Sight of The Sun //Nude

[gamemaker kelsier]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://media.tumblr.com/9d09cbdac59d3db75f3e56904d986145/tumblr_inline_muwzxyP5YL1qapyo9.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, background-position: bottom, bTable] j u d e r i p l e y.

[atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #ffffff; opacity: 0.7; padding: 10px; border-radius: 10px 10px 10px 10px;] It has been a few years now, since Nessie first found me miserable and wet inside the cave. It feels like it has only been a few weeks. Holding her hand in mine has always been so natural, as if her hand was made to fit inside mine. (It wasn’t Jude, don’t pretend anything good should ever be for you.) I shove that familiar old voice into the back of my skull, where it only peeps up again every now and then. Nervously I flex my fingers, once again stained by ink from yesterdays and today. They grip the pen again, paper bags are a common piece in my outfit once again, stuffed into my back pocket. Birds soar up my arms, more frantic in their appearance the higher they get. Lines of writing thread themselves through them, disjointed and lost in their meaning, tested words that I carefully put on the letter I slipped under the Libertine door, and addressed to her, to Nessie. My wrists, the scars, they won’t heal. I fill the ridged lines with small designs and I worry that Nino hates them. I worry that he sees them and hates me too. I worry that Nessie hates me for them, because I tried to leave her. Worse still, I think I hate me. I was always so strong, or at least appeared to be and without my seeming calm what am I? I don’t know anymore and the looks of disgusted pity every time I walk through the district square has never been helpful. I miss the respectful nods but only half-way because I’m beginning to find that it doesn’t matter, nothing does as much as I think it does, my fevered attempts to explain this don’t make sense, but they do to me. I know, see, it all makes sense now. I just have to tell her, she’s got to know. So I wrote her a note and slipped it under her door, I told her to meet me at our place and now I’m late. For all I’m worth, I run like I’m chased by a hurricane. Words: 355.

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

I'm not usually early. Not to dinner, not to school, and certainly not to masquerade parties. Perhaps it comes from refusing to acknowledge the time - I'll get there when I decide to, and this pretence of control helps me to hold on tight to everything. Today, though, I'm five minutes and seven seconds early and I hate myself for knowing it. (I don't want to care, I really and truly don't. And yet here I am, sitting cross-legged on the floor of my cave and looking at the chalky, faded drawings that never quite went away.) This morning I gripped the envelope with hungry hands, wanting nothing more than the words within. I want to say that I glanced carelessly over them, not noticing the slant of his handwriting - slightly to the right, just a little bit messy - and forgot about each syllable as I carried on as normal. I am the Queen of not-caring, ruler of the extensive lands of not-giving-a-fuck, and yet there I was, sitting and waiting. Finally, I despaired and made my way down to the shoreline to find the place where I first looked at Jude Ripley and saw him as he was. Yet still I wait, tossing rocks just a little too angrily at the wall and watching them bounce away and tumble along the ground. (I remember when I was very small, tossing stones into the ocean. Ursula told me that it took so many years for them to reach the beach that by throwing them back I was forcing hundreds more years of gradually edging toward their goal. I smiled and tossed yet another, this time in her direction.) Finally, there is the sound of footsteps and I forget that Jude brought me here to tell me something. I have words of my own to say. "You're late," I say, scowling. "And you really, really need to explain some things, because I'm lost." I spit the words before I even realise they are on my tongue, and again I am the hot-headed child that climbed out the window on the first day of fourth-grade. "I am sick and tired of not knowing what's going on, Jude. It's been four years, and I still don't understand." I take an unstable step toward him, fierce and bold, my hair unbrushed and windswept. "Surely you have something to say?" I insist, before realising I haven't given him a single breath to speak with. Hands on my hips, I stare him down, doing my best to tear him in two with my gaze. In truth, he owes me nothing, but I am Nessie Libertine and always I have expected the world.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[gamemaker kelsier]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://media.tumblr.com/c2557c74e5cc4e785edfc251ffd0ae0b/tumblr_inline_muwzz4YXHx1qapyo9.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, background-position: bottom, bTable] j u d e r i p l e y.

[atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #ffffff; opacity: 0.7; padding: 10px; border-radius: 10px 10px 10px 10px;] I watch the cave for a few small moments, something burbling inside of me, like an explosion. My lips tremble, my hands shake and I don’t try and still them. I don’t try and shove all my emotions deep within me because I don’t have to with Nessie, I haven’t had to with her since the day I first properly saw her. I’ve known the girl her entire life of course, passed her by absentmindedly in the street, focused on everything but my immediate surroundings. She always left the smell of Libertine salt in her wake mixed with something I have never quite been able to identify, some type of flower, fruit, or maybe even a little bit of each. Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating and has found a way to burrow into my senses and suck everything out of me until all I can think about is her. It occurred to me ages ago that I needed her for something; a man is never meant to be on his own. In truth, I think men are the weaker sex, drawing our strength like a hummingbird to nectar from the core of womankind. It’s not men who are the strong ones, because throughout all that we’ve been through together, it’s never been me supporting her. It’s been Nessie all along, dealing with all of my crazy, that lovely scowl adorning her lips like a broken crown. Without Nessie, I think I’d be dead, in fact, I know it. (She is what kept us going, Jude, for once I agree.) Confirmed, I step around the mouth of the cave only to be confronted immediately by a barrage of questions and accusations flying from her mouth as fast as she can toss them out. I don’t expect the anger that flies from her tongue and I almost laugh despite myself. I’m so happy today, so goddamned happy that not even her annoyed voice can make me worried. I’m just happy to hear her voice, happy to have her at least. She and Nino are all that I have left and I always want them with me, angry or happy. Still, her gaze almost tears me in two and I stay a safe distance away, hands up as if to protect myself from the barbed words she spits. “I know, I’m late, I’m really sorry. I was talking with Nino about stuff and I didn’t realize the time,” I know that is not a good enough excuse in the slightest, but it’s all I can offer. “Holy hell? Four years? Really? It feels like longer, are you sure?” I almost flinch at my excited babble. One thing you don’t do to Nessie Libertine is try to correct her, because I’ve found that usually she’s right. I’ve also found that when she’s angry she doesn't like people second guessing her. Stupid move on my part. Words: 482.

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

He splutters an excuse, irrelevant and inadequate. (I'm not really furious with him for being five minutes late, I'm angry with him for leaving me four years behind in a veil of confusion and hand-holding and sideways glances.) Jude Ripley looks at me and acknowledges my words without answering a single question or bending to any one of my numerous demands. He doesn't give me what I want, not right away, away, and I wonder why it is that I've chosen him to love - (I can admit that, although I'd never utter it aloud) - when countless other people would give in when pressed with my scowl. "Jude," I say, feeling my eyebrow crease with the weight of a hundred questions that slam into one another inside my head. "Please." This word is unexpected, a strangled whisper and foreign to my tongue. I am Nessie Libertine and I do not say please. (Or sorry. Never sorry.) I take another step toward him, this one a little more hesitant. Part of me wants so much to hate him - I am still that child throwing stones and I will never escape her - but I end up simply shaking my head and chewing at my lip, hoping to taste blood. He asked me if I was sure, and I consider it for a second. Four years, I am sure of that. But I am not sure of many things. (I know I am crazy, deep, deep down. And I know that I take too much and give too little and never forgive anyone properly.) Sure, I am Nessie Libertine and two of my sisters died on television, and sure, I'm lonely, and sure, I'm afraid. But what else? I'm a liar. "I want you to answer me, Jude," I say, "I'm sure of that." This isn't the truth - in reality, I don't know. (I'm yearning for something, but if it's space or answers I can't tell. Either way, I request something from the boy in front of me, because if I didn't I wouldn't be Little Girl Libertine and she is all I know.)

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[gamemaker kelsier]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://media.tumblr.com/355d8f042c26f223b1b2620dbcfef307/tumblr_inline_muxx24pAdb1qapyo9.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, background-position: bottom, bTable] j u d e r i p l e y.

[atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #ffffff; opacity: 0.7; padding: 10px; border-radius: 10px 10px 10px 10px;] I’m tired of being sad, of watching nearly everyone I love be buried, of digging them up late just to look at their decomposing faces. After my mother and father were dead and gone, I swore to myself that I would take care of my little brothers, that they would be safe from everything be it storm, waves, or even games. I told myself that no matter what I’d at least always be there to volunteer for them. I don’t think though that I was ever meant to be the older brother, the protector, see I’ve never been able to handle it. As I watched my little brothers decompose, something inside me did too, I wasted away to nothing in four short years, although it was a procedure that had begun since birth. (We’re all decomposing, Judey baby.) Yet. Yet, she built me back up again, lent me her strength although she was hurting too and I would be absolutely nothing without her. If she hadn’t come across me that fateful day in this very cave I would have gone on sinking until my bubbles never appeared on the surface again. The point is, I understand finally what all those sideways glances and grasping for her hands always meant. She was always too young before, just a girl I’d found a friend in but the truth is, she’s always been wise beyond her years, wiser than me. The truth is, I don’t think I could imagine myself with anyone else. “The truth is…” and I’ve come so far but suddenly I’m afraid to say it, as if speaking my thoughts will drive her away because she is a Libertine and I’ve dealt with them before, all knobby knees and pointed tongues. I don’t know if I am a game to her, and fear grips my chest again and again, I’ll never be able to stop being afraid, I’ll never be able to stop second guessing. I falter off, carefully studying her angry form. “The truth is, I…” Words: 339.

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

For the first time in my life, I am patient. Not, perhaps, as patient as the ocean as it gradually seeps it's way into shore as the tide rises, and certainly not as patient as my youngest brother as he waits for the world to return everything it has taken from him. Even so, I do not breathe as I wait for Jude Ripley to explain away the past. (Give me the future, Jude, because I'm through with waiting for it to come to me.) "The truth is..." he says. "The truth is I..." I close my eyes and exhale heavily, because as I count to one, two, three I realise he has nothing more to say. The silence hangs in the thick, salty hair, making the space between us infinite, bigger than it has ever been. I dig my bitten fingernails into the flesh of my palms and pray for the strength to wait for the last few syllables that Jude has not yet offered. I count to ten, and they do not come. Patience, a skill I have practised so infrequently during my fifteen years, fails me. "The truth is what?" I say, my lip quivering, a mockery of a toddler about to fall headfirst into a tantrum. "Is that really all you've got? Half a sentence? Is that what this is? Four words with no meaning at all?" I laugh, shrill and almost hysterical, and it cuts deep into my skin how much these moments mean to me. This morning, when I awoke, I glanced across at Learna's empty bed, and the bed beside it that Kipling lay curled in. The rise and fall of his chest, flutter of his eyelids, murmurs of sleep stirring on his lips. The flurry of angry words that filled my mind a moment ago dies, stopped short and dead by the memory of my sleeping brother in my mind. Enough is enough, and home is waiting. "Goodbye, Jude," I say.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[gamemaker kelsier]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpwv9bEVP41qc2znbo1_500.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, background-position: bottom, bTable] j u d e r i p l e y.

[atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #ffffff; opacity: 0.7; padding: 10px; border-radius: 10px 10px 10px 10px;] I panic then, and I can feel it coming faster than the fancy trains that run through the District. I can feel the air ready to leave my chest and the world turns into the size of the head of a pin. I’d meant for this to go a lot smoother, had meant for the words I wanted to say to come swirling out of my mouth as confident as Nino’s. My hand inches toward my back pocket, ready to slip a paper bag out to find the air. The cave slants all weird and like a million crystals I’m suddenly certain it’s going to come crashing down on my head. I don’t know why I can’t do anything right, why it always has to be so hard all the time. This isn’t going how I’d wanted it at all, and now she’s getting ready to walk away from me and she thinks I don’t care. I cannot bear the thought that she might think I called her out here just to string her along. I want to stop her walking out but I can’t breathe all of the sudden, like she’s taking every inch of air with her while she goes. Desperate, my hand wraps around a paper bag, and my chest caves in on me. I see the storm in her eyes, and I grasp at nothing, fingers forgetting the paper bag because I know where to find the air I seek, I know where to look for comfort. We’ve been together for so long that this might as well be second nature. I reach for her, as if looking for a lifeline. My arm wraps around her waist and my other hand grasps her wrist, soft and careful not to break her. She’s only fifteen years old but I can’t help the things I feel for her, not when she’s all I’ve ever really wanted. My lips press against her’s and for once that achingly brutal voice in my head is shocked in silence. It’s my first kiss, it’s our first kiss. It’s all I can think of to say. Words: 355.

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

In my life, there hasn't been much to give up on. The thing about not caring is that it leaves you with so very little to believe in. I suppose I believed in Penelope, but that was once. (Once was such a very long time ago I've almost forgotten her cold hands trying to tame my wild hair and her sweet smile offering an end to days of sulking.) After that, I made a point in not believing in anything for a long, long time. Least of all Jude, because how could I possibly afford to care? It is only as I finally give up on him that I realise I trusted him all along. My heart skips a beat and then two, and I am left without the thundering promise of life in my chest. It doesn't matter, because Jude Ripley is not offering all that I asked him for - he's silent, breathing in uneven gasps and letting me walk away. And so I do. Finally, after far too long, I take a step toward the entrance to the cave. The cave I entered as a child years ago, when my sister still reigned her kingdom of beauty and seaweed. It feels, today, as though in all that time I have never truly left the dim, damp space - we are pressed between two rocky walls, covered in sketchings and words that tell a story of four useless years. I make for the sunlight, afraid that if I do not grasp it while I have the chance I will be lost forever. That is when Jude Ripley finally finds me. He reaches forwards and holds me, pressing his lips against mine and making a thousand promises I'd give anything to have him keep. His arms are solid and after so many years of falling apart, I am finally together. (I asked him questions, and this is his answer, and now I understand why I always want for the things I cannot have. Because waiting - it brings the things I didn't know I needed.) For a moment I resist, and then I let myself tumble headfirst into my very own empire. "I asked you a damn question, Jude," I say, and then kiss him again, breathless and disorientated in the very best way possible.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[gamemaker kelsier]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5cwtj88PD1rx0lwmo1_500.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, background-position: bottom, bTable] j u d e r i p l e y.

[atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #ffffff; opacity: 0.7; padding: 10px; border-radius: 10px 10px 10px 10px;]Now that I've tasted her it's like I can't stop. I never understood before all the hype of sharing spit, there was never room for it in my life. It occurs to me that there has never really been room for happiness, but now that I've decided to take it, it's like it's all alright, the flood gate is open, I can just let myself feel for two minutes. I don't mean to, but my momentum pushes against the rock wall, against the sketches I etched with coal what feels like eons ago. Her wrist feels so slender wrapped up in my hand, like I could break her. (You could Jude, you devil, you are three years her se-) I shove the thought out and out until it disappears. I won't let my life be ruled anymore by what people might think. She breaks away from me and I can't stop the low moan that escapes my lips. All the panic is gone, she took it with her when she pulled away, but I can feel it rising again. Her lips are so much better than a paper bag, it's like all these years I was using shoddy substitutes instead of what I really needed. Now I've finally done something, I've taken a step forward for myself and it feels incredible. I want more of her lips, more of her taste, I don't want her to pull away from me. She still sounds cross but I can tell by her tone that it's less cross and more want, more need, especially when she presses her lips back against mine. I let out a low, gratified sound, it feels like hunger is eating up all my insides. All I want is the taste of her, all I want is her with me, always. I pull away, trying to answer her, trying to tell her what I need, what I've always needed. "I just want you, Nessie Libertine, I want you always. I want you when it's raining, I want you when it's sunny, I want you when you're angry, I want you when you're sad, happy, whatever. I just need you, all the time, you're everything to me, you have been all this time. Without you I'd be dead and that's the truth." I let go of her hand to place mine firmly on her heart, "My favourite eye colour is your eye colour, my favourite laugh is your's, my favourite smile, my favourite everything. Everything about you, I love it all the most." Words: 425.

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

I do not deserve the boy that stands before me. I do not deserve the words he speaks - the promises he makes are something that only the good are entitled to. Little Girl Libertine has never claimed to be kind or valiant or sweet-natured, and although I ask for the things only Queens should reign, I do not expect them. Certainly, I do not expect Jude to echo my feelings aloud, his words smooth and beautiful. "I just want you, Nessie Libertine, I want you always. I want you when it's raining, I want you when it's sunny, I want you when you're angry, I want you when you're sad, happy, whatever. I just need you, all the time, you're everything to me, you have been all this time. Without you I'd be dead and that's the truth." As he speaks, I shake my head. Because although perhaps he isn't lying - it might be that these things are what he wishes for - they are so far from his happy ending. The world owes this Ripley brother everything, and here he stands before me with the audacity to ask it for me. It is all I can do not to refuse. Unkind and ill tempered, I am a treasure trove of stolen smiles - it is almost as though I snatch them from the lips of my family as I enter the room. Always silent, I have spilled insanity into the District. The therapist rolled her eyes when I first appeared, a boney ten year old with eyes like the ocean and hair like the bonfires my brothers used to build in the summer. All knobbly knees and bare feet and grazed elbows, I sat tight and refused to answer her questions. "My favourite eye colour is your eye colour, my favourite laugh is your's, my favourite smile, my favourite everything. Everything about you, I love it all the most." I stiffen, unsure if Jude is blind or stupid or perhaps both. I shouldn't be anyone's favourite anything, and yet I meet his eyes and feel his entire earnest demeanor sinking over me. It's heavy on my chest, almost drowning me. Always, I am Nessie Libertine, the girl who could not swim. Oh, Jude, I think. Every part of me aches to reach out and push him away, to insist that he is wrong, that although these moments are the ones I have yearned for since that very first day, he should reach for the stars. Instead, I take a deep and shaking breath and nod. "Those are awfully big words to say, Jude." My tone is not accusatory, but even. A statement, a fact. "Suddenly, you're a poet." I struggle, biting back a torrent of icy, bitter retorts that could so easily come flowing in like the shore. They are my defensive mechanism, my alternative to accepting and believing. It takes everything I am and everything I will ever be to smile at Jude Ripley and say, "But you're my favourite everything, too." (This time, it sounds like an insult, but I mean it as anything but.)

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

[gamemaker kelsier]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; background-image: url(http://media.tumblr.com/2b2a662213f983e5cf5cbf86ec89eec3/tumblr_inline_mv0n1vdlWu1qapyo9.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat, background-position: bottom, bTable] j u d e r i p l e y.

[atrb=style, font-family: Tahoma; word-spacing: 1px; text-align: justify; background: #ffffff; opacity: 0.8; padding: 10px; border-radius: 10px 10px 10px 10px;]I run my thumb across her lips and try to still her shaking head. I don't want her to deny us, not this thing, not us. I don't want to say I completely rely on her, but the truth of it is that I do, I utterly do in the most complete ruining of ways. I know it's terrible to lay all of yourself, all of your needs on one person, if I didn't have to give anyone the responsibility, I wouldn't. Yet, I did it to myself for so many years that suddenly all of what I am is leaking out everywhere, it spills out like oil from a machine as it putters along, and I know that I need her, not even that. I know that I want her, that she's the one. She's the one to clean up my oil spill, the one that fixes me, replaces all the broken parts with a her sideways glances and swinging feet. I never knew I'd be so sure, I thought love was for fairy tales and rich people, I never thought I'd find it myself. Hell, I never thought I'd have a lot of things, I almost stole my own life from me. I almost had nothing. If there is anyone who can remind me why life worth it, it's her. Her, with all her photographs and rare smiles, her with hair like fire and a smile like the sea. A slow smile slides across my face at her response. I didn't realize it, but I was tense, every muscle in me wondering if my sadness would grow deeper, or if happiness could finally land for more than a day. There is a hesitance to her, but it's a lot to lay on a fifteen year old girl, and I think I can sort of get that. I barely remember being fifteen, I feel like I've spent a million years as an old man, but I still think I can understand. It may take a while before she truly means it, but I can wait those years out patiently, as long as she still lets me hold her hand through them. "You, Nessie Libertine, are my person, my one and only. I'm glad I am your favourite too." Just like that, the aching panic in the back of my lungs is gone because I've suddenly been given the answer I have always been waiting for, without ever even knowing it. All I'd ever really wanted was to be needed, maybe even loved. I think Nessie Libertine might need me the way I know I need her. "I know Ness, I know they're big words, but I should have said them to you ages ago. Can you forgive me for making you wait?" Words: 465.

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

---

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

---

I am Little-girl Libertine, the girl who cannot truly be trusted to tend the shop for a moment - things go missing even when I am not in change. I am the girl who slips out at night despite the engagements of the next morning, asks people to meet me and never arrives, scatters fistfuls of schoolwork in the waves. I do not keep promises or return calls or do as I am told. (Forgetfulness is not the reason for this, it's simply not caring, not bothering and making a point that I am better than all of that.) In truth, I know it means I am so much worse, but it's easier not to face things. Even as a young child, I'd run away. The window latch was at my mercy from the age of five, and I learned to jump the creaky step that lead to the always-open back door long before then. It was a few years ago, after Learna died, that I realised I was only running from myself. Yet my cave beckoned, and more often that not Jude was waiting for me inside it. Together, we sheltered from the stars that shined so brightly and made me seem dull in comparison. (What had I ever done well in my life, other than avoiding the trouble I deliberately created?) Jude asks me to forgive him for making me wait, but I realise in that moment that I haven't really been waiting for him. He's been beside me all along, in his own round-about way. Maybe not close enough, maybe not resolute enough, but still so much more solid than my own crumbling sanity. "Of course," I say, because letting him believe he needs forgiving is so much easier than opening my mouth to a waterfall of explanations that could never quite match reality. I want to ask him to forgive me, too, for everything. But I am Little-girl Libertine, and I'm still running, in one way or another.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME