Logs:Altruism in the Outdoors
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| RL Date: 22 October, 2013 |
| Who: Ilicaeth, Alida, Gallagher |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: And on the sixth day, Alida and Ilicaeth take Gallagher hunting, only the trip's cut short by a desire to do a little good for Nabol. |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr and Southern Continent |
| When: Day 20, Month 1, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Gallagher's icon especially for K'del because he mentioned it on the knot and then it happened to be appropriate in RP. |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings. Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
While Alida's rarely been chipper about rising early, she's fairly used to it, given her Guard past and Taikrin's whipping Glacier around. As such, she's found padding into the cavern quite awake, if not smiling, a rub at green eyes clearing them of the last of sleep's haze. There's purpose and some zeal in her step as well, perhaps brought about by the impending, shared hunting trip, and outside, Ilicaeth's yakking it up with a green and a brown about the upcoming day's pleasure. Inside, the woman strides up to the hearth, nabbing a huge cinnamon roll and a cup of brewing klah, then clipping off to Gallagher, "How 'bout that spear?" "Just because it's the size of your face doesn't make that a proper meal to fuel you for our physically demanding day," Gallagher's first words aren't quite 'good morning,' but the size of the cinnamon roll demands his attention before anything else. They must not have been out when he got his, which seems to be a combination of eggs, bacon, toast and some kind of sauteed vegetables, judging from the bits that remain. "I'll stick to the arrows today. Got a long knife if it comes to it." He makes a gesture to his hip where the thing hangs under his long coat unobtrusively. "Ready to wrastle us some feral porcines and shoot wherries out of the clear blue?" His lips pull into his smirk, and it has a slightly more excited than usual edge to it. Not that his 'slightly more excited' holds a candle to most people's 'pleased' or 'happy'. "What 'r you, my momma?" Alida responds with some snark around her mouthful of roll, then waving Gallagher off. "Had an apple 'n granola in my weyr, missy, so rest easy. This is pure indulgence." Cue her broad grin then a careful sip of klah... a face made at the heat of it, followed by a suckling of her tongue. After the blonde recovers, she answers her soon-to-be passenger with a bob of helmeted head and a quick, "Tell me if ya' wanna experience dragonback huntin'. Ilicaeth's fired up about nabbin' some wherries 'n such himself and with us, too." Seems like everybody's raring to go this morning! It takes the eager bluie only another triad of minutes to down the rest of her food, and in that time, her eyes are going over Gal's bow, arrows, knife...assessing, measuring. At her own left hip, where one of her knives usually sits, is a big blade the general size of a short-sword, the leather of its scabbard kept immaculate by TLC, the thing decorated only by muted silver-grey scrollwork stitching in places upon its black surface. "I don't know, would you sass your momma that way?" Gallagher doesn't miss a beat in riposting the bluerider's question. "If you're convinced I've got the parts to bear young," Since not only did she use 'momma' but also 'missy', "I might well need to cancel our outing and go see the healers about my condition." The rest of his food disappears in sweeps of his fork that shovel the food in in a way that suggests he's eating for the energy, not for the taste. Then, "If Ilicaeth's keen to have extra baggage while he's hunting, it don't bother me none, but can't say as I've an itching to watch him hunt when I can be doing it myself." "Don' remember. Too young when she died..." Alida notes with only a hint of regret and much more verve for this trip they'll soon be on. As for Gallagher's 'bits,' "Nah; just drop 'em here. I'm sure staff 'n riders'll be helpful enough." Smirk. "If yer preggers, though...well, I guess I would see a Healer about that." Wink. "Ohhh no, toots. He wants us ta be on 'is neck so we c'n hunt airborne, too. He wants ta see if y'c'n adapt to a new style." Grin. Outside, said blue is offering a trumpet of summons for the trio to get a move-on, which prompts his rider to chuckle, and note to Gal, "We're bein' summoned. Ready?" Already she's depositing her mug in the dirty dish bin, and stepping quickly over to nab a slightly damp, vaguely soapy hand towel to clean her fingers up before she marches outside. "Oh." Gallagher quiet for a moment working through an appropriate response. He settles on, "Well, I can see where your confusion lies. I am quite pretty. You should see me in a bonnet. Pretty enough to get pregnant, surely, tho' if I were, I wouldn't want to be seeing a healer about it, now would I. Get myself kicked out of candidacy and all. Be yet one more unwed mother in the lower caverns." He says it with the air of the Hold-raised, though he doesn't sound serious. Really, how can he be given the direction the conversation has turned? "I'd guess that dropping my pants here and now might be as like to get me turned out as much as it might get me a number of helpful sets of hands to ensure everything's as it ought to be." He slides out of his seat, collecting his plate unstrung bow, and mug, which is drained. "He going to glide slow enough that the wind won't make the arrows pointless? How's he feel about getting an arrow in the rump if I can't adapt?" This is straight-faced, so he could be joking, or not. He seems ready enough once the dishes are discarded, following suit without a verbal confirmation. Again, that rarest of commodities - honest and loud laughter - emerges from Alida, rendering her younger than her age for a few moments, the blonde seeking to clap Gallagher a sound one on the shoulder before they head out to the Bowl. After she settles, and as the two humans step out to meet a tail-twitching and already shoulder dipping Ilicaeth, the woman notes brightly, "He c'n hover fer a few wingbeats ta make arrow shots better. Still enough movement, though. Spear huntin' from him's easier than bow, though. Just gotta time it perfectly as he's skimmin' the ground, 'n hurl a little backward ta avoid the wind. I'll show ya if we get the chance. Oh, and there's lasso huntin' from him, too. I got all the gear secured on 'im, already." As for Gallagher's announcement of an arrow in his butt, Ilicaeth rumble-chuffs - dragon laughter, perhaps? - and then bares his dagger teeth at the man in one of his 'Alida-type' grins. Gallagher doesn't seem to mind the clap to his shoulder, but neither does he seem particularly pleased; neutral as is so frequently the case. "Yeah, makes sense. Spears have more heft to them, less impact from the wind. Arrows... Well, they're more delicate, more swayable, no matter how sure the hand is. You can show me, though. With the spear. We'll see about the arrows. I'm not looking to get bit, at least by a dragon, before the hatching." That's when he greets Ilicaeth with a lazy salute. "Ilicaeth." The teeth don't seem to faze him. Then, he's weyrbred and probably did as much bouncing on the knees of dragons as he did on his rider parents'. "'S'about it..." Alida notes to the man, then climbing up her dragon's greyed-blue, dipped shoulder and settling herself properly between neck ridges, buckling in. While she awaits Gallagher joining her, the blonde visually inspects not only her straps, but the way a pair of spears with capped tips are settled, as well as a pair of sturdy hemp ropes with lassos. Gal's salute to him prompts Ilicaeth to chuff in amicable, blue-eyed greeting again, his teeth once more hidden behind lips as he carefully inserts his muzzle into the human male's grille to give him a quick inspection-whuffle. No worries about freaking out his passenger, here. It's good that she's found someone - at least temporarily - to share her loves with. As far as he 'knows' Gallagher, Ilicaeth approves...especially of the way his presence makes his rider feel. (Ilicaeth to Alida) « Should I share you, too then? » Alida ribs her lifemate, controlling her higher spirits so as not to be, look too trusting. Yes, she is quite joyous, for once. (Alida to Ilicaeth) « Not my type... » Ilicaeth pings right back, his sands forming a golden, gritty smirk. « Yours, though. » Zing. (Ilicaeth to Alida) She can't hide such feelings from him, so instead Alida snerks, inwardly rolls her eyes. Yeah, whatever. (Alida to Ilicaeth) A single brow lifts at how close large blue muzzle comes to his person, but other than that Gallagher doesn't react. If anything, the look on his face reads: 'Am I supposed to be impressed?' While Szadath apparently saw something in Gallagher enough to Search him from Crom, it's likely that Ilicaeth would get no such sense from the oldest candidate. Nothing about him, at least in terms of innate instinct, screams 'rider material.' Once Ilicaeth's inspection has been completed, the man isn't slow about mounting, doing it with a practiced air, right down to buckling in as soon as he's settled, gloved fingers not fumbling on the straps. Once Gallagher's up behind Alida, Ilicaeth slowly stands to his full height again, his quick-wheeling blue eyes looking back over a shoulder at his passengers. Hurry up already! Only his head and tail move, though, the latter lashing and twitching a staccato series of motions. When the man behind her gets his ducks in a row, Alida peers over her shoulder, giving the other guard's straps a final inspection as she inquires, "You want me ta' stow yer bow?" « He doesn't feel likely to me... » Curious, wondering. « Maybe Szadath has better senses...or more experience. » (Ilicaeth to Alida) « Might be. » She's curious now, too, but not enough to do more than riposte a laconic, « Might not. » Who knows. (Alida to Ilicaeth) "Nope. I'm good." The bow's been slid into one boot, Gallagher's hand resting on the top part of it, holding it to his thigh. He is a self-sufficient one, even in this. Nodding to the man as she dons her goggles, Alida pats all her weapons and supplies once more, then mentally directing Ilicaeth to launch them...the woman raising her own fist skyward, then jerking arm down at elbow to give Gallagher silent but obvious warning. Unfurled wings with bronze eye-markings soon have all of them airborne, and climbing through the snow and wind above the lower Bowl. Again, her hand lifts, counting down with fingers a silent 3, 2, 1...before Between takes all senses. Another three count has them smoothly emerging into the bright sun and heat of the South.
A sixth of a mile inland from the actual cove lies increasingly dense, tropical foliage, the trees and undergrowth lush and aromatic. Here and there along the outermost treeline, small swaths of chosen timber have been brutally uprooted or snapped off near the ground by what's likely a dragon, providing it with a rough wallow overhung by protective greenery.
The single hand that's secured the unstrung bow in flight doesn't move, but the other gloved hand gives a thumbs up. Gallagher's chin is tilted down to keep the wind from direct onslaught to his ungoggled eyes. He did don his black winter cap with its fur lining and ear flaps, but he lacks other gear beyond his long coat and gloves to protect him from the elements. Of course, this is southern, and the air is much warmer, the wind only serving to cool instead of freeze. The bow remains where it is while they're trying this new feat, which makes Gallagher more the observer than the participant. He could try to string the bow, but it's simply not practical, and Gallagher is nothing if not practical. Still, he watches the jungles below for signs of prey, signaling when he sees movement, but his attention shifts to the bluerider when she demonstrates the air hunting techniques. Dragon eyes are terribly keen, and Ilicaeth's signalling his rider silently of the presence of game down there a little before Gallagher does, the blue angling his flight to soon bring them over a loose group of pigs rooting around in a sprawling field. The dragon's presence above hasn't registered on them yet, Ilicaeth keeping upwind of them as he slowly lowers his flight path, Alida uncapping a spear, then tugging the slip knot loose from about the weapon's haft with a practiced tug. It's not much longer after that when the dragon's shadow glances over the backs of the group, startling the large, tusked creatures from their feeding and into a squealing, shrieking stampede. Just as they do such, however, Alida's already hefted, balanced, and thrown a bit behind them...the very sharp spear's tip glinting in the sunlight on its way down. It finds its home between the broad shoulders of a sow, the beast collapsing, then struggling back up, jerking around as it tries to rid itself of the long pain in its back. Back around Ilicaeth banks, letting the other porcines disperse, the maneuver allowing his rider to undo, heft her other spear...and then finally let loose again. This time, the head of the weapon finds the crazed, thrashing pig's belly, ending its agony and madness instantly, Ilicaeth giving a low croon of victory instead of a bugle, as the latter might scare off game even more. Over her shoulder to Gal, the woman calls, "You next? He knows where a few uv the others went!" "I'll leave the dragon-back hunting to your expertise for now." Gallagher doesn't elaborate on the reasons why. Probably at least partly due to his unstrung bow, but whatever else his reasons, he doesn't go into it; anytime in flight isn't really a great time for extended conversation. A nod is Alida's answer to Gallagher, the woman then silently instructing Ilicaeth to leave the dead pig behind in favor of locating, then driving the biggest one back in the downed porcine's direction. Spearless now, the woman undoes a lasso from before her while her blue scent and sight tracks those 'little' piggies. After some winging around, he finds the largest one again, the boar trying to hide in a thicker tangle of wild grasses, the dragon's roar frightening it forth again in a burst of motion and a bevvy of grunts and squeals. Ilicaeth doesn't bother darting left and right after it, since the pig's more maneuverable, instead following its general path. It takes at least a double handful of minutes, given all the factors at play, but finally the noose finds the boar's neck, and - with eager help from a vastly stronger blue dragon - Alida and Co. jerk the rope tight as they angle quickly upward...breaking the boar's neck with a harsh yank not too far from the dead sow. Cue a real bugle from the blue this time, and he soon is backwinging them to a landing about a hundred feet from the original kill. "Fuckin-A!" Alida whoops aloud, letting the rope slip from her grip to ground, even as she unfastens straps, and swivels around at the waist to try and bump fists with Gallagher. The attempt at a fist bump meets with raised brow and a look of 'Really?' Yes, Gallagher leaves the bluerider hanging, though there's a tug at the edge of his lips that reveals he's amused by her victory. "Oughta catch the piglets if we can, take 'em to some poor farm in Nabol that needs it." He does comment. "Got a sack?" Yes, he does intend to chase the wee ones on foot. It should be entertaining in the very least. "And I thought *I* had a bug up my ass..." Alida comments smirkly to the man, then nodding at his idea of supplying Nabol with more foodstuffs. "Excellent idea..." the blonde notes crisply, lifting her goggles, then undoing one of her largest packs upon straps to tug forth first a large sack - handing it back to Gal - then a well-folded and heavy tarp, which gets dropped earthwards. Thud. It's soon followed by the woman partially skidding down Ilicaeth's extended forearm as he dips groundward. Is that tail of his ever lashing! "Maybe," Gallager starts, in answer to the presumed contents of his rear, "We just have a different way of recognizing victory in Crom that isn't quite so ridiculous. Ethnocentrism isn't attractive, you know." There's a mild tease in the scold. While she's getting the sack, he's climbing out of the straps. "If Ilicaeth will oblige by getting lost, we can wait til the piggies come to check on their parents. They'll come." It's nature, his tone implies. "Probably our best shot at getting them." He accepts the bag from the bluerider and his eyes scan for a good spot that's far enough and downwind from the carcasses to lay in wait. "Nah; I think it's just you 'n yer charming personality..." Alida notes briskly after rolling her eyes at Gallagher. A look over her shoulder finds greens peering at Ilicaeth, the blue snorting soundly, then making a tail-lifting gesture towards the Cromese man before he steps off, then tosses himself skyward in a powerful hurl. Alida's snickering low, by that time, likely at her lifemate's internal comment. As the man tries to find his own spot to wait, so does she, moving at a right angle to him, and circling out...still mostly downwind. After a few minutes, her helmeted head and figure crouch down, rendering the woman effectively invisible in the grasses. And Ilicaeth? He's off hunting on his physical lonesome not too far away. « That's Crom for ya. Maybe he was born in the Mines. » Cue an image of Gallagher - grown up - in a diaper, dirty from coal dust, tossing a baby fit...and shitting a giant trundle bug out the leg of that diaper. (Ilicaeth to Alida) "Again, you're the one who invited me and my charming personality on this little excursion, so you can talk all you want, but drinks and then a trip out of the Weyr? There's something about me you like." Gallagher states it as fact, leveling an even look at the bluerider. His gaze doesn't linger, however, instead turning to move to the spot he's selected. As he goes, the sack is flipped inside out over the length of one of his arms. He hunkers down and waits. And waits. And waits. After a traumatic thing like a dragon and death from above, it takes the scattered piglets time to find their way back. The boldest is the first to snuffle close. And yet Gallagher waits. He consults the bluerider silently, his recommendation to continue to wait. It proves a good enough tact because soon there's three, then four snuffling around the corpses, squealing their confusion and distress. Four seems good enough odds to him, and none are terribly large yet, to their fortune. His movement is slow at first, trying not to startle the pigs until it's unavoidable. The critical moment comes and the pigs start to scatter. Mayhem ensues. In the end, between bluerider and candidate, they manage (after several falls, dives, and other maneuvers that leave them dirt marked and scraped, they manage to get two of the piglets into the sack, the others lost to the underbrush. But half is better than none. Once the large sack is tied off, Gallagher rolls back from his knees onto his rump and he's laughing. Now that the mission's accomplished, there's a moment, so he allows himself this levity. "You should've seen your face when you dived for that one and it just got away." Surely there were similar moments for him, but it doesn't mean he can't enjoy what he witnessed. She answers that not, instead going on her 'waiting for piggies' mission. Exchanging those silent hand signals that only Guards know finally does lead to not one, but two the piglets being rounded up, the blonde finding herself snorking right back at Gal before 'accidentally' kicking some dirt on him when she shifts booted feet. "Too bad *you* cant see the brown streak on yer face from where ya' tripped over that one that went between yer legs." Snicker. Finally, though, she untenses, laughs more openly, without rancor...then shielding her gaze in order to lift it and spot Ilicaeth circling above, then landing not too far away, again. Beneath him, while he's still a little above the ground, is dropped the carcass of a wild wherry with broken limbs and neck...which he arches his neck over proudly after settling. The humans get a warble of high spirits and greeting, the blue then picking up the avian by its neck between teeth, and hauling it over towards them. A pump of fist skyward is his rider's congratulations for her lifemate's successful hunt. Amusement keeps his lips in a smile at Alida's snickering and wrods of his new natural cosmetic enhancements, but he has no barb to give back. When the blue arrives though, Gallagher makes a point of complimenting his cargo. "Nice take, Ilicaeth." The fact that he didn't compliment his rider on a similar (even more impressive) feat earlier is a detail Alida's unlikely to miss. It hardly sounds like sucking up though, more like comradely approval. Maybe it's because Alida's a female? Maybe it's something else entirely. "Don't expect we should linger around and hunt if we're going to get these piggies back to Nabol alive. We'll have to skip the quality control," He nods to the bodies of the sow and her mate as he gets to his feet. "Do you take the thing back whole or clean it here?" He's familiar with hunting, but the circumstances are different with a dragon. She did notice, as a matter-of-fact, but - given that Alida likewise didn't compliment Gallagher - it's a 'shared' secret. Could easily be a Guard thing, too. Ilicaeth chuffs proudly again at the compliment, then carefully lays down the wherry behind the two humans (and the bag of shrieking piglets, who've caught the dragons scent, by now), then moving over to the big, folded tarp and pushing it almost effortlessly forward until it's near his passengers. Certainly easier than the humans hauling the bulky thing. Alida doesn't look too keen on not checking out the meat here, but there's food for Nabol in it, after all. "Sometimes one 'r the other. Depends on how we're feeling." Her and Ilicaeth. "If we wanna just gut 'em, leave the meat inside the skin, Ilicaeth'll eat the offal. Likes it." Cue a lift, then lowering of head from the blue, which manages to look almost like a nod, and a lick of his tongue over muzzle. "It'd lower the weight some." "Quick is good," In light of the piglets whose little hearts might give out if they take too much longer. Gallagher is silent and efficient dealing with one of the pigs Alida felled from dragonback while the bluerider deals with the other. He obviously knows his way around a porcine kill and cleaning. He lifts the carcass and lays it alongside the other on the tarp once it's ready to go and helps the bluerider bind them up for the journey. Then it's time to load up. A long look at the squealing sack is probably Gallagher debating the wisdom of carrying such a thing on his lap, but in the end, the sack is secured to the straps where there won't be any damage from little kicks or movements. While they're loading up, Ilicaeth's muzzles busy with the bits that he likes, before burying the bits he doesn't. Soon enough, passengers and cargo are loaded up and they're ready to be off. She's not a liker of blood, but it certainly doesn't bother Alida to open up and gut her piggie on the ground, the tastiest innards nommed enthusiastically by Ilicaeth not far behind. Once they've got all their ducks in a row, and are loaded and secured back upon the happy blue's neck, it's up and away again - Between leading the triad to the Nabol area's still warm skies - to deliver those piglets to one farm and the wherry to a minor Hold Alida knows of (that also happens to not be a Rone supporter), the surprised and grateful folk offering their thanks for the needed food. Not long after that, it's back to the Weyr itself, where Ilicaeth deposits the pair upon the ground before the living cavern entrance before he wings his way over to the lake to get a large drink and rinse his chops clean. Gallagher was, probably unsurprisingly by this point in the day, largely silent but also helpful to the efforts of unloading. He even does a fair job with PR, clasping hands with a couple of people who want to show their gratitude. Once they're back at the Weyr, he removes his bow tip from his boot and climbs down, tucking the still unstrung thing through a strapping for the quivers on his back. "Thanks for the trip out of Weyr, Alida." He pauses a moment to consider his next words, then, "It was nice." Lame but it's the best he can come up with. She looks pleased, and satisfied as well...Alida not often getting to play the part of the pure good 'guy.' All the woman did at that farm, cothold was offer low 'Yer welcome's' to the grateful folk, and a few slender hints of smiles. Ilicaeth was all soft warbles and arched neck, his antics attracting not only some awe and (ignorant) fear at times, but also a little laughter and attention from children and braver souls, who sometimes happend to touch or pet him...much to the blue's proud delight. "Yer welcome, Gal," is her soft sigh of an honest answer now, the woman looking a hint deflated, since the outing is now behind them. Back to the grind...which entails them now lugging the gutted piggie corpses into the Kitchen area. "Not long now..." the blonde murmurs, her eyes flicking from Gallagher over to the where the Hatching Grounds lie. More clipped, "Gonna return ta Crom if yer dragon ain't out there?" Gallagher's eyes follow toward the where the eggs are hugged by the heat of the sands and they linger, a moment of silence coming before he looks back to the bluerider. "Seems as likely as anything. Some would say only a fool would give up the rank and esteem I'd earned there. And as your acting weyrleader pointed out to me, Weyrs don't have guards. Though judging from the types they've been recruiting, seems to me in times like this, the Weyr might could benefit from a few more about in these trying times, or at least a bit more training to its folk that are supposed to act in lieu of them." Meaning, the riders themselves. "Wouldn't blame ya'..." Alida murmurs back as they hesitate before the entrance. "It's a... It's fine work." As long as the Guard in a place isn't corrupt, of course. A small twisting of lips presages her easy alto, "He's wrong...in a way. There's a few uv' us that Impressed...not as many as in other, 'real' Crafts, uv course." Smirk. "We're watchin' though few ever catch us doin' so. And there's Glacier, too." He's seen the Wing in action on the hatching Grounds. "We do what we can, where we can, when we can." She sounds a little frustrated when saying that, the woman finally stepping into motion again to get them inside, away from the snow and chill. "I'm gonna request pulled pork and barbeque sandwiches from these..." is grunted as they lug the tarp between them. Gallagher has no words in answer to her talk of the guards that exist at the Weyr, of the wing or their limitations. He's listening though, expression attentive. He doesn't grunt as they go along, but the combined weight of the pair of pigs is certainly enough to require his focus and effort. "Seems a reasonable request," are his only words for her own plans for the kills. There's not much more to be said, really, Alida going silent as they move their catches along the cavern, then finally into the Kitchens, where a busy staff greets them with quick but earnest thanks before accepting the carcasses from them. "Gutted, too!" the assistant Headwoman proclaims brightly. "Excellent. Makes it easier on us." A smile and wave to the rider and candidate sees them back out into the main cavern, where Alida can grab herself another mug of klah and another bite of whatever's in the kettle over the fire. What Gallagher chooses to do with the rest of his day... Well, that's purely up to him, though the blonde doesn't walk away or drive him off. Gallagher bids the blonde a good day as they rejoin those occupying the Living Cavern, bringing the trip full circle. After all, there's weapons to be secured and stowed, and dirt to be scrubbed from his face and elsewhere, and-- well, the rest of the day to be done with. It's never something he makes known, but for Gallagher there's still real business to be done in the hours he's not expected for candidate duties. |
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