Shut up with an Idiot, Whiskey and Comfort
Princess Leia Organa
woke up fully clothed and sweaty in the bunkroom of the starship Millennium
Falcon, clad in her white snowsuit and under tunic from Hoth. The young woman’s arm wrapped around one of
the pillows, clasping it tightly to her skull. Her chestnut hair was partially
unbraided, the ends loose and flowing down her back. Her head felt as if it was enveloped by a
thick blanket muffling her thoughts, touch and hearing. Her fuzzy vision focused on the door at the
far wall to the aft hallway. Her
eyeballs felt as though the surface had been sucked dry. She attempted to lift her head. As Leia blinked the world seemed to snapshot
from one second to the next, as though a strobe’s pulse lit her world.
She doggedly blinked
away the fog in front of her eyes, but found the haze in her head had taken up
permanent residence. The room rotated
around her on a tilted axis and her head swam as she sluggishly determined where
she was. It was vaguely familiar and
felt safe. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes. She
yawned widely and animatedly, stretching her arms out around her, her joints
cracking. The princess fumbled upright and after another series of gaping yawns
her fingers cleared out the crusties of sleep at the edges of her eyes. She stared at the white flecks and black
crust of mascara on her fingertips and wondered how long she had been in bed,
or for that matter how she had arrived there in the first place.
Leia closed her eyes
for a moment and felt the room spin around her.
Her hand moved to grip the edge of the bunk and she pushed herself up,
swaying unsteadily. Her right arm shot
out to brace herself on the adjacent wall of the crew cabin. Her foot dragged through something
sticky. She looked down and saw the half
dried remains of an amber liquid spilled across the quarters decking that was
now covering the bottom of her thermal sock.
She lifted her foot with a “Yick” and pawed at the sticky spot
underneath, nearly losing her balance when she raised her foot. Somewhere
behind her a glass clinked as it rolled across the bunk.
Leia floundered her
way in to the crew cabin’s refresher, covering the vast two metres in series of
leans and stumbles. When she had dealt
with her immediate physical needs and subsequent ablutions, she stumbled out
and palmed the door access to the ship’s ring corridor. She was unsure what had
occurred in the last few hours that had inhibited her memory, but she had no
doubt that vagabond Han Solo had some significant part in in it.
No matter what, if it
was his fault she would figure out the truth.
She always did… Always.
Leia grasped the edge of the Corellian freighter’s steel bulkhead using it
to propel herself forward down the hall. She rounded past the cargo bay on the
starboard side, avoiding the main hold common area. Her feet seemed to float underneath her until
she tripped on the raised edge of floor decking. Leia caught herself and stared accusingly at
her offending foot as the other automatically dragged forward. Her world tilted as she collided with a
coarse mass of smelly fur. She flailed
momentarily, trying to disentangle herself from whatever she had run into. A tough leathery hand steadied her with a
firm grip on her shoulder.
“Easy there, little
Princess.” The being growled at her in its own tongue.
She blinked at the two and half metre furry mass of the Falcon’s co-pilot,
briefly wondering how he had appeared so suddenly.
“Ah sorry, just on my
way to the cockpit Chewie.” She attempted to wind her way around him to
continue on her way.
There was a barking
chuckle from Chewie, “Han says he’s on watch, not that he needs to since we
fixed the long range sensors. I’ll be in
my hammock for the next shift. I’ll leave you two to... sort out your
differences.”
Leia smiled gamely at
the wookiee and nodded as if understanding.
She caught the gist, especially the ironic tone at the end, and that was
enough to make the color come up to her cheeks. She moved aside to let him pass and hauled
herself forward again. An irrational
surge of anger went through her, she had the vaguest memories of Han hauling
her to the bunkroom, the back of his shirt splattered with her drink. Her body slung over his shoulder, and her
right fist lamely pummeling on firm musculature of the tall Corellian’s back,
demanding that she be put down. And
somehow she had managed to keep the half glass of alcohol mostly upright in her
left hand, ice and all.
What had that
been about?
She honestly couldn’t
remember. Leia’s hand bunched and her fist connected with the starship’s walls’
crash padding. Three years of dealing
with this insufferable half-assed criminal.
Gods!
She huffed. That’s
right, Han was here somewhere and she would make him pay for her indignation.
She followed the black thread of irritation that wound its way through her
inebriated mind. Of course she was angry
with that ill-mannered, irritating, mercenary, scruffy, idiotic, foul mouthed
scoundrel. At that last thought she
recalled the sensuous curve of the scoundrel’s mouth as he leaned over her,
weeks earlier, baiting her in the port circuitry bay. Leia remembered the way
his head had tilted to the left, his eyebrows high in amusement, silently
laughing at her choice of words for him.
“Scoundrel? Scoundrel!”
He drew out the first vowels into a long note of affection, a wide
heart-stopping smile spreading across that damned annoying smug face. His voice
dropped to a rumble, “I like the sound of that.”
At that, she had
wanted to slug him, or something overtly physical at least. The handsome
smuggler had then kissed the lovely young Princess; gently, hesitantly, as if
seeking permission. The Princess had
kissed the captain back, daring him on.
As if he could take her. Hah! She
tried desperately to tell herself she hated him. Hated him for being a mercenary, hated him
for trying to force her to confront her feelings, hated him for being so damned
gorgeous, smart, witty, a tease… “Aaargh!” She grouched audibly in
frustration. And damn him if that wasn’t
working.
Leia punched each
adjacent wall pad as she moved along the corridor, imagining each punch
connecting with some portion of Han Solo’s body. Much like Solo’s real physical self, her
imaginary punching-bag Solo winced, straightened and egged her on with that
idiotic smug grin. It was turning out to
be not much of a release.
Just as magically as
Chewie had appeared earlier, the cockpit door materialized in front of the
petite fuming drunken noble. The princess pushed her small body away from the
wall and balanced on the balls of her feet, mentally preparing herself,
straightening her back and holding her head regally. Inwardly she seethed, she plucked at her
clothes, arranging her tunic top which seemed to be clinging to the skin of her
chest. A hazy recollection of Han
dressing her prone form flitted through her mind, her figure limp except for
her hand clutching the drink. Coming back to the present, she punched the
cockpit’s door control, mentally cursing the ship’s captain that was just
beyond. Damnable scruffy-looking…
The door slid open and
Leia marched in, smacking the lock closed behind her. As she stepped forward to address the
lounging body in the captain’s chair, her foot clattered against a pair of
bottles situated upright on the floor.
She lost her indignant focus and noted the two amber liquids. One was the dark gold of the ubiquitous
Corellian whiskey Whyren’s Reserve, the other bottle was more recently
familiar. A viscous sunset colored
liquor sloshed within, unlike the nearly empty Whyren’s , this bottle was two
thirds full. Leia recalled the sticky
spot on her sock, the splash of dried liquid near her bunk, her left hand
subconsciously fingering the collar of her tunic, drawing it away from her
chest once more. She read the label’s
basic lettering, and the events leading up to her waking up in the crew
quarters rushed over her in a confused jumble of memories. Her cheeks felt hot as her eyes slid up the
floor decking to take in the lean form of the man Leia had barged in on. Their
eyes met in the reflection of the cockpit’s semicircular forward viewport that
looked out into the glittering star filled expanse of deep space beyond.
Han Solo’s lanky body
was draped over the seat and armrests of his chair, his bare feet resting on
the console in front of him. . He was dressed in his bloodstriped dark
military trousers and a deep blue jacket. A well-worn low slung leather gunbelt
hung off his narrow hips. He slouched nearly horizontal, an empty drink tumbler
in his hand. His forehead rested on his
other hand and his deep set eyes were slits, leading Leia to momentarily
believe he might be sleeping. She smacked
at his legs and he jumped a bit, drawing back his long limbs and straightening
up by shifting his weight to his elbows on the armrests. It was languid and sensuous, like a feline
stretching. The smuggler gave the Princess a brief glower of moody irritation.
Leia opted for Han’s
style of intimidation. She planted her
hands on either side of his headrest and scowled down at him, for once using
height to her advantage, calculating what the next move was. He owed her… Bigtime.
“Nexu got your tongue
Princess?” He provoked. A hot flush shot
down her spine.
“You dumped me in that bunk!” She
pointed her index finger at Han in perfect imitation of him. His eyes crossed slightly as he stared at her
accusing digit. “Carried me there like a sack, like a,” she sputtered and
stammered, “like- like the neanderthal you are!”
He gently pushed her
hand away with the side of his wrist and gave her a withering look, “You were
too drunk, your Highnessness! I don’t do
comatose bodies. “ Solo snapped at her,
expression turning from partially amused to exasperated.
Leia considered that. Maybe she had had passed out. She had most certainly maintained hold of her
glass, unconscious or not. She
remembered then, “You poured brandy on me!” She yelled at him indignantly. Leia felt herself beginning to lose this
battle. No, that didn’t seem quite accurate either.
“It wasn’t brandy, it
was Selonian Comfort,” he shot back. Han
leaned in close to her, his voice dropped to a subterranean depth, his breath
hot, and heady with alcohol. “And you practically asked me to do that.
In fact, you initiated it! “
She startled, unsure.
“W- What?” Had she? Oh Gods, that part was coming back to
her now too.
Han reached down to
put his whiskey glass on the floor beside his chair, his hand cupped her cheek,
and he kept his voice low. There was a
hint of tease in his deep whisper. “Oh yeah, it was a dare.”
“No, no. “ Leia’s hand
fluttered to her brow nervously, “Not a dare.” She corrected, remembering, her
eyes narrowed, “It was a bet! And you lost.
It took seconds for you to give it up. You’re mine, flyboy.” She
crowed triumphantly.
“It was hardly fair!”
He whinged, a half-hearted argument at best.
“I won.” Leia reminded. “Drink,” she
commanded, grabbing the Selonian Comfort, shoving it in his hands. Han uncharacteristically obeyed, lifting the bottle
to his lips, wincing. He tossed back a healthy swig, gulping, eyes closed. He made a small sound that might have been a
curious “Mmm”, the corner of his mouth lifted, clearly enjoying the tempered
sweet burn of the blended whiskey variety.
Leia smacked him
gently in the chest and raised the glass he had emptied earlier for a
fill. Han poured her half a glass, and
they saluted each other with a clink.
Han took a few gulps, his larynx bobbing, all while watching Leia out of
the side of his peripheral vision as she daintily sipped at her tumbler. Damn
him, that was good.
It was all coming back to her now.
Just a few hours ago they had
been at the main hold’s dejarik table chatting, laughing and drinking after a
savory dinner the boys had cooked. One
of few non-ration meals on the long haul to shelter and repairs at Bespin.
After cleanup, Chewie had retired to work on some woodcraft projects, she and
Han had settled in for a sedate evening of holo viewing. Han had retrieved the
liquor from the ship’s cargo stores when she had tired of choking down the fire
of the Whyren’s. Han proclaimed it perfect for a princess as it was the label
preferred by the Selonian den-mother queens.
Han bowed, grandly
flourished the bottle before Leia, “Selonian Comfort. Honeyfruit sweetened, spiced Corellian
whiskey. Stupidly expensive too. Apparently a favorite amongst the ladies of
the court. “ He grunted, untwisting the metallic green cap. “ Packs a punch
too. “ He poured the rest of her
abandoned traditional whiskey into his own glass and tipped the bottle of
Comfort in her direction. “Ice or no ice, your Highnessness?”
Later,
when Princess Leia had downed three fingers worth, she noticed Han still
preferred the Whyren’s. “Drink wish shmee” she ordered imperiously, waving her
hand at the Corellian as she would a palace servant. Damn, too much whiskey,
too much Selonian Comfort. The room whirled around her.
Han noisily sucked
back his traditional whiskey and pursed his lips at Leia, “No,” his eyes rolled
up as he visibly wracked his brain as how to put it in diplomatic terms for a
princess. He shrugged, gave up and very
undiplomatically informed her it was a woman’s drink and he wouldn’t touch the
stuff.
Feeling brave, she
giggled at him, “ ’fraid your bitty boy bits’d shrivel all up Captain?” Han gave her a squinting look of distaste and
she perched her fingers over her glass slurring, “I betchshya an
undred-thausand credisht I can get you to want it sho much you’d lap up every
drop I offer you.”
Han burst out laughing.
He tossed his head to the side and his face lit up in a white smile, the
Corellian’s unruly thick mop of brown hair fell into his eyes, and to her he
was almost beautiful. Leia found herself
gaping at him like a lovesick schoolgirl. He calmed and winked at the
Alderaanian princess, fingering the sleeve of his threadbare old shirt that she
had recently taken to wearing, her own belongings light years away on some
cruiser after their hasty evacuation from Hoth. It was the same shirt he had
worn three years earlier on the day they met. “I don’ts think so, you don’ts
have…” he stopped and reconsidered, frowning.
She was the last princess of a major royal house after all. Leia smirked at him and waggled her fingers,
beckoning the pirate to continue. Han nervously drummed his long fingers on the
gaming table, glowering accusingly at the bottle across from them. He was drunk
enough to consider her as being serious,
“Okay, okayyy…What if I lose?” he mumbled.
Oh, she had him now.
Leia took his hand,
kissing the rough surface of his scarred knuckles. “Then,” she paused dramatically and dipped his first
two fingers into the sweet liquid in her glass. She drew up her legs underneath
her on the couch, facing Han. Gripping
his wrist she pulled his dripping fingers in a line under her chin and down the
smooth skin of her throat. “Then, you’re mine… forever. “ The half slurred, but heartfelt words tumbled
from her as his fingers completed the run to bottom of the V on the collar of
the shirt. The liquid staining the shirt with a golden medallion of color where
she paused with his dripping hand. The
whites of Han’s eyes grew huge, his gaze flicking from hers to her breastbone
and returning. He ran his free hand over
his hair in a nervous gesture and paused, gripping the back of his neck,
licking his lips. The smuggler’s eyes caught her deep brown orbs and he surged
forward, hauling her to him by the waist and feverishly lapped at the amber
droplets on her exposed skin. Leia
squealed with delight, threw her head back, and closed her eyes. His
work-roughened hands roamed over her supple flesh; rasping, tweaking and
pinching. She had writhed and moaned, his touch faded to a distant tingling and
then she was fading, falling-
Han’s roguish features
swam into focus before her again. His
green gold flecked eyes sparkled with mirth, the skin wrinkling at the
corners. A silken strand of her hair was
being twisted through his fingers.
“Just starting to remember,
Sweetheart? It’s only been a few hours.”
“Shut up. “ Leia ordered him in a snarl. She remained grumpy and unwilling
to banter, especially about her passing out mid-foreplay. She roughly shoved him back in his chair,
realizing that he only had his jacket covering his lithe muscled torso. Her fingers spread on the warm tanned expanse
of his pectorals. The sparse down of his
chest hair tangled lightly over the surface of her fingers. Her mouth watered at the sight, as the
logical part of her brain wondered what kind of idiot wears just a jacket and
no shirt while napping.
“Not gonna fall asleep on me again, are ya, gorgeous?” Han’s mocking voice interrupted her musings,
piquing her ire. He appeared to like it
when she was a little rough, and he constantly reminded her how beautiful she
was when brought to anger.
This guy, Solo. She shook her head. And he was
clearly an idiot. A beautiful, sexy, brave idiot genius who had saved her life
innumerable times, risking himself and his beloved ship for her and her
Rebellion. She’d spent the better part of the last few years reminding herself
to try and hate him, and failing miserably.
Here she was, trapped on an ancient limping starship with him for seven
weeks, barely having evaded death yet again. Damn him.
“Shut up.” Leia yanked on the
collar of that damned stupid jacket that framed his lanky form so well, pulling
them nose to nose. Her eyes blazed
angrily into his laughing hazel colored depths.
The right side of his mouth quirked up and he opened it to tease her
again.
“Hey, your Worship, be
carefmphf!!” Han’s sentence was lost as
she hauled on him and mashed their lips together. She sucked and nibbled his bottom lip. Han yanked his head back, fighting for air.
“Ow! Ah, be careful…the glass! I’m not- ”
He surrendered, as her teeth grazed along the long tendon on his throat.
Han’s breath hitched, Leia’s blood thrilling when he shivered against her.
“You’re mine.” Leia
hissed, her hand continued to clutch his collar as she gently dug her
fingernail possessively into his firm chest. “You lost, you’re mine now. And you will do whatever I say, including
shutting up.”
Han’s grin
broadened. Clearly the idiot couldn’t
resist. “ Y’know Princessnessness, I’m terrible at following ord-”
She silenced any
further taunting with a fiery kiss. Leia
clambered halfway into the pilot’s seat, intending for her knees to straddle
his thighs. His holster interrupted her
progress and she had fresh dose of fury.
Leia clucked in frustration, downed her drink, pushing the glass into
Han’s hand for a refill of Comfort. Han
obliged, taking another swig himself as Leia’s small fingers clumsily worked
his buckle.
“What-“ Leia’s teeth gritted, “…Kind
of idiot,” she ground out. The wide
silvery plate clicked after an age. “ …wears a full-on gunbelt while
he’s-“ Confident, she jerked at his
thigh strap, the more conventional fastener was rapidly undone with ease.
“Sleeping!”
Han quirked one eyebrow at Leia, giving her a look like she was completely
daft. “ Seriously? I wasn’t sleeping.
Beside’s…” Han leaned close, shifting his frame to allow her to unwrap
the holster from his leg and hips, his breath maintained the heady waft of the
straight up whiskey he’d finished before her entrance. His voice went to its
lowest register, whispering conspiratorially, “There’s guys like Imperials and
even pirates out there.” His voice held itself together remarkably well
when he was drunk, he barely slurred, much to her rapidly dwindling annoyance.
Leia tossed the offending belt aside into the co-pilot’s seat, snatched her
glass from his proffered hand, and their lips met again. She took it slow this time, allowing her to
slide up his body onto the chair. Han’s mouth rose into that infuriating
lopsided smirk, he crooked his neck to lock his color shifting dark eyes with
her chocolate brown ones. The diminutive
princess was leaning over the long-limbed smuggler, relishing the way her
position mirrored his usual towering over her when they were standing. Their tongues dueled, twisted and she broke
off after a moment, gasping as his teeth nibbled the round edge of her ear. “
Aren’t you accused of being a pirate, Captain?”
Han’s right hand held the bottle, his left circled her waist, pulling
her close. Leia braced herself on his
shoulders, balancing the glass in her hand, reveling in the swelling heat in
her core. Han reached over the armrest,
carefully replacing the third of a full bottle to a safer spot. Hands freed, he tugged impatiently at the
zipper on her snowsuit, eventually sliding one cool hand under the fabric,
around her torso to the base of her back.
Leia wriggled on Han’s lap. She
shrugged at the shoulders of her top, first pulling off the side that held her
glass. Han took the tumbler from her as
she bared the creamy skin of that shoulder, and tugged the sleeves off her
arm. Han sampled her drink from the
glass, his sparkling eyes studying her intently as she stripped her upper torso
of the thick insulated suit. Glass at
his lips, he watched hypnotized, as Leia reversed out of the chair and wriggled
her hips, legs and finally her feet out of her thermal clothing. She tossed the snowsuit lengthwise on the
decking between the cockpit’s chairs, a pair of white panties and the tunic
tank-top her only garb. Eyes smoldering,
Leia leaned against the control panel and crooked her index finger at the
transfixed pilot, beckoning.
Han socked back the remainder of her drink and deposited the glass on the
deck next to the bottles. He gripped the armrest for leverage and practically
leapt of the chair, lunging eagerly towards her. His eyes grew large as he wobbled, he
straightened for a half second with a self-congratulatory grin, bracing himself
on the console behind her and the co-pilot’s backrest. Betrayed by a body that had barely moved in
hours, and having imbibed far, far too much alcohol, his left knee collapsed
and he pitched sideways to the floor in a jumble of splayed limbs.
A yelp burst from Leia as she watched him fall, transforming into
sputtering giggles as Han swore, comically disentangled himself from the chair
bases, armrests, and his own appendages.
He gave her a black look and leaned back on his elbows, his eyes dark
underneath his brows, measuring her.
“Nerfherder.” Leia wheezed, laughing, falling on her knees to straddle him
once more. Han shifted on the deck,
trying to make the best use of her discarded snowsuit as a cushion. She plucked
at the remaining webbing belt that secured his trousers. “You’re sooo
funny.” She sniggered at his clumsiness. What a goofball. Leia mused, her heart swelling with
affection.
Their fingers tangled as Han helped her unfasten his pants. Leia backed off enough to tug at the hem of
the yellow stripe that was sewn down the side, sliding the material from Han’s
narrow hips. Oh man, he was hot. Her hand traced a sensuous line up the solid
washboard of his abdomen and across the pectorals to settle in the collar of
that idiotic jacket he was somehow still wearing.
“I’m NOT a goofball.” He groused defensively. “I’ll take it off.” Han grunted, wriggling to
remove the jacket.
Leia blinked, wondering if she had actually said anything and halted his
actions. Her voice was a lustful rasp,
“No, no, keep it for now.” She nudged forward and reached for the bottle. Han chuckled and he bucked his hips just as
she raised it to her mouth, spilling the precious golden liquid down her chin
and belly. In response, Leia pointed her
sharp nail into the center of his chest in warning to still him as she took a
swig. Han smirked confidently, and
with a growl of irritation she tossed aside the bottle and whipped her top over
her head. Han’s jaw dropped, and it was
Leia’s turn to grin.
With a powerful move, Han deftly
flipped her onto her back. He was on all
fours over Leia, burying his face in the sensitive flesh between her jaw and
shoulder. He raked his teeth along her
neck and rolled his tongue over her ear lobe.
Leia eyes closed and her fingers tangled in the thick hair at the nape
of his neck as she guided him southward, helping him discover every drop of
sweet gold on her body. She swore,
cursed him, called him every name in the book and Han lapped up her rage,
Comfort and all.
Satisfied with his performance he gently spanked her hip, and she barely
could focus on his voice, her spiral easing into an electric tingle under her
skin. “What can I do to you now” he husked in her ear.
Leia shoved Solo back, straightened herself up, stretching her spine. She
stepped over him to lean against the forward control panel, being careful to
not disturb any buttons. She bent over
at the waist coquettishly, glancing over her shoulder at the love-struck
pirate.
Han wobbled upright, shedding the hot jacket, kicking it and her snowsuit
underneath the panel. He positioned
behind her, gripped her hips. “Tell me, princess”
Leia looked back at him and snarled like a panther, her eyes fire. Sensing she wasn’t going to put up with him
much longer, Han plunged his length into her in a smooth motion, and they both
cried out. Leia snarled and pushed back at him.
Han’s groans turned to growls as they accelerated. Their animal grunts
and snarls bounced off the confines of the cockpit walls around them.
Leia’s knuckles went white as she clutched the console and her vision went
blank. Her inner perception shifted, spreading out via the alcohol, the Force
and the spice in the Comfort. Leia felt a numbing rush through her body,
she felt weightless, and then a pinpoint of searing heat spiked from her core
up through her pelvis as she fell over the edge into hot oblivion. Every nerve ending in her body lit up with
white fire as she tensed and shivered uncontrollably. She reached back, desperate to hold him to
her, desperate to stem the flood of pleasure that ripped through her.
“Leia! Leia, min min larel valle! “ Han cried out. She raised her head just
enough to catch his reflection in the viewport in front of them. His lips were pulled back into a grimace as
the taut bronze muscles of his body flexed and undulated. Their eyes locked,
wide, consumed, feral and then they were both utterly lost, tumbling into the
abyss.
The whirling of the cockpit around her settled when she became aware of
Han’s callused hand caressing up the porcelain flesh of her spine.
“Holy gods, Leia.” Han
rasped.
He stumbled backwards,
catching the armrest of the navigator’s chair, collapsing into it heavily. Han’s head lifted to the cockpit ceiling, a
limp hand over his brow, wheezing, trying to catch his breath. Leia maintained her death grip on the console
for a time, fearing to walk as her bones had turned to jelly. After a prolonged moment she collected
herself, his jacket, and staggered over to him. She crumpled into Han’s lap,
drawing up her short legs to curl into a ball of comfort. Han’s head had fallen to the side; a blissful
silly smile on his face. She
instinctively wanted to both smack him and fall asleep against the warmth of
his chest. She opted for the latter, and
snuggled back against him under the jacket.
Han sighed contently,
nibbling at her jaw. Leia absently traced the raised thread of vein on his
bicep, every ounce of her indignant anger spent and forgotten. As he reached
Leia’s collarbone she playfully pushed his head away, watching mesmerized as he
swayed drunkenly, graceful in his goofiness.
Han’s toe nudged the empty bottles on the floor, rattling the glass.
“Ready for another bit
of whiskey and comfort?” he teased.
Leia blinked, stared
exasperated into his laughing eyes, willingly going for the bait. She stroked the scar on his chin with her
thumb, running her nail across the stubble, and kissed him languidly, tasting
herself on his lips. “Shut up, Nerfherder.”
