of Elena’s long black hair from her shoulder. His fingers trailed down her arm, a tactile appreciation. “You’ve got a survivor’s glow, EM. It’s attractive.”
“It’s called not being naive,” Elena said, arching into his touch. She was horny, and his direct, physical presence was a catalyst. The business proposition from the beach had left her wired, hungry for a less transactional touch.
Rhomir’s hand continued its exploration, cupping one of Elena’s big, round breasts, his thumb brushing over her nipple. She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. “That’s it,” he encouraged softly.
His other hand, however, snaked across the mattress toward Nicola’s hunched form. He aimed to rest it on the taut curve of her ass, just visible beside her folded legs.
He never made contact. Nicola’s arm shot out, her hand connecting with his wrist in a sharp, stinging slap. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Rhomir jerked his hand back, more in surprise than pain. He laughed, a short, exhaled sound. “Feisty. I like it.” He returned his full attention to Elena, leaning in to kiss her. It was a deep, consuming kiss, all tongue and heat, a deliberate performance for Nicola’s benefit. Elena met him eagerly, her hands coming up to grip his broad shoulders, her nails digging in.
While he kissed Elena, his hand ventured back toward Nicola, this time aiming for the back of her thigh, hoping the dual sensation would distract her.
Smack.
Her palm connected with the back of his hand, hard. “I said no.”
He broke the kiss, his joyful demeanor unshaken. “You’re missing out,” he said, his voice a little rougher. He turned back to Elena. “On your hands and knees. Now.”
Elena, eager and compliant, moved instantly. She got onto all fours, presenting her ass to him, looking back over her shoulder with a lust-hooded gaze. “She’ll watch. They always watch.”
Rhomir positioned himself behind Elena, his thick cock nudging at her folds. She was already soaked, her wetness gleaming. He gripped her hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her big round ass. He didn’t tease. He pushed forward, burying himself inside her in one smooth, powerful stroke.
“Oh, God!” Elena cried out, her head dropping forward. “Yes! Fuck, that’s it!”
He set a deep, rhythmic pace immediately, his muscular hips driving into her with a solid, regular impact. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, wet and resonant, filled the little store. Rhomir kept his eyes open, watching Nicola.
Nicola had unfolded slightly. She still sat hugging her knees, but her head was turned, her dark eyes fixed on the point where Rhomir’s body joined Elena’s. Her lips were parted. Her breath was coming faster. She was trying to maintain her grumpy, aggressive disdain, but the raw visual, the smell of sex, the sounds of Elena’s pleasure, were eroding her walls.
Rhomir saw it. He grinned. As he fucked Elena with steady, deliberate thrusts, he let his left hand drift from Elena’s hip, snaking across the small gap toward Nicola. This time, he moved faster. His fingers brushed the smooth, hot skin of Nicola’s ass cheek.
She flinched, but before she could slap him, he gave her a sharp, stinging slap with his open palm. Crack! The sound echoed.
“You bastard!” Nicola yelped, scrambling away, the red imprint of his hand flaring on her perfect globe.
Rhomir just laughed, a joyful, breathless sound as he pounded into Elena. “Just a pat, princess. A welcoming committee.”
He was relentless with Elena, his thrusts growing harder, faster. “You like being the stable one, don’t you, EM?” he grunted. “The one they fuck to make a point? The classy survivor?”
“Yes!” Elena wailed, pushing back against him ferociously. “Fuck your point into me! I can take it!” Her hand reached back, grasping his thigh, pulling him deeper.
During a particularly deep plunge, Rhomir saw his chance. He leaned over Elena’s back, his body pressing her down, and aimed his mouth at the elegant line of Nicola’s exposed neck. He ducked in, planting a hot, open-mouthed kiss just below her ear, his tongue flicking against her skin.
Nicola’s reaction was electric. She didn’t just slap him. She shoved him, hard, with both hands against his shoulder. “Get the fuck off me, you animal!” Her voice was a shrill snarl, all pretense of preciousness gone, replaced by feral anger.
Rhomir, still buried balls-deep in Elena, was rocked by the shove but didn’t dislodge. He chuckled against her neck before straightening up. “Tasty, though,” he quipped, returning to his fucking with renewed vigor, as if her anger were a fuel.
He gave up on her for a few minutes, focusing entirely on wrecking Elena EM. He drove into her with a punishing, focused intensity, changing angles, hitting depths that made her scream curses and prayers into the pool mattress. He hooked an arm under her belly, pulling her up onto her knees so her back was against his chest, his other hand flying around to rub her clit in rough, rapid circles.
“Come for me, you brilliant, manipulative cunt,” he growled in her ear. “Show your partner how it’s done.”
Elena shattered. Her orgasm racked her body, a series of violent convulsions that clamped around his cock like a pulsating fist. She threw her head back against his shoulder, her scream raw and unmodulated, the classy mask obliterated by pure sensation. “RHOMIR! FUCK!”
He rode her through it, his own pleasure coiling tight, but he held back. He had a new target.
As Elena’s climax subsided into twitching aftershocks, Rhomir gently withdrew from her. She collapsed onto her side, breathing in ragged, satisfied gasps, a slick sheen of sweat covering her body.
Nicola had watched the entire performance. Her aggressive posture had softened into something more like stunned fascination. Her legs were no longer locked tight against her chest. She was sitting back on her heels, one hand idly, unconsciously, tracing circles on her own thigh near her hip. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth slack. She was lost in the heat, the display, the raw power of it. The strategist was offline; only the animal remained.
Rhomir saw it. The moment of vulnerability.
He didn’t hesitate.
He moved with the silent, predatory grace of the jaguar his team was named for. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them. Before Nicola could register the shift, he was behind her. His hands, slick with Elena’s juices, gripped her narrow waist.
“Wha—?” was all Nicola got out before he maneuvered her.
He didn’t ask. He positioned her. He pushed her down so she was on all fours, mirroring Elena’s previous pose. Nicola, dazed and physically overpowered, offered a half-hearted resistance, a weak attempt to crawl forward. “No… stop…”
“Relax, Nico,” Elena purred from her spot on the mattress, her voice lazy and sated. She reached out and stroked Nicola’s blonde hair. “Just feel it. You know you want to.”
Rhomir spat into his palm, slicked his still-hard, glistening cock, and without any further preamble, pressed the broad head against Nicola’s tight, untouched back entrance.
She gasped, the shock clearing the lust-haze from her eyes for a second. “Not there! You fucking savage, not there!”
He ignored her. Applying steady, inexorable pressure, he began to push into her ass. The resistance was immense, a hot, gripping ring of muscle that fought him every millimeter. Nicola cried out, a sound of real pain and violation, her back bowing.
“Easy… easy…” Rhomir murmured, but there was no gentleness in it, only a hunter’s focus. He pushed until the tip popped past the inner ring, and then he slid deeper, sheathing half his length in her impossibly tight channel.
Nicola was swearing, a stream of furious, pained obscenities. “Get out! You’re tearing me, you piece of shit! I’ll kill you!” But her body, betraying her, was already adapting, the searing stretch transforming into a brutal, full sensation. Her fists were clenched on the mattress, her knuckles white.
Rhomir began to move, short, shallow thrusts, letting her adjust. His joy was palpable now, a dark thrill of conquest. “There we go… see? You can take it. You’re stronger than you look.”
After a minute of this, he pulled out entirely. Nicola sobbed in relief, but it was short-lived. He shifted his aim lower, to her soaked, neglected pussy. He plunged into her there, a deep, grounding stroke that filled the void his absence had left. Nicola groaned, a complex sound of fury and unwilling pleasure.
He established a brutal rhythm now, alternating between her two entrances. He’d fuck her pussy for three, four, five deep strokes, the wet, slapping sounds loud in the quiet, then he’d pull out and force his way back into her ass, stretching her open anew each time. It was a relentless, punishing cycle, a physical domination that broke down her final defenses.
“Stop… switching…” she begged at one point, her voice broken.
“Why?” he grunted, hilting himself in her ass, making her whimper. “You’ve got two perfect holes. Seems a waste not to use them both.” He leaned over her back, his mouth at her ear. “You’re not in control here, Nicola. Your strategy is fucking useless. All you can do is take my dick. And you are. So well.”
He fucked her harder, faster, the alternating rhythm becoming erratic, driven by his own rising peak. Her swearing had dissolved into gasped pleas and choked cries. Her body was responding, clenching around him involuntarily, whether in her pussy or her ass. She was, as he predicted, taking it.
Elena watched, one hand playing between her own thighs, enthralled by the degradation of her precious friend.
Rhomir knew he was close. With a final, grinding thrust deep into Nicola’s ass, he held there. He pulled out, his cock slick with a mixture of their fluids. He gripped Nicola by her hair, yanking her head back and twisting her body around.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice thick and ragged.
Tears streaked Nicola’s face, mixed with sweat and sand. Fury blazed in her dark eyes, but it was a helpless fury. Exhausted, over-stimulated, physically dominated, she had no alternative. Her lips, painted with a sneer, parted slightly.
“Wider,” he growled.
She obeyed, opening her mouth in a grimace of defeat.
Rhomir aimed his throbbing cock at her face. With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the flimsy walls of the store, he came. Thick, hot ropes of his release shot onto her tongue, over her teeth, spattering the inside of her cheeks. He painted her mouth with it, ensuring she tasted him, ensuring she was marked by his finish. Jet after jet, until he was spent.
He released her hair. Nicola coughed, gagged, but didn’t spit it out. She swallowed convulsively, her aggressive, grumpy facade completely collapsed into a state of shamed, used submission. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at him with pure, unadulterated hatred, but a hatred she was powerless to act upon.
Rhomir stepped back, his breath slowly returning to normal. He looked down at the two women: Elena EM, horny and satisfied, watching with a languid smile; Nicola, aggressive and grumpy, but definitively, physically conquered.
He felt a surge of pure, uncomplicated joy. The spare man was no longer just spared. He had taken something. He had reclaimed agency in the most primal way possible.
He pulled on his shorts, not bothering with his boxers. He looked at them both, his blue eyes crinkling with that dry, infuriating humour.
“Ladies,” he said, with a nod. Then he turned and walked out of the mini-store, leaving them in the moonlit dark, the taste of him lingering in the salt air.
The Atlantic’s roar welcomed him back. It sounded different now. It sounded like applause.
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Island's Beach club, at night.
=====
Island's Beach club, at night.
The thump of bass was a physical pulse in the humid air, a world away from the moonlit silence Rhomir had left behind. Colored lights sliced through cigarette smoke and the gleam of sweat-slicked skin. The open-air club was a throbbing organ of release, where the day’s brutal calculus could be drowned in cheap rum and cheaper connections.
Arman pushed through the crowd, his superficial confidence radiating like a personal force field. He’d heard the Beavers were imploding, the Parrots were mourning, and the Jaguars? The Jaguars were celebrating Rhomir’s narrow survival. That meant opportunity. His dark eyes scanned for a specific combination of influence and beauty, his preferred currency.
He found them at a corner booth that had become an island of escalating chaos. Emilia, Daria, and Madalina. Three Jaguars, three different types of dangerous. Empty glasses littered the table, each bearing the neon residue of tropical cocktails.
“Ladies!” Arman announced, sliding into the booth uninvited, his talkative nature on full display. “Celebrating not being on the shit-end of Dariana’s little verdict? Smart. You should be.”
Emilia turned her tanned, deceivingly sweet face toward him, her dark eyes glittering with calculated warmth. “Arman. We’re celebrating having one less weak link to carry.” Her words were slightly slurred, the classy precision softened by alcohol. “Rhomir is… useful. Unlike some.”
Daria snorted, swirling her drink. Her sporty, competitive edge was amplified, a fierce glow on her face. “Useful is a fucking understatement. That man is a cornerstone.” She looked Arman up and down, a predator assessing. “What do you want?”
“To party,” he said simply, flagging a waiter for a bottle of tequila and four fresh glasses. “You look like you’re leading the charge. I’m enlisting.”
Madalina, the model, laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. She was already swaying to the music, her fun-oriented personality dialed to eleven. “He’s pretty! And he brought better drinks! I vote he stays.”
The tequila arrived. Arman poured shots, salt, limes. The ritual was fast and brutal. One shot. Two. Three. The alcohol burned through restraint, melting the careful layers of strategy and tribe loyalty into a simpler, hotter need.
Arman watched it happen. He saw Emilia’s brilliant manipulative gaze grow hazy with true, uncalculated ecstasy. He saw Daria’s thirst for domination morph into a thrilled, physical hunger. He saw Madalina’s cheerful party energy become a focused, greedy cheer.
The music swallowed their words. Communication became touch. A hand on a knee under the table. A whisper against a neck that turned into a lick of salt from skin. Madalina stood up, pulling Emilia with her. “Dance!” she yelled, her hips already grinding to the beat.
They danced together, a triad of stunning, drunken women, their movements becoming less for the crowd and more for each other, for the heat building between them. Arman watched, a greedy smile spreading. He joined them, his hands finding narrow waists, sliding over fit, round asses clad in thin fabric.
It was Daria who made the first definitive move. Drunk and thrilled by her own boldness, she grabbed the hem of her own tight dress and pulled it up and over her head, tossing it into the dark beyond the dance floor. She stood in just a thong, her medium breasts and famously big, round ass on display under the strobe lights, a challenge in her dark eyes. “Too hot!” she shouted, though the night was cool.
That was the fracture point.
Emilia, lost in ecstatic abandonment, giggled and mimicked her, peeling off her own top and shorts. Madalina, cheerful and competitive, stripped faster, until all three stood nearly naked in the thrashing crowd, a spectacle of tanned skin, sweat, and defiant beauty.
Arman’s greedy mood crested. He took his shirt off, then his pants. He stood before them in just his boxers, his average cock already a hard line against the cotton. “Your booth or mine?” he yelled over the music.
They didn’t answer with words. They converged.
Hands were everywhere. Emilia dropped to her knees before him, her cleverness gone, replaced by a single-minded desire. She yanked his boxers down and took his cock into her mouth with a moan of pure ecstasy. Her tongue swirled around the head, then she deep-throated him with a hungry, gagging enthusiasm that made his knees weak.
Daria and Madalina kissed beside him, a fierce, open-mouthed clash, their hands roaming each other’s bodies. Daria’s hand groped Madalina’s big round ass, while Madalina squeezed Daria’s famous glutes.
Arman fisted Emilia’s long brown hair, guiding her head on his dick. “Yeah, just like that, you smart fucking woman. Suck it like it’s the answer to every puzzle.”
He looked around. The club was a writhing mass; some watched, most were lost in their own worlds. Privacy was an illusion they had collectively shed. He pulled Emilia up by her hair. “On the bar. Now.”
The bartender had vanished, perhaps paid off, perhaps choosing discretion. Emilia scrambled onto the sticky wooden surface, lying back, her small breasts heaving, her fit round ass pressing into spilled liquor. Arman climbed up between her legs, pushing her thong aside. She was soaked, her folds glistening under the club lights. He positioned himself and pushed into her in one smooth, drunk, perfect stroke.
Emilia’s back arched, a cry of ecstasy torn from her lips. He fucked her on the bar, a hard, rhythmic pounding that made the bottles behind them rattle. Each thrust was a claim. Her legs locked around his waist, her nails scoring his back. She was lost, utterly consumed, her emotional intelligence vaporized by sensation. “Harder! Oh God, Arman, right there! Don’t stop!”
He grunted, pounding into her, watching her beautiful, deceiving face contort in real, un-faked pleasure. When he felt his climax approaching, he pulled out abruptly, his cock gleaming. “Not yet,” he panted.
He jumped down, leaving Emilia writhing on the bar. He turned to Daria, whose thrilled expression was now one of impatient lust. He didn’t speak. He grabbed her by the wrist and the back of her neck, spinning her and pinning her against a nearby concrete pillar. He kicked her legs apart with his foot.
“You like to dominate?” he growled in her ear, his hand fumbling between her thighs, finding her dripping wet. “Let’s see you take it.”
He drove into her from behind. Daria cried out, a sound of pure thrill, as he filled her. Her very big, round ass absorbed each powerful impact. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal ferocity. “Is that all you’ve got, pretty boy?” she taunted, her competitive fire blazing. “Fuck me like you mean it!”
He slammed into her, the force knocking the breath from her. He pounded her against the pillar, his hands gripping her narrow waist like handlebars. “You’re just a hole for my cock, Daria. A champion fucking hole.” His words were filthy, greed given sound. She loved it, her thrilled moans urging him on.
Again, he stopped before finishing. He withdrew, his body thrumming with denied release. Daria slumped against the pillar, breathing hard, a thrilled, satiated smile on her lips.
Madalina was waiting, cheerful and eager. She led him back to the bar, where Emilia still lay panting. “My turn,” Madalina sang, pushing Arman onto his back on the sticky wood. She straddled him, her average-sized breasts in his face, and guided his cock into her with a smooth, expert roll of her hips.
She rode him with a cheerful, energetic bounce, her fit big round ass slapping against his thighs. She leaned down, kissing him deeply, tasting of tequila and Emilia. “You’re a good party favor, Arman!” she giggled, increasing her pace.
Arman lay beneath her, a greedy king on a grimy throne. His hands groped her ass, then reached up to fondle Emilia’s breasts beside him. He was surrounded, consumed, the center of a drunken, violent universe of flesh.
The pressure became unbearable. He gripped Madalina’s hips, stilling her. “Off. All of you. On your knees. Now.”
They obeyed, sliding off the bar, staggering slightly, falling to their knees on the littered floor before him. Emilia looked up with ecstatic devotion. Daria watched with thrilled anticipation. Madalina grinned with cheerful expectation.
Arman stood over them, his cock jutting out, swollen and ready. He stroked himself slowly, greed personified.
“Open,” he commanded, his voice rough.
Three beautiful, drunk, naked women opened their mouths, tongues out, eyes on his.
He aimed at Emilia first. “You, first. For being so fucking clever.” With a sharp groan, the first burst of his come shot across her tongue, painting the back of her throat. She swallowed eagerly, a moan of ecstasy vibrating against him.
He shifted to Daria. “You, for the fight.” The second hot rope landed on her lower lip, then the next inside her mouth. She licked her lips, thrilled, devouring it.
Finally, he turned to Madalina. “And you, for the invitation.” The last pulses he spent directly onto her waiting tongue. She closed her mouth cheerfully, swallowing with a dramatic, happy sigh.
He stepped back, spent, dripping with sweat and their saliva. The three women knelt at his feet, their mouths filled with his release, the hierarchy of the moment absolute and brutally simple.
In the swirling, deafening chaos of the club, a temporary kingdom had been established. Its foundation was tequila, its law was greed, and its throne was a stained bar. The complex web of alliances waiting outside this bubble felt a million miles away, a problem for the harsh, sober dawn.