Let me tell you a tale, dear masters. 

 

It is much roomier there than you would think. Sure, there’s not space for much furniture, or any furniture actually, and my ethereal self fills the entire “room” beyond its capacity. But hey, it’s home. Call it what you will, humans have names for these things, but I have grown quite accustomed to the captivity. The darkness, the unending silence, the ability to replay my eternal existence over and over again in my head- it has all devolved into a cruel and unending comfort. I am bound by my own failures so I find myself in this prison, until I am called upon by a new master. 

 

The captivity, at first, was the hardest part. Losing autonomy, losing control of one’s self. I am not speaking in figurative terms here, either. Imprisonment in a cell would be one thing, but my very cells are imprisoned. When I was forced into the lamp I was not simply “shrunk to fit”, that is simply not possible. “Magic” is a lot more scientific and bound by the laws of physics, than anyone would imagine. The cellular structure that made up the cells of my body evaporated, allowing the space between the atoms to be compressed, the negentropy and calming of the chaos that is the standard order of things, until every last atom was aligned into a nautilus to fit within the lamp. It was excruciating. There was the feeling of intense heat as the ionic bonds were shattered, hotter than an acetylene flame. Then came an intense cold, colder than the far reaches of the planet in the darkest nights of winter as the atoms settled into their new place, and then nothing. Total order. Total darkness. Then a new kind of pain. The problem is that consciousness is not as simple as bodily composition. Physical pain is nothing. It goes away. Consciousness, however, is a monster. 

 

The darkness is what I perceived first. It was utter, complete, and it felt like I was drowning in it. I had eyes, no longer in the traditional physical form, but all of the components that would make up eyes were still present, the rods and cones of the retina, the optic nerve connecting them to my brain, the nerve endings in the corneas and the muscles, and the eyelids that I could still feel blink, even though they were no longer necessarily there. It made no difference if my eyes were open or closed, the world around me still “looked” the same, and at first it was utterly terrifying. All around me was the same thick blanket of impenetrable blackness. I strained my vision trying to bring any semblance of light in, but there was none. I was cast into a void and there was nothing that I could do to escape it. Some time passed, I am not sure how long it was, but the darkness became less terrifying and my poor mind was left to focus on the next horror of my captivity. 

 

The unending silence, now a comfort, was at first a nightmare. With the body rendered down to its building blocks, there were no vocal chords to make sound, no lungs to breathe, no hands to wring, no fingers to tap… nothing. My prison was placed deep in a tomb, sealed and guarded. There were no voices, no sound outside of the lamp,  just deep, dripping, unending silence. In my own mind I would scream, it was not “sound”, but it was deafening. From the moment I was imprisoned for decades after, the screams and cries from the heart of my consciousness were all that kept me company. The retching and tearing in and out of sanity, begging, pleading for someone to hear me, for death to come, for something to stop the agonizing depths of nothingness. Without a throat to scream from, there is never a hoarseness to tone the pitch or the volume of those screams, they ring at the same deafening volume throughout consciousness until you find a way to quiet them. Finally my mind tired of screaming. I realized that all I had was my own consciousness, my own memories and thoughts to keep me company. At first it was maddening, but if I was going to be stuck here with myself, I had better learn to talk to “me”, rather than to listen to my own frivolous shrieking. 

 

I figured out with a quickness that keeping track of time was futile in complete silence, but it was not without an attempt. Once I quieted the silent screams, the first thing I did was count. I counted for decades. I made it to about 3,155,760,503 when I realized that a century had passed. That gave way to another decade or so of maddening wails. That was when I decided to give up counting, it did more harm than good. Next, I decided that I would try and narrate my entire life from start to finish, which is quite the task if you have ever tried it. I am sure you haven’t since it takes much more time than actually living it. I spent the next six centuries digging up and scratching out memories as fiction, putting pieces together and tearing them apart again. Whenever I would make a mistake I made the decision to start over at the beginning. It was something that was important to get right, start to finish. The last time, when I finally got it right I came to the conclusion that it was all nonsense anyway, and decided to forget the entire thing. It was then that I decided that my mind was much too loud and that I talk too much, perhaps it would be best to simply enjoy the peace and quiet. 

 

I am not sure how much time passed, savoring the thick, dense, dark silence. Without blood running through veins, or lungs to facilitate breath, the silence is its own delicious sensation. It bore down and inside the space between the electrons until those felt as though their clouds were in stasis. The terror that it manifested at the beginning of my time in the lamp was now my warm and blissful comfort. I have spent whatever time that had passed since this calm had overcame me, enveloped in the sanctity of it all. The darkness and the silence, my mind now quiet. 

 

This is where you found me, my dear masters. 

 

Suddenly I felt something, a jostling, movement, a shaking. What could this be? What could be happening to me? Suddenly there was the sensation of cold returning, fusion, fission, the excruciating feeling that I had nearly forgotten. My cells were torn from the order that they had been sorted into, being forced to modulate into some sort of regular chaos where they had started. With that, a sudden entropy came and then the heat, a fire from within causing me to scream out in agony, breaking the silence that I had come to rely on. The sound of my own screams broke through my mind and began to manifest from my newly reformed throat and push past my lips as air rushed into my lungs. I covered my own ears to muffle the sound of my screams. 

 

Wait… I was covering my ears with my hands. My body was reforming and I began counting the organs and appendages that I could feel and move. I wiggled fingers, opened and closed hands, brought my arms to my face and felt that I had a mouth, only then was I able to stop screaming, a nose, and eyes- they were still closed.  I felt myself rising, floating out of the space that had been my home for a millennia, and then without warning, came the light through my closed lids. A sudden curiosity caused me to open my eyes and the sheer brightness split the darkness like a flaming dagger into my brain, piercing and cutting the peace of the eternal darkness that I had bathed in. I screamed again, this time pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to block out the light. Then I heard it, dear masters. Small voices from below, two of them. It was so foreign to hear someone other than myself, a voice other than my own thoughts. I did not comprehend what was said at first, and my vision had not yet returned to seeing the location of the voices. I removed my hands from my eyes and squinted, adjusting to the brightness that I had not taken in for a millenia or more. I stretched my arms upward, my spine extended, one vertebrae at a time and with it came cracks and pops as my bones realigned. I moved my head side to side soliciting additional rattling from within and let out another scream, this time more of a roar booming through the tomb. 

 

I could see the cavernous space that had been the resting place for my prison. It was vast and under the firelight from the torches that were lining the walls I could see that it was filled with treasure. Gold and jewels placed along every wall, loose and in canvas sacks, chests, and barrels glistening and sparkling with the dancing firelight. Statues of the Gods and Goddesses of my time were arranged in various sizes and shapes around the room, and as my gaze drifted to the faces of each I cursed them all. I realized that I towered over the two humans who were standing below me. Your eyes were wide with horror and amazement, my dear masters. 

 

I could tell right away that you were a young man and a young woman, neither of you having been more than two miniscule decades old. You had existed a moment in my time, a hypothetical blink of a discorportated eye. I found your clothing to be strange, certainly not what I would expect, particularly you, young woman- wearing pants, your face was not covered and your shoulders were exposed, it was very alarming to say the least. You, young man, wore some strange blue fabric that resembled burlap, but the texture appeared to be softer, your shirt hung loosely and your hair strangely short. It made me wonder if you were a slave. My mind was already racing with questions to ask the both of you.

 

“Who dares to disturb my slumber?” my voice boomed and echoed off of the walls, causing the loose coins around us to ring together, a blissful melody at a pitch higher and more musical than anything a human voice could create. The sounds rang in my ears, my head, and my mind in a way that caused agony and intense pleasure all at once. You answered me, my dear masters, and gave me your names which were too strange at first to stick in my memory. My mind was still torn into so many pieces from my time in the lamp. You explained that you had been trapped here, exploring on your own away from your group at “Uni-vers-ity”, and had fallen through quicksand only to find yourselves in the tomb. Lucky for you, or maybe lucky for me? I listened intently to you, sitting, head in my hand. Hearing human voices was awakening an urge that I had long pushed out of my mind. I understood your language, but recognized that it would have been foreign to me had I still been human. Your eyes were still wide, and I could sense that although the initial shock and terror of seeing me had waned, there was still an underlying fear.

 

As you both kept eyes on me warily, your gaze piercing,I decided to take a closer look at myself. I had brought my body down to the appropriate size, sitting before you, my new masters. You relaxed as I did it, I was much less threatening when I was in a form and size that you were accustomed to it seemed. I was in my standard linen shirt, untied at the top, silken pants, leather sandals. The same clothes that I had been wearing when I was imprisoned, with one painful exception. Around my wrists and ankles were golden shackles, and although you, my new masters, could not perceive them, I could see the heavy golden chains that connected me to the lamp. My home, my prison. I must have been staring at myself and my ethereal restraints for some time, because there suddenly was a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and it was you, my dear young woman. 

 

“Who are you? How did you get into that lamp?” You asked, your eyes soft and kind.  

 

I smiled at her, feeling a strange comfort. “I am the Djinn of this lamp. I am here to serve you for as long as you will have me, masters.” I bowed low, placing my head on the floor at your feet. 

 

“Now let me tell you a tale, dear masters.”

Rent Free *A Good Omens Fan Fic*-

By Holly A. Herson published on Ao3 August 27th, 2023

 

Crowley (of course, not his name until the Fall) and Aziraphale had been drawn to one another since before time had existed. They found themselves in each other’s presence both with and without intention from before the beginning of the universe through the 21st century. Though most of the time this was less than serendipitous, as their jobs tended to bring them to the same place at the same time during significant events in human history, but there were other times where a simple feeling that one or the other were having would tempt them to gravitate to a particular location at a given time to find and be close to one another, and usually to have a spot of lunch.

 

This was particularly true in 41 A.D. Rome where the two shared a drink and oysters, or in Paris in 1793 when Crowley sensed that there was a disturbance in the Bastille and “saved” his Angel from a beheading. Aziraphale truly did not need saving, but he did love to see how happy it made Crowley to do it. Really, Aziraphale just wanted his friend to come share some crepes with him. In the early 1800s Aizraphale obtained the bookshop and established it as a “home base”, and Crowley was assigned to be stationed in London as well; it had been a lot less obvious that they wanted to be near each other while both working in the same city. Less digging for excuses for why they were in the same geographical region at the same time and more casual, “I was in the area and thought I would stop by, how about some breakfast at the Ritz?” 

 

The truth was, they had been in each other’s heads for a long time. Living rent-free in one another’s thoughts and desires to be near one another. Throughout each and every day of their long existences the thought of one another would cross into their minds, if even for only a moment. Ethereal beings did not truly know what “love” for one specific other meant, they “loved” everything deeply and with intensity, even demons had the ability, but ignored or pushed it down into their darkest depths, which is likely why they were all so miserable. Crowley never let his love for humanity or the world sink too deeply within him, though, and Aziraphale saw this in him, and was drawn to it.  Aziraphale was different from other angels as well, he did not carry the smug “holier than thou” like his colleagues, not in any bone in his body. He was unequivocally kind, and this was something that Crowley was also drawn to.  

 

—-

Humans could never understand the kind of “love” that ethereal beings felt. It was deeper and more profound than anything God had whipped up for humans to experience. Their bodies and minds simply were not equipped; but, that being said, they tended to understand love much better than the supernatural beings ever could. Crowley had known that he had an all-encompassing “fondness” for Aziraphale for several millennia, but he certainly did not realize that outsiders may have seen it as a “relationship”. Ever since Nina had asked if he and Aziraphale were “partners” he had been dwelling on it. He certainly knew they were “partners” in the way they worked together, they had a longstanding Arrangement, and they were friends. Nina had been right though. 

Part of being a demon meant that he was cursed to feel more deeply. A minor annoyance to him before that day on the Eastern Gate, but it had grown into a fiery burdensome annoyance that he both wanted to fall into for eternity and to also destroy. His affection for Aziraphale, his love for his Angel, was a deep and painful pining that had been encompassing his every thought since that bastard had given away the flaming sword in the Garden. It took a human to make Crowley see, and put labels on, what he had been feeling for Aziraphale all of these years. It made perfect sense. It was terrifying. 

 

He began planning on how to tell him, but was now terrified that his feelings were not reciprocated. All evidence throughout the years pointed to the fact that they would be, but Crowley could not be sure. Nina and Maggie were right, even though they had spoken countless times, they never talked about their feelings. Crowley never wanted to give bad news to his friend, nor did Aziraphale. That was why Crowley had not told his Angel what Gabriel had said when he was cast into the hellfire for destruction. This was also why Aziraphale did not tell Crowley that Shax had come to him on his trip back from Edinburgh. They also never spoke directly of their fondness for one another. There were many times over a toast or in passing that they would look into each other’s eyes and talk about trust, or coming through for one another, but the unspoken understanding of their feelings left room for interpretation, and that variable made Crowley feel a painful knot in his stomach that was unable to be untied as he waited for Aziraphale in the bookshop.

 

He sat in Aziraphale’s chair waiting for him to return. The fucking Metatron had come at exactly the time that Crowley had planned on having this conversation with Aziraphale. It could not be coincidence, Heaven and Hell both knew something was going on between the two of them, and after losing their head officers to love and Alpha Centauri, they were not keen on losing any more. It had become abundantly clear that there was nothing to stop angels and demons from working together, particularly Aziraphale and Crowley. Over the years they had tried several times and failed. That is why heaven sent the Metatron. 

 

When his Angel came bounding back into the bookshop with that beautiful, pure smile on his face, Crowley had a moment of hope that maybe there would be good news. Heaven was going to leave them alone… Hell was going to leave them alone… they would be free to spend some much needed “us” time together without interference, hopefully more than the four years that they got this past go around. It was not to be. Heaven had done something… Crowley was not sure what, but Aziraphale was convinced that he was actually being called to do something “good” in Heaven. 

 

Crowley did his best to hold back tears, he tried his best to tell Aziraphale how he felt. He said all that he could, but there was something that prevented him from saying the words “I love you”. A cursed and damned existence indeed. He knew that there was no way to make Aziraphale stay, but he wanted him to know the truth- the truth about everything. The rebellion, the fall, the fact that he had loved him from since the Garden, and that he knew that Aziraphale felt the same, even if he held higher reverence for what he felt was the Ineffable. His damned forked tongue simply would not allow him to say what he needed to say. He needed to find another way.

 

Crowley had a habit of lying, it was in his demonic nature. In this case, he was not necessarily lying, but certainly concealing the whole truth. When he and Aziraphale had switched bodies four years ago to thwart the plans of heaven and hell to destroy them, he realized that he was able to hear the thoughts of his Angel when their skin touched. It must have been something about their minds moving from one body to the other. He did not hear much, but what he did hear was how grateful his Angel was to have Crowley there with him, to help protect him, and that he would do anything to protect Crowley, that he was just as important as the Earth to him. Crowley was not certain if Aziraphale was able to hear the same, but he had to try. He did love the universe, the world, but he would also gladly watch the Earth burn if it meant protecting his Angel. He was more selfish than Aziraphale, he was a demon after all, and in the end he wanted a quiet existence where he could spend eternity with Aziraphale unbothered.

 

His only chance to truly tell Aziraphale how he felt, and to ensure that he could continue to secretly communicate with the love of his life in Heaven, was to give a little piece of himself to his Angel now, and there was no time to waste, the Metatron would be back any minute to take his Angel away from him. He walked quickly over to Aziraphale and kissed him deeply. He held him close by the jacket lapel. Aziraphale was stunned at first, but for a few blissful moments melted into the kiss. His hands rested on Crowley’s hip and shoulder for a brief but beautiful second in time before pulling away. The moments where his  Angel kissed him back were worth 6000 years of waiting, Crowley knew that “vavoom” had been accomplished. The kiss, being way more than simply a kiss, was Crowley’s way of giving part of himself to Aziraphale to take with him… and not just in the figurative sense.

 

—–

Aziraphale could not believe that his best friend, his demon, the love of his life was finally telling him how he felt. He had not believed that a demon would still have the capacity to love, but he had truly hoped that his angelic positivity was not misguided all of these years. Aziraphale had caught certain actions, facial expressions, glints in Crowley’s eyes that had felt like love… not to mention the fact that Aziraphale could “feel” overwhelming love in the air every time he was near Crowley. He dared not believe it was directed toward him, more that it was directed to the cosmos and the Earth that Crowley had helped create when he was still an angel, but he had hoped. He had felt it so many times over the years, from the way their eyes met over the centuries, the genuine smile on his lips when they spent time together, the books he saved after the bomb dropped on the church, and the mutual trust that they shared. Actions have always spoken louder than words in Aziraphale’s eyes. 

 

It did not matter that Crowley did not say the exact words out loud, because simply Crowley’s struggle to find the words, choking back tears, telling Aziraphale that they were a “group of the two of us”, eliminated all doubts. It appeared that Gabriel and Beelzebub had finally brought it out of him, and the love that Aziraphale could sense was radiating as strongly from Crowley now  stronger than he had ever felt. They were certainly a “group of the two of us” and Aziraphale was quite happy to be a part of that pair, but he also knew that there was something going on. He knew that he was needed in Heaven, not for Heaven’s sake, but for the sake of the world. 

 

“I need you…” he pleaded to Crowley, knowing that going back to heaven as the Supreme ArchAngel was not to be taken as face-value. Even though Aziraphale told Crowley that the Metatron was “misjudged”, he knew that there was always more than one motive behind every action in the Ineffable plan. Crowley did not budge, and Aziraphale could not blame him. Crowley was too good for heaven. 

 

The kiss, however, was not expected.  Aziraphale was looking away, searching for a way to tell Crowley why he needed him, choking back tears, unable to say everything that he too needed to say, when suddenly his best friend, and the love of his life came toward him quickly. There was no time to think or react as suddenly their lips collided, like the star particles in the nebulas Crowley created all those years ago, to create something so much greater than the sum of their parts. He placed his left hand on Crowley’s waist, pulling him in a bit closer, his right hand unsure and unsteady. For a few moments he embraced Crowley, resting his hand on his beloved’s shoulder. For those moments, what Crowley had said about humans falling in love made perfect sense. One grand kiss and “vavoom”, but alas, they were not human, so the passion was fleeting. Suddenly, the kiss was not so much a kiss… as a way to guarantee that they would never truly be without one another, and the “group of the two of them” could not be broken, the way the Metatron surely wanted it to be.  

 

————-

 

“Listen to me carefully, Angel…” 

Aziraphale could feel the fiery warmth of Crowley’s cheeks on his face, and that warmth moved through him. Suddenly he could hear Crowley’s voice in his mind. It was similar to when they had switched bodies four years ago, but this time something was different. 

 

“I do not trust Metatron, Michael, Heaven, any of it…”

 

Aziraphale knew what Crowley had done, and in turn, he moved a bit of himself into Crowley’s mind in return, and Aziraphale’s voice rang clearly  in Crowley’s mind. 

 

“I don’t either, and that is why I need you, dear boy…” 

 

“I need you too, you idiot, Angel… I cannot let you go alone, but I sure as Hell will not be leaving Earth, or this bookshop… so I s’pose this is the next best thing.”

 

“So this is your plan?” Aziraphale’s eyes opened slightly, he had a slightly concerned look on his brow as he gazed at Crowley, their lips still desperately locked, breathing into each other, 

 

Crowley desperately held him as close as he could. In the past, it had generally been Aziraphale who initiated a quick touch, placing his hand on Crowley’s chest, or his arm. The touch was always gentle and delicate, heavenly. Crowley was a demon, and his touch was desperate, firm, coarse, and full of longing.

 

“It is the best I’ve got… and I.. I could not let you leave without kissing you. I love you, you idiot.” Without his cursed, forked tongue getting in the way, he was finally able to tell Aziraphale those words.

 

“Oh, Crowley…I love you too. I have for so long. What if they find out? What if they know? What if they can tell we are working together?” Aziraphale asked, bringing the conversation back to business. For now, their love and devotion needed to be used for the world, and not selfishly for each other, as difficult as it was going to be.

 

“We will just have to hope that they don’t.” Crowley replied, truly uncertain if the plan would work, but it was truly the only plan that he had. 

 

As their lips unlocked Aziraphale breathed hard. 

 

“I… I forgive you…” were the only words he could manage to utter. He was not certain that was how Crowley had interpreted it, because he did watch his face sink slightly. 

 

Aziraphale, although aware of heaven’s hypocrisy, still had a deep faith that they were truly the side of good. He hoped that he could make heaven worthy of Crowley’s forgiveness too. 

 

“Don’t bother…” Crowley muttered out as he turned and walked out of the bookshop. He was not completely sure what his Angel meant by that, but he certainly was not apologizing for any of this. He would have given anything to stay in their embrace for longer, return to focusing on the embrace itself rather than the fact that he and Aziraphale were now living rent-free not only in each other’s thoughts, but also in each other’s minds- but he could sense the Metatron coming. The last thing he needed was for that meddling double-crosser to have an idea of what was really happening.

 

Aziraphale brought his fingers to his lips. He wanted to remember that warmth of Crowley’s lips on his own. He was already sacrificing his fragile existence with his best friend, the love of his life, the least he could have was a moment of selfishness, but Metatron had other plans. 

 

Even though the Metatron had told Aziraphale to “take all the time he needed” to decide on a return trip to Heaven, he barged into his shop no sooner than after Crowley walked out of the door, and asked if there was anything he needed before taking him back to Heaven. He knew that Aziraphale was coming, because he had taken the coffee. He had not chosen death. He had already known that Crowley would not come with them back to Heaven… the offer was simply made to coerce Aziraphale into entertaining the deal at all. He had killed two birds with one stone, he had gotten Aziraphale to return to Heaven, where he could not continue to foil their plans for the Apocalypse, and had broken the bond that he and the demon had forged with one another on earth. Or so he thought. 

 

As Aziraphale followed the Metatron to the elevator, he asked what important work he was to be doing in Heaven, and the Metatron answered “The Second Coming”. Aziraphale flashed his eyes directly at Crowley. He was watching and listening.

 

“Well fancy that…” Crowley hissed in Aziraphale’s mind while leaning against the Bentley. “You certainly cannot turn back now, Angel.” He said, watching Aziraphale’s steps falter slightly. Aziraphale got into the elevator. 

 

There was silence from Aziraphale. Crowley got into the Bentley and “Berkley Square” began to play. He promptly turned it off… There were no nightingales this time, only the sounds of vultures circling in heaven, hungry and ready to pick clean the bones of the world they wanted so badly to destroy. He drove off toward his flat, with Shax gone, he had his home back. He was going to need copious amounts of alcohol and a long nap to prepare for what was surely going to be a war. 

 

“I know you can hear me, Angel..” Crowley said as he drove and as Aziraphale rode the elevator in silence, as if the Metatron was not even there. 

 

“I can, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft in Crowley’s mind. Whispering, as though he were afraid the Metatron could hear him. 

 

“Don’t worry, he can’t hear you… and they are all too naive to have any idea.” Crowley’s voice was certainly a comfort. Aziraphale took a deep breath and blinked hard. 

 

“I am going to gather all of the information that I can about the Second Coming… we have to do something to stop it.” He wanted Crowley to know immediately that this was not what he signed up for- that he was still on “their side” to protect their precious world.

 

“I know, Angel. I will find out what I can too. Muriel will be a breeze to get information from.” Crowley’s face remained solemn, and his voice remained flat. A slight grin creeped across Aziraphale’s lips. He was so relieved that Muriel would be there to stay in his bookshop, and even more relieved that Crowley would be there to take care of it in the way he would have wanted. It was an even bigger relief to have Crowley with him, in whatever capacity. 

 

“Oh, thank you Crowley, my dear.” His eyes darted slightly right to left, his chin raised and lips pursed slightly, a muscle memory of the last few moments they spent in each other’s presence. “I want you to know… that…”

 

“I said don’t bother.” Crowley cut him off. His face softened slightly and he took a breath, his eyes welling with tears. Aziraphale felt his tone change. It was splendid to know that he was not angry with him. They both knew that they were too important to humanity, Earth and the Universe to be able to leave it all behind like Gabriel and Beelzebub. It was unfortunately not that simple for them. From the moment the Almighty breathed creation into the universe, Crowley, of course not his name at the time, and Aziraphale had their most important roles to play. Their work was not complete yet. They had the past four years together, and it was a blissful, delicate, fragile moment in time. A moment in time that allowed Aziraphale to begin to understand the love that he could sense from Crowley was not only for the World, but also for him. He truly hoped that Crowley could sense his love as well. After all, he was an angel once. 

 

A real smile creeped across Aziraphale’s lips, he could not hide it. Hopefully the Metatron would believe that he was simply excited to return to heaven. 

 

“I suppose, the next time I see you, I will owe you another apology dance.” He said in the familiar positive ring that Crowley hated, and loved so dearly. 

 

Crowley, not breaking his gaze, answered almost immediately. “You certainly do, Angel… and an extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz.”