1. All places in this chapter are real, except for Outlaws, a LGBT honkytonk which is my own invention. [That said, there are indeed LGBT nightclubs in Nashville!] The Brokeback Boys are also made up; if a real country band by that name exists, that is coincidental.
2. There is marijuana use in this chapter, and at the end of the chapter Anthony and Maglor have sex while stoned. I believe they are not too high to give consent, but I know this still might offend some viewers so it's in the author's note as a courtesy.
3. There is an incidence of transphobia and a transphobic slur in this chapter.
_
O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder
Thy power throughout the universe displayed
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art
Mark hasn't gotten religion - Macalaurë Fëanorion will never bow to the Valar - but he isn't singing to God. He's at the Meditation Garden at Graceland in Memphis, paying his respects to Elvis Presley's grave. Singing to wherever Elvis's soul has gone, hoping that he will hear it somehow and be comforted.
Mark met a young Elvis once, and told him he had a gift for singing. The conflict of Elvis's life - being both deeply spiritual and yet enslaved to his vices - is still painful for Mark to think about. Every time another talented singer or musician destroys themselves, another part of the Music dies, Mark thinks to himself, closing his eyes in pain as he sings the final refrain.
When he's done singing, one of the other tourists - an older grey-haired man wearing a cowboy outfit with a grey suit - calls out, "That's a damn amazing voice you got there, son. You should go on one of them idol shows!"
Mark gives a nervous laugh and shakes his head. He points down at Elvis's headstone. "This is exactly why I don't want to be famous," Mark says. "Fame is the worst thing that can happen to a person."
Of course, it isn't just that fame leads so many down the path of self-destruction. In this day and age it would be all too easy for Mark's non-human identity to be discovered. There are people who get cosmetic surgery to point their ears nowadays - like Grimes - but it isn't just that. The ears are the least of Mark's concern; he sometimes wonders if people would just think he had body mods done if he tied his hair back without glamouring his ears, which he wishes he could do in the summer heat but still hasn't wanted to chance it yet. No, Mark knows that if he were to be under the scrutiny of the press and he let his glamour drop for an instant, or he looked too young for his age too far into the future, he would be in a lot of trouble. The CIA wants him to keep a low profile, and he can't exactly blame them for that, having barely survived discovery in centuries past; a lot of people irrationally and unjustly hate other humans with a different skin color, never mind non-humans walking around them.
But not wanting to be famous because of what it did to people like Elvis, or Jimi, or Janis, or Kurt, is a good enough reason to eschew it. It's bad enough that his family is famous in Tolkien's Legendarium, and he knows a lot of people who've never met him think he's a monster, without baring his soul with music over and over and be criticized for something intimate, something sacred to him. Being envied and hated for his talent, being adored by people who just want to touch fame and don't really care about him, the person. No, he would rather keep his gift private and share it for special moments, like this.
Mark lowers his head reverently. Long live the King, he says in his mind, thinking of the young man he met long ago, so full of promise like the spring. Then his eyes meet Sören's, who flashes him a sweet, sympathetic smile, and he thinks of his father, who had once been all warmth and sweetness, and grew hard and bitter with the demands of his own crown. Burning up from the mortal wounds of the Balrogs. Burning up in his own stubborn pride, his anger, his shame.
And according to Maedhros and Fingon, returning as mortal.
You are, aren't you? Maglor purses his lips, studying Sören's face, noticing a resemblance, like he's seeing Sören for the first time. Fëanáro.
"I can't bloody believe I'm wearing this."
"But you're cute," Mark says. He can't resist teasing Anthony a bit, and boops Anthony's nose. "Especially your little nose."
Anthony makes a face like a pufferfish or an angry Jigglypuff, and Mark laughs before giving Anthony a nose kiss. Then Anthony smacks Mark's ass, and sheepishly turns pink when he realizes he did in front of Sören, no filter. Mark is amused, though a small part of him is also hoping Sören was aroused by it.
All three of them are wearing cowboy hats for their day in Nashville. Sören is taking the "weird American thing" in stride, but Anthony looks mortified.
"You don't have to wear that if you don't want to," Mark says, not wanting Anthony to feel so embarrassed he can't enjoy the day.
"When in Rome," Anthony says.
"And you do look cute," Mark says sincerely. "It's a good look for you."
"If you say so." Anthony turns pink again.
"I would make gay cowboy jokes," Sören says, "but this maybe isn't the best place for it."
"Yeah." Mark's shoulders heave with a deep sigh. There are queer people everywhere - and Nashville has several LGBT nightclubs, one of which they're going to this evening - but Tennessee is still a pretty conservative state. Enough so that they would have skipped it altogether except Mark wanted to come here to Music City for an important piece of American musical history.
Neither Anthony nor Sören is a fan of country music; Maglor likes almost all genres of music, though he prefers older country music like Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and Charley Pride, to the post-9/11 nationalistic, "traditional values" brand of pop-country with Confederate-flag waving fans. He doesn't expect to make country fans out of Anthony and Sören, and he knows that for Sören, there's some context missing on why he specifically asked Sören to include Nashville in the lineup for the sake of musical history, unless he outs himself as one of the Eldar and he's not inclined to do that anytime soon, as badly as he wants to. But it's still important to Mark that they're here, paying their respects to the genre that, along with blues, gave birth to rock-and-roll.
They start their day visiting the Ryman Auditorium and the Country Music Hall of Fame, where Anthony and Sören learn and Maglor remembers - not just the music itself, and the people who made it, some of whom he's met, but also a very different time from today. Mark isn't really nostalgic - it was easier to hide as non-human, but less safe to be himself, as a queer trans man - but it does make him wistful and a bit sad.
After they hit the Walk of Fame, Mark's mood brightens when they have brunch at White Limozeen, a rooftop bar inspired by Dolly Parton.
"It looks like a bloody wendy house for Barbie," Anthony says, a look of horror on his face as he takes in the decor.
Everything is aggressively pink. The walls are pink, the chairs are pink, even the umbrella tables around the pool on the patio are pink, and on the patio there is a nine-foot tall pink chickenwire bust of Dolly Parton. It's one of the campiest things Mark has ever seen, and that's exactly why they're here.
They sit on the patio under a pink umbrella drinking mimosas, and they have caviar tea sandwiches and squash quiche. While the pool looks inviting on a warm summer day, Mark knows Anthony and Sören don't want to reveal their top surgery scars in a public place, and can't blame them, even with Dolly Parton being such a huge gay icon.
"This is my first time trying caviar," Sören says. He chuckles. "Never thought I'd be trying it in Tennessee, of all places."
Anthony finds this hilarious. He once again looks around at the screaming pink of their surroundings, and stares at the pink Dolly Parton bust. "In a place like this."
"What do you think?" Mark asks, then quickly adds, "The caviar."
"It's salty," Sören says. "Though not as salty as Anthony wearing that cowboy hat in public, probably."
Mark's laughter rings out as Anthony makes a face, then Anthony stares at the Dolly Parton bust again and says, "The all-pink everything is worse. I'm not saying guys can't like pink, this isn't me being 'too manly' -"
"Yeah, I thought you liked pink," Mark says, giving Anthony a pointed look, not able to resist the innuendo. Anthony catches it and turns as pink as the decor, and when Sören catches it too he also turns beetroot, spluttering and snorting. Mark's own cheeks burn, realizing he let that comment fly in front of Sören - not that he thinks Sören is virginal and doesn't know they have sex, but this is advertising it.
When they're done with their brunch, they visit the Johnny Cash Museum - which once again makes Mark feel a bit sad, reflecting on the singer's troubled life and hard-won peace - and then the Willie Nelson Museum, which also has a store for souvenirs.
Sören looks absolutely befuddled after he's taken a lap around the store to see everything.
"What?" Anthony asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't see any weed for sale," Sören says.
Anthony narrows his eyes. "I think this is one of the states where it's illegal." He pulls out his phone and quickly checks Google, then nods. "It's a felony here. It's not even legal for medicinal use."
Sören's jaw drops. He glances around, then he scowls and says, "You can't buy weed at the Willie Nelson Store? That should be a felony."
Mark cracks up laughing, and so does Anthony. Mark pats Sören on the shoulder then he leans in and whispers, "We'll smoke a joint in his honor later." While it's risky to transport marijuana across state lines, they have loose leaf cleverly disguised with cooking spices, and gummies tucked away with candy.
From the Willie Nelson Museum it's time to see the most famous, iconic landmark of Nashville - the Grand Ole Opry. Darius Rucker is playing today, and this is why Mark requested they wear cowboy hats - while there's no dress code and jeans are commonplace, there are indeed a lot of cowboy hats and Mark feels safer trying to blend in a little in a place like this. But he also thinks Anthony looks cute in a cowboy hat, even if Anthony doesn't - and Mark thinks Sören looks cute, too, and wishes he didn't.
They have some time to spare before the show starts at 7 PM, so they take selfies and group photos with the giant guitar outside the building. Mark watches as Anthony sends pics off to his daughter, and when Anthony glances away for a second with a pensive look on his face, Mark knows he's missing her and he gives Anthony a fierce, tight hug.
"I know," Mark says.
Anthony gives Mark a squeeze and leans on him. "I hate this so much. Not just being separated from her, but I wish having her didn't involve him." He's referring to Steve, his first husband.
Sören joins in a group hug. "Well, we're in the right place. You can hear songs about losing your spouse, losing your kids... losing your truck, losing your gun, losing your beer... but at least you still have AMERICA..."
Anthony snorts, pulls off Sören's cowboy hat to tousle his curls, and slaps the hat back on - backwards. Mark readjusts it. "I needed that," Anthony says.
Sören grins.
It's been awhile since Mark has seen a live concert, and he manages to enjoy this - Darius Rucker's soulful voice is like sunshine and rain, whiskey and honey. Rucker's presence bears witness to the Black roots of country, and brings a diverse group of fans together. Even Anthony, who's not a country fan, concedes "He's got a great voice," as they're leaving.
"He does," Mark says, which is not a compliment he gives often or lightly.
From the Grand Ole Opry they head to Outlaws, an LGBT honkytonk. They serve dinner until 11 PM, and tonight it's Taco Tuesday, though the house special is fried bologna sandwiches which are traditional Nashville fare, as well as the hot chicken. Sören opts for the hot chicken, since he likes spicy food - once again, Mark suspects Sören is Fëanor - while Mark goes for two fried bologna sandwiches with a basket of fried pickles, and Anthony gets a plate of carnitas tacos. "I'll trade you a quarter of a sandwich for a taco," Mark tells him.
"Um, OK." Anthony looks a bit dubious.
In the background, the house band is playing - the Brokeback Boys, who perform gay-themed country and bluegrass music. When Anthony takes a bite of the quarter of a sandwich Mark traded, he stops mid-chew with the same wide-eyed look of horror he got at White Limozeen.
Mark cocks his head to one side. "Is the sandwich OK?"
Anthony resumes chewing, swallows, and then he says, "I'm eating a bologna sandwich at a honkytonk. I went to Cambridge."
Mark almost chokes on his beer, amused by the ways Anthony is still posh even after having lived in the States for awhile. "You're so cute."
"Shut it."
"Especially when you wrinkle that little nose."
"Piss off." Anthony glares, but his eyes are laughing.
Mark snickers and sips at his beer again. Anthony kicks him under the table and Mark plays footsie with him.
Sören smiles at their banter, but Mark can't help but notice Sören's brooding expression as he looks out at the dance floor. As much as Mark hates the thought of Sören with someone else - especially if his suspicion that Anthony is in love with Sören is correct - part of the reason why they're here is to see if they can't get Sören laid, who hasn't had sex since before his transition. When they're done eating and head out on the dance floor, Sören sticks close to them at first, but then they spot a tall beefy ginger with a rugged beard in a cowboy outfit with tight leather pants hanging back, glancing around awkwardly - it's clear the guy is here alone - and Sören waves before he makes a beeline.
While Anthony isn't always two left feet - they've gone clubbing together in Boston - Anthony is definitely out of his element here with couples line dancing. But after Mark has motored him through it for awhile, Anthony is less clumsy and is able to laugh at himself.
"Always a first time for everything, I guess," Anthony says, then quips, "And a last."
Mark gives Anthony a little kiss and pulls him closer. "You're a good sport."
"The things I do for love." Anthony rolls his eyes, then he kisses Mark back. "I suppose it could be worse."
As if on cue, Brokeback Boys begins playing an old hit from the 90s, by Billy Ray Cyrus.
Don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart
I just don't think he'd understand
And if you tell my heart my achy breaky heart
He might blow up and kill this man
Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose and makes a pained grunt. Mark doubles over laughing. Then Mark grabs Anthony, spins him around, and dips him.
As Mark makes Anthony dance with him to "Achy Breaky Heart", out of the corner of Mark's eye he sees Sören and the ginger cowboy running off to the bathroom together, and instead of feeling happy he feels a flare of jealousy. Mark immediately starts internally kicking himself, aggravated that this is his reaction when he and Sören aren't together, he has no claim on Sören, and he and Anthony have mutually avoided the topic of polyamory in any case. But Mark can't help feeling bothered... and angry with himself for being bothered by it.
Mark keeps dancing, trying not to let his discontent show. And then Anthony distracts him with the next song - it's "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy", and Anthony starts grinding up on him, flirtatious and horny. Mark gives it right back and soon they're running their hands over each other, rubbing up against each other... and are still more tame than some of the guys out on the dance floor who are out-and-out groping and making out with each other. But there's the promise of explosive sex later in the way they're moving together, eye-fucking each other, and Mark's mind burns with mental images of delicious past encounters, and all the possibilities for tonight.
But just as the song is finishing, there's Sören, looking murderous. Anthony and Mark pull apart and Anthony's face registers alarm.
"Let's get out of here," Sören hisses.
"What? What happened?" Anthony asks.
Sören glares at the ginger - who is now over at the bar, ordering a drink. His nostrils flare.
The pit of Mark's stomach rises. "Did something, um... go wrong in the bathroom? Did he try to force -"
Sören let out a bitter laugh. "No. I told him..." Sören gestures to the lower half of his body, not wanting to disclose in public even though it seems like the other guys on the dance floor are focused on each other and not eavesdropping. Then Sören lowers his voice. "And he laughed at me and called me a girl."
Anthony looks as pissed as Mark has ever seen. He clenches his fists, and stomps off. He gets a few steps before Mark holds him back, knowing this is going to end in a barfight, and they don't need trouble with the police, especially here in a conservative state. "Let's go back to the RV," Mark says. "Before someone gets hurt."
Anthony blinks, and then he gives a curt nod. They each take Sören by the arm and leave.
Sören stays quiet but obviously angry on the way to the RV, and once they're inside he finally breaks down, sobbing, then letting out a snarl of rage and a boiling flood of Icelandic. "Ég er svo veik fyrir cis gaurum og fokking afstöðu þeirra til trans karlmanna! Hann var yfir mér þar til ég sagði honum að ég væri trans gaur. Ég var karlmaður fyrir fimm mínútum en skyndilega heyrir gaurinn að ég er ekki með pikk og skiptir um skoðun. Svo þreytt á þessu helvítis fokking kjaftæði -"
Anthony puts up his hands. "Sören, English."
Sören shoots him a nasty look then he runs his hand over his face and his expression softens, realizing Anthony isn't the one to be mad at. He takes a few deep breaths while Anthony and Mark look at each other, feeling helpless.
Mark remembers what he told Sören at the Willie Nelson Store. "I told Sören we could smoke a j in honor of Willie -"
"Right." Anthony walks off and when he comes back he's got their bag of weed and rolling paper. Mark starts rolling the joint while Anthony sits next to Sören, holds him and rocks him, while Sören cries on his shoulder. Anthony takes off Sören's cowboy hat, tenderly rubs his nose in Sören's curls, and pets him. Anthony's eyes meet Mark's and then Anthony quickly looks away, as if he's been caught doing something wrong. Then Anthony takes off his own cowboy hat; his hair is mussed adorably.
When Sören finds his ability to speak English again, his accent is much heavier than usual and he's struggling with it. "When we got in the, ah, bathroom, I was going to give him a blowjob. But he started, ah. Groping my, ah, packer. Undoing my jeans. So I told him I'm a trans guy, and then he pushed me off him and he, ah. He laughed and said 'I don't want a girl! I'm here for dudes! You don't belong here, you tranny bitch!'"
"Jesus. Fucking. Christ." Anthony shakes his head, scowling fiercely. "I would have kicked his arse, but Mark -"
"Made you hold back, so none of us end up in jail." The joint is ready, and as Mark lights it up, he speaks into Anthony's mind with ósanwe. Oh, how the times have changed, now it's me who's telling Arafinwë to exercise caution and not the other way around.
Shut up, cowboy.
Mark still has his cowboy hat on, but he doesn't take it off. He just winks at Anthony, hoping Anthony will discipline him or find something to put in his mouth later.
But first, they need to comfort Sören. Mark is bothered by what happened too. He puffs and passes to Anthony on his left, then Anthony puffs and passes to Sören. Sören puffs, coughs and breaks down again as he passes to Mark.
"He didn't deserve you," Mark says before he smokes.
"No," Anthony says. "What a fucking loser. He obviously was into you a few minutes before. You look like a guy. Who would turn down a blowjob from Jon Snow? It's shitty that he reduced you to your genitals and then made that disgusting remark."
"A dick doesn't make someone a man," Mark says. "That guy sounds like a whiny boy who needs to grow the fuck up and learn how to be a man, not a bratty child."
"Still hurts." Sören looks down, and then the joint comes to him; Sören takes a hit, holds it, and blows out smoke rings before he has another coughing fit.
"I know." Mark takes the joint and puffs again. "I'm sorry."
"Me too." Anthony puffs, then he touches Sören's cheek, just before it's Sören's turn to take another drag from the joint.
They smoke the rest of it in silence. Mark puts on Enya to soothe frayed nerves, and Sören leans on Anthony, who keeps rubbing his back and petting his hair. Mark zones out, but every now and again he steals a glance at Sören and Anthony, wondering if they have feelings for each other. Suspecting it. Not wanting to rock the boat by saying anything.
But when the high kicks in, Mark seriously contemplates inviting Sören to have a threesome with them. He's high enough that his inhibitions are lower and it's at the tip of his tongue, but he's not so high that he doesn't make himself rein that impulse in. If Sören is Fëanor - and Mark thinks it's probably not "if" - there is enough residual pride that Mark worries Sören will think he's offering a pity fuck and get offended. And if he's reading Anthony incorrectly, there is the chance that Anthony will get jealous and offended and that opens up a big can of worms.
Don't do it while you're not sober, Mark tells himself, but as he continues to watch Sören and Anthony sit together, Anthony silently comforting him through the emotional hellstorm, the urge gets more and more tempting. The fantasies get more and more delicious.
Just as he's about to open his mouth and make an ass of himself, Sören's eyes open wide and he looks at the clock in the kitchenette. "I better take a shower and get ready for bed," Sören says. He makes a face. "I feel like I need to slough my fucking skin off, that asshole's dirty energy is all over me."
Anthony nods. "We'll give you your space," he says, and then he gestures for Mark to follow him into the bedroom. It's just as well - Mark is tempted to ask Sören if he wants company in the shower, even though the shower is tiny and barely fits one adult.
Anthony closes the door behind them. As Mark hears the shower running, Anthony starts undressing. Weed gets them both horny, and Mark is reminded of the way they got hot and heavy together at Outlaws before the incident with Sören and the ginger transphobe.
Mark finally takes his cowboy hat off to get undressed, and once he's naked, Anthony picks up the cowboy hat and puts it back on Mark's head. "That's a good look for you," Anthony says, eyes raking Mark up and down.
Mark grins. "I thought you didn't like cowboy hats."
"I don't like it on me. On you is another story." Anthony wolf whistles at Mark.
Mark grins harder, and then he turns around and wiggles his bare ass at Anthony, who slaps it, making Mark's cunt twinge. When Mark turns back to face Anthony, Anthony pulls him into a deep, passionate kiss, then they kiss open-mouthed, tongues licking together playfully... a reminder of what they can do with those tongues. Mark's fingers run through Anthony's chest hair and his thumbs rub Anthony's hard nipples. Anthony starts kissing Mark's neck - knowing it's a weak spot - and Mark melts, moaning at the feel of Anthony's lips and tongue.
Anthony kisses him again, and they reach down between each other's legs, feeling how hard and wet they are for each other, kissing hungrily as they stumble to the bed, pawing each other. Once they're on the bed, Mark rolls onto his back and pulls Anthony atop him. "I think you ought to pay up what you teased at in the club," Mark says.
Anthony raises an eyebrow.
"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," Mark reminds him.
Anthony laughs. He leans in for another sensual kiss, then Anthony rises up, props Mark's right leg up on his shoulder, and does exactly that - working his hips, rubbing his cunt against Mark's, riding him while Mark is still wearing the cowboy hat.
The feel of Anthony's cock sliding up and down, back and forth against his... their slippery cunt lips kissing... the sloppy wet slurping sound... the sight of Anthony's naked body, luscious pelt glistening with sweat... bush on bush, making streamers as their cunts tease... Mark goes deeper and deeper into lust and sensation, his entire body electrified, not able to get enough, wanting to stay lost in this space all night even as his cock is throbbing, swollen so thick until it aches, urgent with the need to come...
"Fuck me, Daddy," Mark cries out. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Mark realizes he just yelled, breaking one of their rules. Then again, he's bucking against Anthony, cunts smacking together, the wet suctioning noises louder, squishier, more obscene. More delicious. Mark wants to hear that sound for hours, cocks teasing and teasing, insatiable for hot, primal sex. "More, Daddy, more..."
"Shhhh, baby." Anthony chuckles. "We need to keep it down." He hasn't lowered his voice - then he catches himself and gives a sheepish look, turning pink, biting his lower lip. But then Anthony seems to notice their pussies are making plenty of noise...
...so he slows down, their cunts sliding together more sensually, caressing. Every few seconds Mark hears a sucking sound - their cunts kissing. Anthony and Mark both groan with pleasure and lust.
Mark reaches up to feel Anthony's chest hair, loving it, and his hands slide down Anthony's torso, down his thighs, and over his arms. Anthony's hands cover Mark's, then their hands brush - just the feel of their palms and fingers stroking sends a shiver down Mark's spine, loving the way his entire body thrills to Anthony's touch.
Anthony leans down and kisses Mark deeply. They moan into the kiss and Mark wraps his arms around Anthony, spreading wider for him, savoring the way their cocks are rubbing together ever so slowly, teasing, each lick of their cocks more and more luscious. "More," Mark begs, arching to him. "More... don't stop, Daddy..."
"Mmmmm." Anthony kisses and licks down Mark's neck and throat. "Daddy's slut."
Mark shudders, almost coming from that.
Anthony nips Mark's neck. "Yeah, you're a slut for Daddy's cock, aren't you?"
"Yes, Daddy." Then Mark cries out as Anthony sucks on a nipple, hard. Anthony bites it, making Mark cry out again - feeling the faintest touch of guilt that they're probably disturbing Sören, then hoping he gets aroused by it. Anthony's tongue lashes the stinging nub, soothing and pleasing it, before he takes it in his mouth again, suckling harder.
Anthony does the same to the other, sucking, biting, lapping, sucking hard, tugging on it with his lips. He goes back and forth, his thumb rubbing one in circles while his mouth excites the other, all the while rubbing his cunt slowly against Mark's as Mark writhes and moans underneath him, his entire body singing with delight.
"Daddy, Daddy..."
Anthony kisses him roughly, then he leans up and rides Mark even harder than before, the juicy wet pumping, slapping sound of their cunts driving them as wild as the way they press into each other and rub in the perfect rhythm. When Anthony takes Mark's hands, Mark knows Anthony is right there with him.
"Need you to come with me, baby," Anthony grits out, his face tense, eyes fierce.
Mark squeezes Anthony's hands and screams out, "DADDY! OH, FUCK!" as he climaxes. Then Anthony lets out a cry as he comes too, pulsing against Mark's cunt... squirting into it.
"Breed me, Daddy," Mark moans, contracting again, shivering with pleasure.
"Oh, fuck." Anthony shudders and gasps, then sighs deeply, pure bliss on his face.
Mark smiles up at him, wanting to mentally preserve for all eternity the moment of joy on Anthony's face, radiant. I love you, Mark speaks into Anthony's mind, hearing their hearts beat as one in the Song.
I love you. Anthony lays down in Mark's arms and they kiss, long and deep, savoring the last smoldering embers of their passion.
Mark lays there and a couple minutes later, just as he's about to mindlessly drift off, he hears Sören applaud from the jackknife bed. Anthony sleepily facepalms.
