0 comments/ 15000 views/ 0 favorites To Transcend the Flesh By: Azrof The movement of the blue crescent was filled with a collage of sounds. The mixture of sounds resembled the gurgle that smiling babies make after quenching a harsh thirst, the sounds that a flock of water fowl made after bathing within an ocean and a sound that resembled, blended with, the cacophony of an arena; voices raised until all that can be discerned is a beautiful, song-like, thrum. It was all of these things and more, an indescribable mixture of tastes; audibly. It had to come to an end. It did. The power of the blue movement transformed in an instant into something else. As it crashed against the wall of the pool where so few lavished it managed to disrupt each and every one of the floating people. I knew, within myself, that these individuals were not really people but talking extensions of thoughtless reaction, of money and power, but I was fascinated with the swirl in the blue. I was fascinated with the water, it's incomprehensible nature so similar to my own and yet so simple. I knew that the water is a danger for me to enter, that water changes the focus, I knew that Az had warned me against making foolish choices. There, really, was never any choice though. I loved water. I loved the movement of the silk across the velvet that is skin, the partaking so much like a kiss that encapsulates the entire body; I craved it and I needed it. The rustle of my flame red robes, looking similar to a monk with my voluminous sleeves that could, and do, hide secrets that no vision could pierce and wide cowl that kept my shadowed face in darkness, was barely a whisper compared to the jostle of bodies that seemed determined to hammer into me as I walked across the "pit" towards the pool. For a moment I actually wondered if the Teacher was manipulating these people into my path, but only for a moment; the teacher would let me learn my own lessons now. And it was through an innocent's eyes that I watched the parting of the people at the last few steps and came face to face with my love, the water. __ The wood was of impeccable craftsmanship and, as such, I felt compelled to continue touching it. The grains were of polished, naturally darkened sequoia, as ordered as a column of ants marching eagerly home. Toward the sides of the banister the mark of the craftsman was left in the form of incredibly intricate scrollwork; lines that webbed outward in the form of pages all kept within the framework of a book. Such powerful craftsmanship in a banister; how appropriate for a dance club that worships water, I thought to myself idly as my space-devouring steps carried me from the steps and into the roar of people. Before the crush of people could sway into my body and disrupt my thoughts I decided to be a bit frivolous; this was my first night to party in an incalculably long time. Unfortunately I had spent so much to free myself from the bonds of self-hate that the mistake was made even before I realized it. Living anew had made my re-birthed senses unaware of the danger in giving into temptation. My fingertips fanned outward, left hand shifting upward tiredly, and the essence of Transcendence responded so willingly that I shook with the force of a thousand waterfalls flowing into my soul. With the force of creation focusing on me. It responded. It made me more than I was. The feeling was sugar in my veins, an erotic pulse within my pants, a sensation so enervating that none could possibly comprehend how tempting it was to continue down the path of power. The sensations my brain could barely process seemed to seep from my spine to the soles of my feet, lifting me as the transcendence worked through my flesh and into the world. I, for a moment, was the fulcrum of power. Was power. The velvet on my tongue and behind my eyes was so sweetly seductive that no lover could match the embrace; it was inside each cell, each atom; the song of Transcendence was Inside me. When it ended, all I could consider was how it had felt, how I could push myself into a situation where I would have to call on it again. All I knew was what had happened and what could happen. I was ruined in that moment, seduced in a span of time so infinitesimal as to be discarded. Self-mastery came at a price. I latched onto that spark within my soul that yearned, that hungered. I reached within with a claw of malice shaped like a spike and ripped from my tender heart the desire that the Transcendence had given me. The desire to be loved; I drove it into the ground of my soul to be used as a foundation; a bull-work upon which to base future workings and walked away. I need not be loved. The effects of my working did not matter either; they were merely the beginning of a new me. People flowed around me, shifting unconsciously from my uncaring path, dancing or talking or merely walking, all were affected. Even the blonde that seemed so entranced at first. It occurred to me, for a spare moment, how long it had been since I had beheld love or, more simply, lust in the eyes of another; the thought was banished quickly, just as efficiently as her roaming blue eyes were moving to another. My steps were drenched in my own suffering, the new working within myself causing my very essence to coil around itself in a display of serpentine longing. My eyes must have radiated that emotion so strongly that they seemed weak, must have wept sadness as a thunderstorm weeps cascades upon the world. My body posture must have lagged for a moment, fallen inward with such gracelessness that, to another's eyes, I may have seemed to vanish inside myself for a spare instant. The tap on my shoulder was, amazingly, a surprise. "Hey, Bud, where do ya think your goin?" The gruff voice that rang out was thick carnivorous overtones and overbearing fluff. My turning head must have bothered the gentleman for all I was gifted with was a flash of thick, tattooed muscle before I felt an impact. My body was shaken with the force of this behemoth's impact, taken back into a throng of people as casually as an empty box being thrown across a room. My landing was equally faulty; long legs curled like tinfoil beneath the banister that I was unfortunate enough to smash into and my spine snapped as my momentum wrapped me about that very same banister. I noted, serenely, that the banister was the same one I had been touching earlier and thought to myself about the irony of being broken by such a masterpiece. Then the pain came, not the physical pain, but the anguish in realizing my own mistake. I had called a minor Seedling. Sighing as my body shuddered, my lips covered in my life essence, I let go of consciousness as willingly as a lover would heal another, though in the last moment of awareness I did make a call; my lips had the power to form a single word. "Darian." ___ The awareness of water is one of sluggishness and depth, is one of constant movement and pride. The water that covered my still-robed flesh was as much a part of me as those very same robes. As much a part of me as the call, "Darian." I heard the Teacher call in a voice that ripped through my being with such fey distress that I knew something horrible was wrong. My response was one that had been practiced rarely, for in the place we had gone there was no need for muscular action. I gripped the porcelain that framed the moon-pool and stopped being Darian with a suddenness that must have made the people within the water start. Unless they were watching the body of the Teacher wrapped around the banister by the Seeded one. I wrapped my mind around one thought and held the flavor of that thought until it's essence became my own, until I could mimic the actions of that thought with perfect harmony and forget how worried I was for the people watching the results of the single punch from the Seeded one. Living weapon. Again, with more focus, Living Weapon. And I was. My vascular system stopped working in the first microseconds, and then, instep, each other bodily system began to halt. Heart, lungs then brain. And so Darian died. __ Catherine watched the man she had been interested in wrapped around the wood with an almost electric shock. She had smelled him when he had passed her earlier in the entrance, his muskiness hyper-alluring to her type of desire, had noted his lack of interest in her bare thigh and well endowed chest. He had barely even glanced at her before disregarding her. His actions had only managed to spur her further into the jaws of desire. When he had disappeared, soon after her decision to have him, her gaze had been drawn to the giant of a man with serpent tattoos about his body. Her eyes for a moment wanted to see a display rather than a possible lover. She had noted the man's black, soulless, eyes and pale flesh with the honest opinion that he was attempting to look like a ghoul. So many people in New York want to look like a dream that they actually prayed good money to turn fantasy into reality. Tattooing and body art were both hobbies of Catherine. She was at the club to do a bit of research, actually, into what the nightlife of the high-class clowns was turning toward. To her unpleasant shock, research was not all she was getting. She felt disassociated with what she was seeing as one would feel after an automobile accident. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as her sense of reality was torn asunder. The body of the handsome stranger, wrapped around the banister, was being manhandled, pulled to pieces by the serpent-guy. His corded arms were moving around the stranger's arms and twisting outward, as if to wrench him into shreds. At least that would have happened if the Other had not appeared. The flash of silver shot with red was a bullet in her vision, streaking at such amazing speed that her breath was stolen. The howling sounds from the serpent-guy tore at her ears and the feeling that wept from the scene ate at her heart. Her entire being quivered as she watched Something tear into the serpent man. It was at least eight feet tall, looming over the tattooed man, it sported hair that shot backward like knives from it's metallic skull and it's red-silver body seemed to flow bonelessly as it grappled with the smaller of the two. It occurred to her, then, that the contest was really unfair. The silver thing had hands that resembled razor shovels and was slicing through the other as easily as a knife through butter. Amazing how quickly a life can be taken; two in the span of seconds. ____ "Az." I called softly from a throat constructed to screech rather than speak. "Az." I felt a tremor of fear inside the belly that had been crafted to house only anger and killing desire. My hands, fingerless, made to carve into an enemy like shovels, were useless; I could not stroke the hair from his broken face, nor could I caress his cheek for fear of harming him further. I also could not move his torn body anymore than I could become Darian again. People. "Em.....Excuse me, Sir, Ma'am?" The soft voice seemed to lilt in my ears. I turned smoothly, the top half of my torso rippling with velvet synth-muscle, and looked at the attractive blonde who had attempted to catch the Master's eye earlier. "Yes, M'lady?" I replied properly, despite the turmoil within my being. "If you must go.... go, I can look after your...." Her words were shattered, line of thought decimated, by that which drove a pall of fear into my body; a feather to break my metal back. I absent-mindedly noted that the Club was as empty as the hunger that now filled my body, while studying the new threat. Standing above the body of the Lesser Seedling was another, more powerful, Seedling. This one had streaks covering the bulk of its massive obsidian torso, each streak indicating an echelon of power earned. I managed to count at least thirty before I felt the full force of it's anti-Transcendence flow through the air. My body shivered and shattered, flowing onto the ground at my feet uselessly. I was human, robes fitting snugly around my muscular form; naked against a Seedling. No power of mine could face this and a single blow from a lesser Seedling had seemingly killed the Master. How could we possibly survive? We couldn't. ____ End. Part 2. Ebony body roped with black veins, crawling tendrils of adrenalin strength, the creature that hovered before Damian was impossible. Ten feet at the shoulder, with brilliant ruby eyes seemed to have a presence separate from its physical form. The shadows that scattered and danced beneath his unshod feet had malevolence that neither Catherine nor Darian had experienced in their relatively short lives. The snarl that seemed painted on its gruesome face was one of thoughtful foreboding and the half opened maw hinted at a hunger that went far beyond food; the four inch fangs and drool that smeared it's chin like honey dropped to the floor in piles that hissed and ate through the carpet. It was enjoying making its prey quiver. Darian acted desperately, swinging around at the hips to grope for his Master, hand digging feebly at the carpet beneath his unresponsive leg. The Seedling reacted by swinging a halfhearted punch toward Darian. It was an act of such lightning force, an act of such impossible accuracy, that Darian could not dodge. The impact sent ripples through the air around Darian, the impact shattering bones to jelly as casually as one swats a fly. Darian flew into the air above Azrof's head, toes and fingers' touching as his body was almost broken in half by the blow. He maintained consciousness long enough to feel the impact with the water he had just been swimming in. That which had just given freedom to his senses acted as a boundary into which they could not follow. Unconscious. In water. Catherine, seeing no way out of the situation, looked toward the broken body of Azrof, silently begging the still form to breathe; silently hoping that a savior would come. When the Seedling before her moved his hand she did not sense it, did not know what was about to happen. Unconsciousness took her in a wave of acidic blackness that bore only pain rather than the soothing calm of sleep. __ Though my body is torn, I do not feel anger. Though my heart is rent from my chest, I do not feel angst's touch. Though my very soul aches from powerlessness, I do not let frustration overcome me; do not let the Transcendence within my being become tainted with selfish, falsely righteous rage. Yet when one I love is tossed about like a rag I tend to become a bit upset. Perhaps I am understating. My Will, flowing on a river of Pure Transcendence, came crashing into my lax body with the full force of my wroth. My hands jumped upward as the energy searched out each broken juncture of life and brought light unto their absent, dark, death. The creature that stood before Catherine startled, turning toward my body curiously; I was dead wasn't I? My eyes, beacons that were normally unlit, bathed the creature with a red that could only be described as bloody. I awoke. The creature reached down, as if to grip me, off-handedly. As though I was Darian. The thought drove me into motion before I had time to consider a course of action; I did what my body knew. Dragon block, the motion flowing outward with each hand an iron brace held at an angle away from my body, wrists rotating outward with a chill violence that could break steel. Or flesh. The noise that erupted from the air about me was the result of the block, a screaming similar to the ripping of steel cord. The impact seemed to mirror that sound, not to be the source of the sound. Bone became visible within a midnight flesh, only to heal instantly, flesh flowing like ichor back into place. It felt pain. Its sickly red eyes widened in surprise, mouth letting loose a bellow of horrible anger as it shot forward with it's other hand. Quickly. The laziness it had evidenced for Darian vanished as it clawed for my jugular. The knife-like fingers toward my flesh with the power of a pile driver; a certain kill. If I had been there. Psauron reflexes. My left foot slid forward and to the left on the floor, bringing my upper body aside the monstrosity, and my right hand shot outward, open fisted. My palm shot into the creatures solar plexus, knocking wind and flesh from its most comfortable position. Foul air spewed from the maw of the inhuman creature, showering my shoulder with acidic drool, drool that was happy to eat through my clothing. The creature responded to the attack by shooting its knee upward at my belly; evidently it was determined to strike me. I was not in the mood to fulfill that desire. Transcendent lunge. Instead of drawing away from the creatures knee I drew my fingers into a point against the creature's belly and dove inward, through the creature. I exited the gruesome body clean, clothing repaired by my Will, raven hair slicked back neatly. I ignored the sound of the dead body disappearing, the wailing hiss of it's death meaning nothing to me. Darian was hurt. I closed my eyes, letting the velvet of my lashes stroke my cheeks into a meditation, and found him. In a healing sleep within the pool. I barely kept from laughing when I realized what the creature had done. Perhaps the creature was so unused to conflict that it did not know how to handle a Red Robed Enlightened One and perhaps that would explain why it had died so easily. The thought worried me for a moment. "If there are no more True Ones," I murmured thoughtfully, not wanting to consider that possibility. Drawing away from my troubling thoughts I focused on the Transcendence, I drew Darian from water to haven. My home. Then, turning smoothly, I sent Catherine to a room close to his own. The air wavered a moment around her body, rejecting my will, then imploded with a velvet soft sucking sound. The space vanished for a moment, leaving a dark void, only to be filled with reality as quickly. Catherine was gone. Sighing, I left the empty Club, prepared to clean up my own mess. - Part 3 The sibilant tones of the singer's voice pierced my dreamless sleep with the pervasive ease of a kiss. "Unbreak my heart....Say that you love me." My senses arose from the depths of nonbeing with a sluggishness that left me both confused and afraid. Where was I? Who was I? My fingers curled about velvet and fluff, knuckling pillows so sweetly soft as to tempt more slumber from me. Darkness moved inward on my newly awoken senses, threatening to tame me before I was ready to give it a good go. Memory. I recalled then; I remembered the last centuries in a flash that only near-sleepers have, as though my entire being was being poured back into my flesh from a gourd, my mental discipline became more real than any pillow. Eyes flashing open, showing me the truth, I whispered my name; something to cling to. "Darian." Something to cling to; the room was ancient. I had to crane my neck to view all of it's sights and even then I felt as though the sleeper's illness caused me to miss much of it. Two large mirrors, decorated with coiling emerald serpents, framed the double doors that led from the high domed room. Turning my eyes to the left I saw an entire wall made of crystal clear glass, marred only with etchings that seemed all too real, dragons from myth, heros in armor and women gesturing grandly. All these things seemed to hide within glass, though the glass held more than images; it held a view, it's translucent surface falling away to demonstrate the beautifully manicured yard that hovered just beyond my light-sensitive eye's range. To the right of the doors was something resembling a clothing rack; a stand about ten feet tall that rotated on a dias with no wheel nor motor to turn it. The stand had my cloak. Ruby red cloth spilt to the ground before an armoire, kissing inch thick rugs, still five feet below the bowled out ceiling. Behind me was the wall my four posted, canopy, bed rested against. To Transcend the Flesh I stood briskly, eyes clearing enough to view the restroom compartment beside the bed and the pool of water in the middle of the floor. Wait, I thought to myself, almost tripping into the bluish waters. A pool of water in the middle of the floor? Scratching my scalp with short nails, my eyes studied the way the raven black rug seemed to flow into a marble bathtub in the center of the room and how that tub was constantly churning as if powered by a faucet or natural spring. A miracle of modern plumbing, I hoped. Some things in this world simply Had to be mundane. Didn't they? The light suddenly shot through the wall of glass, breaking my concentration; a brilliant spear of yellow-orange that seemed to move from the floor to the ceiling in a sweep of it's airy hand, highlighting the etchings into an amazing splendor. The figures upon the glass abruptly seemed to flow, moving with life. My eyes, trained in the arts, read the runes on the glass that were formed by the movements of the etchings absently before my feet padded their own way to the amazing sight. Azrof. Wyvet. Marxin, and many more flew beneath my glance as I helplessly studied the courtyard beyond. Lavish green flowed beneath the five story exterior, a lawn decorated not with grass, as was want of many fashionable people, but with trees of all types, began barely six inches below my window-wall. The trees smattered around a weave-work of trails who's knot reminded me of Celtic rope-work; gave a sense of eternity, granted peace. Foreverness. Looking away for a moment I noticed that the sun had pierced the tree's barricade only by design; the trees were placed in a pattern to allow light in different areas of the building at different times of day. Smiling faintly at the antics of my teacher I noticed that the trees to the left and right of my room were several feet taller. He woke me up this early as surely as if he had turned on the lightbulb and shouted "Darian, Fire!" Eyes widening at the mind that must have created such a thing, I mused a moment on my teacher. The chuckle that resounded from my belly was in his honor; an unfocused moment before I gathered myself into a leap. I leapt, using other than my physical; I used my focus for a moment to consider how the trees must look from above. And my existence was rocked. The trees, oak and elm, ironwood and dogwood, made, with their leaves, a face. A living face; the face of a woman. Her hair was the richest red, a red that mimicked the sun, and her lips were a flushed pink that only dogwoods could create. Her green-tinted flesh was as beautiful as any imagination and her face seemed to change expressions as the wind softly swayed through the treetops. Nothing marred that face; even the trails and animals that lived within the forest seemed to have respect for that, most Devine, visage. The neck of the creation flowed into the building as a wave crashed into a rock wall, and with just as much noise. The abrupt ending of her was enough to tear into my soul, choking a sob from my body before I clamped down on the emotion and settled back into flesh bindings. "Oh Master, you torment yourself so. No wonder you acted to disinterested in the blonde beauty..." My words trailed off a lonely moment into a silence as heavy as any lead weight. Breaking my focus on the Window, I turned and ignored the splendor that surrounded me, needing to focus on my own breathing rather than that which the Master had created to torment himself. I bathed thoughtlessly, not noticing that the water cleaned flesh as surely as if soap had been applied, without noticing my hair was more glossily healthy than ever and without noticing that I smelt of peaches. I stood, letting the water dry from my flesh with a wave of warmth that eroded the icy shell that water usually leaves about a person, and placed my clean robes about my shoulders. I was considering leaving my room and what manner of effort it would take to find my way around the huge complex when I heard a knock at my door. "Are you here?" The questing voice wavered slightly with a very feminine fear. "Only if your not talking to the door, lady." I answered jokingly and opened the door, the soundless movement causing the newly dressed Catherine to step back suddenly. Evidently she had been learning against it, hoping against hope, that someone would be here. She half smiled at my quip, ruby lips twisting much like a rag being rung. "My name is Catherine...I do not believe we have er....met?" Her manner was strangely flirtatious; perhaps she was attempting to coo her way out of the mansion. I reconsidered for a moment, thinking to myself, 'the lady has had a tough night and is being friendly Dar, just calm down.' "I am Darian, nice to meet you." I answered as sweetly as I could, shaking her hand briskly. "Catherine here. Darian, do you know where we are?" She gestured about her grandly, indicating the setting. "Unfortunately Catherine, the Master has never shown me his home before. I am as in the dark as you are." "You call him, Master?" She asked with a fearful curiosity that reminded me of her namesake, a Siamese I once loved. "Aye, he taught me the ways of Enlightenment, though he is not a practitioner." I shook my head raptly, indicating that the conversation should cease in that direction and asked, instead, "And you, Catherine, what do you do?" ___ My reply to his soft tones was hesitant, showing so much of myself, "I work in body-art...Darian." I kept the smile plastered on my lips self-consciously. "Body-art? I've had a fascination with that for some time. It takes great skill, I assume, Catherine? I mean, making contact with another has to eventually burn within you… right?" He's so shy, I thought to myself, smiling honestly. "Well, not really. We distance ourselves from our clients and learning how to draw isn't hard as long as you have some skill." Unconsciously I found myself contemplating how Darian's body would feel beneath my touch. "Contact has always been a problem for me, so I really don't understand that, but I can empathize with skill." He made conversation with effort, as if he had not for years. How strange, I thought. Enticed by the situation I stepped forward, closing the distance between us to a mere foot. "How has contact been a problem for you, Darian?" I made my voice a husky whisper, deliberately showing him my interest. He showed signs of discomfort and embarrassment; his face turned a very pleasant shade of rose and his hands fidgeted with his clothing. "Well, I've always found that contact does something to me…" He trailed off as I reached up to touch his cheek. Contact was luminous. As if a light had been turned on within the darkness of my body, I found a connection between us instantly ignited. I could feel how lonely and pent he was and he, I knew, could feel my interest and longing. It spread like a fire into him, an avalanche of lava that was mirrored back into me through the connection. I shook with the force of my desire doubled, then tripled. He did not react to the sensations very much at all. He just gasped and shivered. I, however, was not so shy. I quickly shed my clothing, followed by his and shoved him onto the bed. He let me. Standing there, nude, above him, I eagerly explored his body with my eyes before I allowed contact to shatter my control. His flesh was a flawless tan expanse of corded musculature, his manhood the apex of his masculinity that was, I somehow knew, perfectly shaped to fit me. It was wide, easily two inches thick if not more and long enough to fill me without bottoming out. I didn't waste time wondering how he had managed that feat; I joined him. For Darian the sensations throbbing through his body were a painful temptation. He had not known the comfort of another for longer than would admit to himself and viewing Catherine, standing above him, naked was almost more than he could stand. She had a picturesque huntresses physique. Her cheeks were high and her ears slightly tapered, her blonde hair framed huge emerald eyes and fell just above her perfect breasts with large nipples and tiny areolas. Her pubis was trimmed into an elegant "V" shape that concealed only her most private treasures. She lacked almost any fat and her body was porcelain pale, just as Darian had always wanted. She was desire embodied. My fingers moved across his body slowly, tracing his perfect, silk flesh longingly. I noted that the more erogenous areas caused a more intense reaction from myself as well as him; the bond between us made by contact was such a mirror that even tracing his hairless chest to his nipples made me moist. I leaned down and ran my tongue around his belly button only to receive a throbbing stab deep inside my belly, as if all it wanted was for me to take him into me. I didn't give in, not yet. Instead, I flicked my tongue across his delicious lips and kissed him. He intuited through the contact just how I wanted to be kissed and that made it the most amazing experience of my life; we did not merely press our lips together, we bonded. Our flesh became one almost as surely as if he was deep inside me, completing me. It occurred to me then that I wanted this man as I had never wanted any other. My hand went to his member, circled the engorged flesh and stroked once. The response in my body was a piercing throb that compelled me to straddle him, which I eagerly did. I knelt on the bed and ground my pelvis into his length, shoving my most need against his own. I came in a few seconds; it was an explosion that prodded my desire only into brighter sensation. His manhood against my clit was sumptuous but I wanted more. So I took it. I sat up and reached down, ready to guide him inside me only to find that his member was already correctly positioned. Not really surprised I rocked back and down, forcing him deep within me. His cock filling me was indescribably perfect. His width seemed to articulate to hammer me, spread me and stroke me from within, without his moving. Cords of muscle undulated inside his cock! Like some fantastically shaped vibrator, he was pounding me without moving! Groaning desperately, squeezing my arms around my breasts, I began riding him. Thoughtless of the fact that I did not need to, I rocked up and down, forcing my toned thighs to move quickly as my desire was so potent that the thought of being without him inside me even for a moment was painful. The fact that he did not move didn't bother me at all; his cock was doing all of his moving for him when he was inside me. "Oh Darian, fuck me, oh gods lover…take me…" I panted and moaned out my desire, careless of what I said as his need met mine in explosive force. Still somewhat shy and bound by an unseen force, Darian did not reach up and take her. Instead his member responded. Like some super technological vibrator, it began pulsing within me even harder. He was fucking me! Fucking me! Fucking me! And it was the best thing I had ever felt. I came then, over and over. It was the longest, hardest series of orgasms in my life – my belly was sore from them afterwards. Darian didn't but somehow he also felt the release. The Cheshire grin on his face as I landed the last time, with him still filling me perfectly, and moved my cheek against his hot chest, was proof that he had felt it too. Catherine couldn't help but wonder, if Darian was the student, how good would Azrof be in bed? End Part 3. Note: I don't intend to write more on this story unless I get responses – it's a pretty big deviation from the Norm here in that sex did not occur until very late in the story and I do not believe that it will be a big "Hit" as it were.