“So, she’s gonna be ok, right?” Jack asked. The sailor scratched at her neck, rising to a stand from the bed she had knelt by.

“Dunno how different all-folk are to soul-folk, but I’d imagine she’ll just sleep this off.” She gestured at Celestia’s arm. “Though when I checked her over I was surprised at some of the wounds. Magical drain aside.”

“What’s surprisin’ ‘bout ‘em?” Jack asked, tilting her head. “Looks like normal things ta me. Fractures at the forearm, shoulder, an’ maybe a hip, goin’ by the swellin’. Some cuts, debris, I guess.”

“Not a bad summery,” the sailor agreed, rubbing at the mark at her cheek—an anchor with a fish Jack couldn’t identify—”but what debris? Our girl’s still full-a pip and vinegar, no damage to the hull, deck, or mast even after a kraken attack. Besides.” She moved the blanket off of Celestia and gestured at the all-folk’s sternum. “I’m not a doc proper—our actual one is at port, I’m just a ‘prentice of his, but look at that cut.”

The cut was a nasty thing, inflamed and, though the scabbing already showed the healing process, it was still a deep appearing blow to Jack that made her wince slightly on looking at it.

“Thing looks like it was internal and just ruptured out. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a transferal spell she cast on the whole ship.”

Jack only knew a vague idea on magic, but she remembered Rarity doing something similar to her years ago. It was a spell that lived up to its name, transferring a mental and emotional pain over to the caster, soothing the one being channeled. Though she had never heard of a physical transfer. But, then again, she had never known there was a magic spell strong enough to vaporize a kraken from existence either. All-folks, when given the chance, seemed to operate on a whole different level than soul-folks. Something like transferring wounds was probably child’s play to Celestia.

“As fast her body’s healin’, though, she’ll be back and fit around time we pull ashore. It’s a bleedin’ honor seein’ how fast all-folk wounds heal, especially when it comes to mental injuries.” The sailor whistled. “Glad she’s on our side.” Nodding to Jack, she pointed outside. “Get on out there, woman. No need to waste the day with me.”

“W-Well… if yer sure I ain’t got nothin’ I can help with.”

“Go on,” the sailor replied. “She ain’t the first cunt I’ve watched over durin’ a voyage. She won’t be the last either.” A pause. “When I say that, I mean—”

Jack gave a raise of her hand. “I understand what yer meanin’. Don’t worry.”

Taking the doc’s advice to heart, Jack left the room and stepped onto the deck.

The sun nearly blinded her in its brilliance, causing her to wince as she took it in. It was hard to believe that yesterday the ship and sea were choked by darkness and rain, harder still to believe they made it through the kraken attack in one-piece. Moving to the starboard side of the ship, she leaned against the railing, for the moment in thought, reflecting. After Celestia had dealt with the monster, the sailors had returned to deck, along with Pinkie and Spike—Jack had thought they were on-board during the attack, the fact she had nearly lost them without even knowing…

It was bizarre to her, the meticulous nature the sailors took when it came to the death toll. Names were called on roster, those that didn’t make it had a check mark put by their name—their lives summed up by one tick—and they discussed what needed done with them, since there were no bodies for a funeral. Letters would need to be written, letters of condolence for anyone with next of kin, letters for any businesses they were part of, the apprentice doctor issued death certificates for them and at the moment they lay in a folder in her office, not forgotten, but, judging by the sailors Jack had interacted with, at least pushed to the side.

Can ya blame ‘em? she asked herself, her green eyes narrowing, Dwell on death too much and ya become frozen by the thoughts. They’re all grievin’, away from eyes, though, jus’ not in the open.

“Hey,” a voice addressed her. She twitched in surprise, looking over to her side. Spike stood by her, shuffling on his feet. Last night was hell for him, judging by the bags under his eyes and the way he seemed to stare off into the distance. Jack knew the expression all too well.

“Hey, sug,” Jack replied.

“You’ve got some mail.” He held out an envelope with her name on it. She cocked her head.

“Dragon-folk, remember?” he asked, pointing at his reptilian eyes. “As long as the person knows me, they can send things to me no matter where I’m at as long as magic is around. Have a letter for Rarity too. Is she up?”

“I let her sleep in,” Jack said, tearing into the envelope. It was from Bloom and, after a quick scan of the letter, making sure it wasn’t urgent, Jack put it into her pocket. Bloom just seemed excited for the Sisterhood Social that happened in Mansfield every year, about how her and Stephanie were going to participate in the event with Zecora and Mac. Jack assumed that they had taken turns and used Zecora as their partner in the events in lieu of herself and Rarity being there. Unless Mac had a taste for drag she didn’t know about.

Or Zecora and her potions got to the boy, that was always a possibility too, Jack thought, holding back a laugh.

“Oh,” Spike answered, the pause long enough that Jack had forgot about him at her side, she was embarrassed to admit. “I see.”

Sug,” Jack said, holding her hand out to the boy. ‘Somethin is off with ya. Yer lookin’ more down than a snake in a wagon rut.’

“How do you handle it?” Spike asked. He bit at his lip. “Taylor Mckenzie,” he said. Jack waited patiently for him to continue. “That was the name of the sailor riding with me on the rowboat. I didn’t know him, but, you know…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “He died and I’m still here.”

“You think you should’ve died instead.” Jack said, rather than asked. “Look at me, Spike.”

He did as she asked; the earth-folk put her large, calloused hands to his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Ya did everythin’ ya could. I didn’t see it, but I know ya, sug. I know a boy like you, it must be tearin’ him ta pieces. Keep on keepin’ on. That’s the only thing ya can do now.” She nodded, confirming something to herself and trying to smile as warmly as she could. “Ronnel, Spike. It ain’t gonna make sense ta ya, but it helped me a lot. That, an’ friends. A group yer part of, sug. Anytime ya need ta talk. Ya ain’t gonna feel better today. Ya ain’t gonna feel better tomorrow. But yer gonna feel better someday.”

Spike pursed his lips. She thought he’d stay like that forever before he finally gave a slow, considering nod.

“Ok,” he quietly agreed.

“She’s right,” the voice of Rarity agreed. The two paused, surprised at the soul-folk’s sudden appearance. She stood nearby, a hand at a hip and one eye behind a black eyepatch.

“Ya look like a damn pirate,” Jack drawled out, pointing to the woman’s ensemble.

“Don’t remind me,” Rarity replied, giving a roll of her good eye. “It’s only temporary, thankfully, but still a hindrance.”

“What’s with the eyepatch?” Spike questioned.

Rarity put her hands behind her back. “Well, Spikie, you weren’t aware of what happened last night to me, I assume.”

He shook his head. “By the time I got back and with everyone running around…” He seemed to want to add on more, but refrained, instead doing his best to offer a smile. “But I asked Jack and she said you were alright.”

“Scared the shit outta me,” the earth-folk admitted, looking at Rarity, “but when the doc said she’d be alright an’ gave the ok ta take her back to our room, well, thought nothin’ else needed said.”

“Well, darling, I was frightened myself,” Rarity replied, then turned to Spike once. “But to make a long story short, I overused my magic.”

Spike grew alarmed, stepping towards Rarity and putting a hand at her arm. “Are you alright?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“When Twila had hers, she was crippled for weeks it seemed like. How are you—do you need a cane to help support you? I can get you a cane.”

Rarity tapped at her temple. “I’m a mere shade of Twila’s magical prowess and mental capabilities, dear. I burned out far quicker than her, but natural recovery for me will be much faster than her. Less internal magic to return into my body. It’s easier to fill up a shot glass in comparison to a milk jug, oui? And the effects of overindulgence can vary. I had a far milder symptom, is all.”

“I ain’t one ta call bein’ blind in an eye ‘mild’, darlin’.” Jack said, a bit harsher than she would have liked. She sighed in irritation, unsure who she should be mad at, Rarity for being so casual about it, or herself for putting Rarity in the situation in the first place. Either option didn’t feel correct so she looked down at the deck in thought as Rarity put a gentle hand on the farmer’s shoulder, rubbing at the fabric with a deceptively strong thumb.

“Only a temporary blindness. Besides, there are worse things. A lot worse, Jack. The fact I’m up not even days but hours after it happened should attest to that.” She put a finger to the farmer’s chin, bringing Jack’s gaze up to her own. “Listen for a moment,” Rarity commanded. Her face was serious, the embodiment of nobility and grace in its stern continuance. “Jack. If it meant saving you from anything like we saw last night, I’d exchange an eye without hesitation. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Jack finally said, so quiet even Rarity could barely hear it. The tailor chuckled, giving a playful run of her fingertip along Jack’s scarred cheek.

“Good,” she answered, the angelic gaze she held seconds ago replaced with her usual coy half-smirk, her eye dancing with a scheme and a dream only she seemed to fully know. “Spike, darling, I’m going to guess my mail is from Ms. Pommel?”

He looked down at the handwriting. One downside of dragon-folk mailings: most didn’t bother filling out return addresses. He didn’t always need them, but it was the damn principle. After a moment's thought, he nodded.

“It’s hers,” he agreed. Rarity put her hands behind her back and took a few steps away.

“Orders, I’m going to readily assume. Be a dear and take it down to my room, if you’d be so kind. I’ll start the outlines on the patterns she’s requesting aid for upon the evening.”

The boy nodded and, with an encouraging smile from Jack, was off, heading downstairs.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Rarity questioned.

“Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ that boy,” Jack replied, moving to lean against the ship’s railing. She grabbed a net that sprawled over the railing’s top and rubbed her fingers over the tightly woven hemp.

“Your own wounds?” Rarity spoke up, sitting beside her, “how are they?”

“Nothin’ that’s killin’ me,” Jack said. Rarity offered a raised eyebrow and a thin half-frown so the farmer sighed, rolling her eyes. “Alright. Had a dislocated shoulder an’ a fractured shin—neither one I realized ‘til after the adrenaline wore off. Shoulder’s fine now, popped that back inta place myself. Shin I wrapped up good, so…”

“It could have been worse for all of us,” Rarity remarked. “You’ve been injured by far more human things in the past, but were able to shrug this off so incredibly well. It’s a true blessing.”

“Had you an’ Celestia there. If it weren’t fer ya both, I woulda died, don’t doubt that fer a second.”

Rarity chuckled, a hair darkly. “And we’re so laissez faire about it. Spike seems to be the only one even slightly upset, does he not?”

“Maybe Diane too. Ain’t seen her since last night.” Jack put a hand to Rarity’s arm. “An’ we’re like that because… hell, I dunno. I don’t wanna say we’re used ta monsters at this point, but in a way we kinda are. After seein’ you an’ the others were alright, I jus’ kinda put it outta sight outta mind.”

“Indeed,” Rarity agreed. “The sailors that lost their lives, I feel terrible for them, yet can’t find it within myself to grieve. Having the people that mean so much to me intact…” She wryly smiled. “We’re selfish, are we not?”

“If you are, I’m even worse,” Jack answered.

“Pish-posh, Jack. You doing what you can for the towns that need it tell me that’s a lie.”

“Well, the quarterly stipend helps too. We sure ain’t livin’ like queens, but it’s givin’ us a nice nest egg.”

Rarity laughed. “I know you. You’d do it for free if the situation called for it. Quite foolish, really.”

“Yer right there. I’m a dyed-in-the-wool fool.”

Reaching over, Rarity took Jack’s hand in her own and they sat there, the need to talk for the moment nonexistent. Finally, Rarity squeezed Jack’s hand.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in sparring? With your shin and all.”

Jack rolled up the leg of her jeans, showcasing her bandaged leg. “I tested it a bit this mornin’. A lil’ sore, but the wrap is doin’ the trick. I can move alright on it. But are ya sure ya wanna?”

“It’s the only way I’ll improve,” she confirmed with a nod. “I’ll gather our weapons if you’ll do the honor of a seal.”

Nodding, Jack went towards the front of the ship and reached into her back pocket, producing a pouch of the ground silver and magical enchantments that made Norfolk combat seals effective. She gave a liberal sprinkle in a circle and stepped within it. Putting a finger into her mouth, she bit down hard and grinded it in between her teeth, hissing in pain. When she pulled her digit out and wiped away the blood, Jack nodded, satisfied that it remained in working condition, sore as hell, but the skin was already healed up, looking a bit bruised, but in otherwise perfect working order.

Now if this stuff could patch someone up as good as it stops it in the first place.

It wasn’t long at all before Rarity showed up, her saber in one hand, Jack’s towering blade cradled under her armpit. Jack took Durandal from her and ran her fingers along its handle as Rarity moved to the far end of the circle.

“Seal’s fine,” Jack said; Rarity nodded, expecting as much.

“Jus’ don’t step through the markings.”

“I know,” Rarity agreed.

“An’ how’s yer eye?”

She reflexively reached up, touching the eye patch. “Tender, but I’ll manage.”

“The rest of ya?”

“Jack,” Rarity said, her tone approaching a warning, not there yet, but close.

The earth-folk froze. “Sorry.”

“I appreciate it, despite everything, however…”

“It’s jus’ hard, sug. I’m tryin’, though.” Jack grimaced, but got into position, her blade held sure and true in her two hands. Rarity turned her sword to its side, putting herself into a striking stance.

There came silence between the two as they prepared themselves; Rarity measuring Jack, thinking of ways to approach her, Jack holding rigid, her feet planted in a defensive stance and the sword extended from her center.

Realizing Jack wouldn’t make the first move, Rarity let out a tsk, dashing forward and giving an experimental flick of her sword towards Jack’s cheek. In a blur of motion, Jack snapped the greatsword to the side, deflecting Rarity’s strike with the pommel of the sword. She stepped forward and Rarity moved, anticipating a shoulder-to-groin cleave from Jack’s part. But, strangely, it never came.

Rarity pushed her advantage forward, swinging her sword for Jack’s side; the farmer caught Rarity by the wrist and twisted the blow effortlessly to the deck, scraping the wood underneath them with the tip of Rarity’s weapon. Again Rarity anticipated a strike that never came; this time she stepped back, growing a bit cross.

“What we’re fighting is going to try and kill me,” Rarity said. “Holding back does me no favors and feels insulting.”

“How is it insultin’?” Jack snapped back. A pause. “An’ who said anythin’ ‘bout holdin’ back?”

On Rarity offering nothing more than an annoyed stare, Jack sighed.

“Ya don’t get it. This is hard, sug.” She tilted her stetson back on her forehead. “A lot different from when I was teachin’ ya how ta swing. This is…”

“This is us both attempting to kill one-another,” Rarity finished. “I understand that, darling. It’s a far cry from easy for myself. In fact, if it weren’t for the seal, I wouldn’t even attempt a thing such as this.”

“When I was on my way ta Dmitri, I saw ya,” Jack blurted out. Rarity waited for her to continue and she did, hesitantly. “He tried ta get me in a spell. It was an illusion. Of you.” She lowered her weapon, looking askance as she thought. “I couldn’t… even when I knew it was an’ illusion. I couldn’t hurt ya. Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout it made me sick.”

“Jack…” Rarity’s weapon was briefly forgotten as she approached the woman. With the natural ease of fitting into a familiar glove, she took Jack’s hand, running her fingers over the farmer’s rough palms, the callouses making the earth-folk’s digits feel like cured leather.

“When we first were together, these hands… as wide and hard as they were, I thought they were tremendously strong. And they are, in their own way. But I see more now.” She put the farmer’s hand in between her breasts, resting it there until Jack felt the faint thumping of Rarity’s heart.

“Now I see they’re not things to hurt people. They’re hands to cradle and shelter the whole world and everyone that needs help.” Rarity looked warmly at her. “And that’s why I trust you, darling. Why I’m not afraid to train with you. You’ll do exactly what’s needed, no more, no less. I know you won’t hurt me.” Reluctantly releasing her hand from Jack’s, Rarity moved to the other end of the arena, her sword at the ready

This time on seeing Rarity’s small nod, Jack swallowed, her heart throwing itself against her ribcage but she ignored it, raising her weapon.

The soul-folk charged forward, thrusting wildly; Jack moved like a woman possessed, twisting, contorting, narrowly avoiding every strike Rarity attempted to land on her. In a blur of motion, the earth-folk grabbed Rarity by the wrist and turned with her, flipping the tailor over her shoulder with one hand and down onto the deck. A moment before impact, Jack adjusted herself, dropping her weapon to grab the back of Rarity’s head and catching her in her arms.

Rarity looked up at Jack and gave a small half-shrug.

“...I suppose we can’t simply call that one a ‘draw’, can we?” Rarity offered.

“Ya had me on the ropes.”

They moved back into position and began once more. Rarity was more cautious on her approach, circling Jack’s range, tempting Jack to attack. Jack offered nothing, keeping her stance guarded and matching Rarity step-for-step. Finally, Rarity thrusted; Jack hit the attack away with the pommel of her sword and shoulder-charged the other, stumbling Rarity backwards and, while she was off-balance, Jack stepped forward, clasping down on Rarity’s armed hand and putting her hand against Rarity’s neck. Pausing like this for a moment, she relaxed her grip and stepped back, the round going to Jack once again.

“Keep goin’?” Jack asked. Rarity moved back to her starting position and entered her stance once more.

“I’m not leaving this damnable circle until I get one legitimate strike on you.”

Jack smiled. “Guess it’s a good thing our schedule’s clear.”

The trip remained blissfully uneventful after the attack. Celestia’s condition remained unchanged. She slept, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. But within that sleep, Celestia dreamed.

The all-folk sat in a chair within her Dreamscape, overlooking a chessboard in front of her. Finally deciding on a course of action, she moved a knight over her pawn, landing it in the center of the board.

“Knight as your first move. Interesting,” her companion remarked, his tone and appearance youthful despite the years he carried. He leaned forward, scratching at his shoulder-length hair, its golden sheen beautiful as it floated much like Celestia’s, dancing in an unfelt breeze.

“Well, I like keeping you on your toes, father,” she replied.

Arthur Pendragon moved a pawn forward, then leaned back in his chair. At his side sat his trusted companion, Excalibur. Also at his side, his dog.

Celestia eyed the weapon for a scant moment, then returned to the game before them, moving a pawn forward.

“I’ve always enjoyed the view here,” he admitted, giving a half-nod toward the scene below them from the height they rested at, the misty mountains in the distance like usual, brought Celestia to tranquility as the gentle thrum of a waterfall a scant mile away left just enough background noise to not leave the silence oppressive. “Though why you’ve never bothered to dream up a cabin eludes me.”

Another piece fell into place; he looked expectantly at Celestia, his gaze something a compassionate god would hold in Celestia’s mind—stern, judging, but warm and forgiving.

As a child she had feared him, Arthur had never spared the rod when Celestia misbehaved and the all-folk had carried resentment for him. Over time, however, the resentment had turned to respect and respect had turned to love, but those early years had shaped her, for better or worse she still didn’t know.

“I’m stuck inside most days,” Celestia finally answered, “I prefer some fresh air on occasion.”

Another move, their positions on the board were simply a prelude, the calm before a battle.

“Imagined fresh air,” he remarked with a small scoff.

“So are you, father,” she answered. “You’ve been dead and buried for years.”

“Maybe,” Arthur admitted, moving a bishop across the board. “Unless you died fighting the kraken and this is the afterlife.”

“I’m sure if I made it to heaven, I would be doing more than playing chess with my father,” Celestia said, moving to take a pawn with her knight then pausing, realizing the piece would be lost by Arthur’s bishop. Instead, she moved another pawn.

“Point taken,” the king admitted. “I’d have at least a more active nightlife if this were heaven.”

“That’s the truth,” Celestia muttered under her breath.

Her father was a good man and hailed by many as the best king to ever walk the earth. He was brave, passionate about the good of the people, honest, and a notorious adulterer. He remained faithful to Guinevere in heart, as he always told Celestia, but saw a meeting of flesh all but a necessity on the campaign trail to keep him focused. Perhaps it was a ‘man’ issue, a way of thinking from a bygone era, or simply the person her father was, but the trail he took left dozens of women in his wake.

Just dozens? she pondered as she moved her rook, then pushed the thought away, more than a hair disgusted.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, moving his queen. “Defeating the kraken was a feat fit for the Pendragon bloodline.”

“I’m just ashamed the death toll was so high. We lost a quarter of the sailors, according to what little I heard the nurse speak during the night of the attack.”

“In order to win a battle, pawns sometimes have to be cleared. Even in this game, you hold onto them too dearly.” So saying, he moved a bishop and took her rook. “It makes you forget the larger picture at play.” He reached over, putting a hand on hers. “Sacrifices are never a goal to be had, throwing a man’s life away is one of the greatest sins a general or king can make. But at the same time, getting yourself killed is far worse.

“During the Crusades, people searched for meaning, for hope. I’m proud that the Pendragons were there to rally the countries together to repeal Tirek. People need the guidance of absolute authority at times. Dark times especially. Knowing that they serve someone with power and moral authority gives them strength, courage, and conviction. When you have moral authority and the power to enforce your principals, the world you oversee will be one step closer to the utopia every king that stands for his people should strive for.”

She nodded after a moment, understanding his words.

“And Celestia?” Pausing a beat himself, he finally let a smile come to his handsome face. “I’m a figment of your willpower here, but I can say with certainty that Arthur Pendragon loved you.”

She returned the smile, looking down at the game once more. “And I loved him too.”

Jack stood with Spike, focusing on the distant shoreline.

They had been out to sea for weeks now, and just the thought of being on land was enough for the both of them to embrace, energized and excited despite the ungodly hour they found themselves in.

Though the pre-dawn fog and light, Jack squinted, trying to will definition to the land they approached and only succeeding at giving herself a headache.

Spike spoke first, taking the words out of Jack’s mouth.

“Please, God, let them have some sort of restaurant,” he muttered under his breath.

While the ship did have coffee at any given time and a few cooked meals during the voyage, the meals were few and far between in order to not waste fuel, only occurring every Sunday and once or twice through the week. Any day the kitchen wasn’t active they ate cured and salted meats and rations like the guard ate, so the thought of a steak, of a hamburger, tenderloin, or chicken was almost too much to handle.

“Ya said it,” Jack agreed, clasping him on the back. “Get yer stuff.”

Jack took her own advice, moving back to her room and beginning the arduous task of loading what they’d need for the road into a burlap sack, then took to donning her armor. Rarity stirred from the bed with a small moan; she reached up to her sleeping mask and lifted it to her forehead. Jack took the opportunity to look at her wife.

Though there was a bit of color returning to her dead eye, judging by how only Rarity’s left seemed to track her movements, the tailor still remained blind in one. She had been secretive about it—always hiding it behind an eyepatch or her sleeping mask—but it seemed to be healing, so Jack didn’t make a fuss about it.

“We’re a couple hours from shore,” Jack explained, donning her chestpiece. Rarity stretched her arms like a lazy cat and leaned back onto the bed.

“Mmm,” she muttered out. “Wake me when we’re a couple minutes from shore, if you’d be so kind.” So saying, she put her sleeping mask back on.

“Alright,” Jack replied, finished with her packing. “I’ll get ya a bag ready—one bag. An’ don’t blame me if I get what yer wantin’ ta wear on the road wrong.”

Rarity seemed to consider this and, finally, sat toward the edge of the bed, obviously groggy, her hair disheveled and—though Rarity would kill her if Jack pointed it out—a dab of drool on the corner of her mouth.

Jack snorted a laugh and moved over, giving Rarity a small peck on the forehead.

“Reckoned you’d see it my way,” she drawled out. Rarity took of her mask and rose, tromping to the bathroom.

“I finished some designs for Pommel last night—burned the midnight oil to do it,” she said, yawning again.

Jack raised a brow. “Dunno why that girl can’t do things without ya holdin’ her hand the whole way.” Putting her stetson atop her head, she called herself ready and leaned against the chest of drawers.

The sound of water came from the bathroom and Rarity let out a small gasp; Jack tensed up, but relaxed when the other spoke again.

“Damnable water heater,” she spat out. After a beat, Rarity continued, “and Ms. Pommel is a pleasure to work with, darling, it’s just, well, most of my business involves clients interest in a Rarity Apple-Belle exclusive. Pommel is a marvelous seamstress in her own right, and the best secretary money can buy, but…”

“But she ain’t you,” Jack finished.

“Precisely. It’d be like your cousin Braeburn selling zap apples on his homestead. They’d be delicious, I’m sure, but wouldn't have your farm name backing them.”

“Guess so. Jus’ don’t wear yerself thin. Those white-collar types can afford ta wait on occasion.”

There came a laugh from the bathroom. “And they can also afford my exuberant fees for working on their designs while on the road as well.” Jack could almost imagine the smirk on Rarity’s face.

“Ya wicked devil.”

“You have to be as a businesswoman, dear. Being a saint is a good way to go bankrupt.”