It's not always easy to leave a message for a Chaos Mage, especially one like Fenter. Notes slipped under the door generally vanish into the clutter of his room, or are perhaps devoured by carnivorous memos that prowl about in the dark. Equally ineffectual are attempts to pin them to the door or put them into Fenter's official mail-slot at the Guild Office. And so, Fenter has gotten used to finding missives stuffed into sandwiches, turning up in his socks or pinned to the front of his robe. This time, the summons to the Personnel Office had been glued to the back of his hand while he slept.

The thin Secretary twitches his whiskers at the newly arrived Rath'ani Mage, and peers at him through impossibly thick glasses. "You're Fenter, right? Of Chaos?"

Fenter ineffectually tries to smooth out a crease in his robe, a problem that comes from sleeping in one's uniform. "Yes sir! Fenter Nuttenboltschen, here and ready to serve. Um, this wouldn't happen to be about that spare copy of my room key that I lost?"

After straightening his glasses, the Skeek looks suspiciously at the raccoon. "Why would you need a spare key? You aren't taking in boarders, are you? That's strictly forbidden!"

"No sir! It's just my previous key was turned into peppermint … or at least, it tasted like peppermint." The raccoon shrugs. "Never mind. I'm sure it's nothing."

The Skeek shuffles some papers around on his desk, leaving the Mage standing uncomfortably for a moment. "No, it's not about keys," he finally says. "You have been requested, by name, to perform a service for… ," the Skeek says, and pauses to read from a piece of paper, "… Wrot Brothers Airship Engines Company, Warehouse 317, Rephidim Docks."

Fenter makes a face. "Rot Brothers? They're not Sylvanian, are they? Zombies are more Faust's department than mine … unless you want them to explode or something like that. I'm rather good at explosions."

"I'm sure these clients will appreciate such a skill," the Skeek says in a droll manner. "They are Titanians, not Sylvanians, although some sort of exorcism seems to be involved, to wit: 'Chaos Mage for exorcising gremlins from Spirit,'" he notes, reading from the paper again.

The raccoon mouths an "oh." "So it's sort of the opposite of blowing things up. Well, ahem … as long as they keep their hammers to themselves, that's bully with me." He plucks at his ear. "Are you quite sure they asked for me by name? I mean, it wasn't 'loudly hinted' or anything like that?"

"They specifically asked for a Fenter," the Skeek says, his glasses magnifying his beady red eyes into … bigger beady red eyes. "Unless there are any other Chaos Mages named 'Fenter,' I assume you are it."

Fenter jams his hands in his pockets. "Indeed I am. Warehouse 317 you said? I … er … suppose I should toddle off there, unless there was anything else?"

The Skeek pulls out a form from a drawer, and slaps it onto the top of his desk. After scribbling a few notes on it, he turns it around and offers the ink quill to Fenter. "Yes. Just sign here at the bottom if you will."

Obligingly, the Chaos Mage scoops up the quill and signs his name with a flourish. It's a fairly typical Chaos scrawl: one of those scribbles that is readable if you know what it says already, but indecipherable to most anyone else.

Snatching the page away as soon as Fenter finishes signing it, the Skeek says, "Thank you. The cost of replacing the destroyed key will be deducted from the payment for this service. Good day." The secretary buries his nose back in paperwork, as if the raccoon had already left.

Fenter momentarily opens his mouth to protest, but snaps it back shut again. Having family in the Temple has taught him that he can rarely argue with bureaucracy and win. "I'll just go wander out in the streets then. Good day to you as well, sir." He bows politely, drops his hat, picks it back up, and then shuffles out of the room. A small scrap of discarded notepaper trails along behind him, trapped under the hem of his robe.

The shingle hanging next to the service entrance to Warehouse 317 does indeed purport it to house "Wrot Bruders Errship Injuns" and a notice warns, "Watch your hed." Judging from the large dent in the upper doorjamb, this advice does not seem to be followed regularly. The door itself looks very sturdy, however.

The Chaos mage folds his arms over his head as he steps through the doorway, almost expecting the top of the jamb to come crashing down on his head. "Gremlins… I wonder if they're anything like squibbits? Hopefully they taste a bit better… "

Despite the noise, a Kavi in a heavy leather apron and wearing a set of dark goggles on her head notices Fenter's arrival, and scurries over to him. "Hello dere, sir … err … or ma'am. How can I help you?" One of the engines being serviced seems to be crawling with Kavi, while two Titanians whack away with hammers at a bent metal strut on a second one.

Fenter hugs his head tighter to muffle some of the noise. "Yes indeedy! My name is Fenter Nuttenboltschen, Graduate Mage of the Sphere of Chaos. I was told that someone here needed me to solve some sort of infestation problem?"

"Oh! You're da guy Whumper sent for!" the Kavi chitters, and then shouts out in an amazingly loud voice, "WHUMPER! THE GREMLIN CHASER IS HERE!"

A huge, hairy Titanian with black fur (natural or just from the grease) rises up from behind an engine, blinks a few times, then comes around towards the pair, giant hammer resting casually against one shoulder.

"Actually my feet aren't that good, and I've got this kink in my back. The accident you know… " He spies the hammer and pales a bit. "Although I'm sure I can make an exception for this lovely Titanian gentleman."

Whumper smiles and offers a huge paw to the raccoon, as the Kavi scurries back to her work. "You the Fenter? Hear lots good about you."

Fenter uncoils an arm from his head and gingerly places his hand against the Titanian's, halfway expecting it to end up crushed or accidentally torn off. "Er… The Fenter? My, I've heard quite a few titles but that one is rather pleasant. Simple … but pleasant. Indeed, sir, I am Fenter and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The Titanian's handshake is surprisingly gentle. He must have practiced for hours to get it right. "Follow me. Gotta make sure you the right one," Whumper says, and starts heading towards the noisy old boiler.

The mage resumes hugging his head as he follows along after the Titanian. "Right one? I can show you my graduate ring … although my diploma's been lost for ages. I think Grampy took it from me for safekeeping after he caught me rolling it up and using it as a telescope."

Once they reach the boiler, Whumper prods the old Vykarin tending it with the handle of his hammer. "Old Chompy! This the Fenter?" he yells at the old shellback.

The green of the Vykarin's chitin is faded, and if it can see anything out of its thick and brittle-looking visor, it doesn't let on. With a whurf, it ambles over to sniff at Fenter, then drops down to the floor and barks, "Ry Rod! Ry Rod Renter!" It even wags its tail.

Fenter looks confused for a moment before it finally sinks in. "Oh yes! I'd almost forgotten about that whole Sky God thing." He gives the Vykarin a pat between the ears. "You may call me 'Mister Sky God' if you like. Far less formal."

The Vykarin whurfs happily, and tries to slurp Fenter's hand.

"Ah, good! Good! Awrful will be happy! Come meet brother Awrful!" Whumper grabs Fenter's hand before it can be licked, and starts dragging him over to the tarp-covered shape in the center of the warehouse.

The mage takes the dragging in stride, as he's gotten fairly used to it during his life. "Awful? Is that a nickname or a surname or did his mummy just not like him very much?"

Whumper seems confused by Fenter's question, and like all good Titanians do when they're confused by something that they can't smack with a hammer, he just ignores it. Instead, he bends and lifts up the tarp, calling into it, "Awrful! Lucky Sky God here to degremlinize the Spirit!"

"Great!" comes a voice from under the covering, and a moment later another Titanian crawls out from it. While clearly related to Whumper, Awrful has certain unique features that belie the first Titanian's claim of brotherhood. For one thing, Awrful is female, and only slightly taller than Fenter himself. She holds out a hand after wiping the grease off on her apron, which is festooned with a collection of hammers. Hammers with odd shaped heads and handles. Hammers big and small. Hammers for any occasion. "Hi, I'm Awrful. Pleased to meet you," she says, wagging her tail.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You know, they teach very good self-confidence courses on the Collegia grounds these days. You should try one. I show up on buffet night." The raccoon bows. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame. Now what can I do for you?"

Awrful actually laughs at Fenter's joke. "I need you to scare away the gremlins from the Spirit," she says, putting a special emphasis on "spirit." She then turns and pulls the tarpaulin away to reveal what she's talking about. "This is it, the Spirit of Titania."

The Spirit of Titania looks a bit like a mechanical Rakhtor with its wings folded for diving. The illusion is spoiled by a few things, however, such as the large propeller and accompanying airship engine stuck in its head, the wheels on its feet, the vertical airship rudder mounted on the tail and the open back with two sunken seats and a plethora of levers. None of these are as disturbing as the two long metal cylinders clamped to the sides of the body, each sporting an ominous looking bell-shaped nozzle at the rear and hooked up to hoses running from the boiler.

Whumper wipes a tear from his eye at the sight of the Spirit, and says, "I so proud, little brother Awrful."

Fenter removes his hat to make scratching his head a bit easier. "Will you be putting the gondola on later?" He walks up to the machine and pats it as he tries to feel out any magical "spikes" around it. He's not so unfamiliar with his job that he doesn't know about probability and mechanics, which is why so many unusual machines are made up in Rephidim instead of on the ground where they have a tendency to break faster.

"It doesn't need a gasbag!" Awrful boasts, and pats the fuselage of the strange craft. "It fly like a bird! At least … it will once we outrun gremlins. Can't fail this time though. We got Sky God as co-pilot, and special gremlin-out-runners!"

The raccoon's tail suddenly goes all frizzy. "C-c-c-co-pilot?"

"Exciting, isn't it!" Awrful croons. "You scare off gremlins, so out-runners don't explode! Then we go so fast away from island, they can't jump back on!"

"It brill-ee-ant plan," Whumper adds, in a tone that doesn't allow for disagreement.

Fenter tries to voice his disagreement regardless, but his voice only cracks out in a whimpering squeak.

"We make suck – … suck – … good flight, and everyone will want bagless airships," Awrful goes on, almost evangelically. "Sky will be full of them! Flying Titans will replace slow old balloons! Sky God Fenter will be rich and famous, too!"

"And we can fight them against each other!" Whumper chimes in, waving his hammer over his head.

The mention of fame and money manages to snap the Chaos mage out of a near faint. "Have you … um … tested this before? You know, with little models and thingummies like that?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Awrful says, "Oh yes, many tests! Too small for pilot-engineer though, all crash. Need brain to fly, and muscles to work controls. And Chaos mage to keep away gremlins!"

"And keep out-runners from 'sploding before get enough pressure, too," Whumper adds helpfully.

"We tried fireworks rockets on models," Awrful explains. "Kept blowing up fuel tank for engine though. Steam lots safer!"

"I don't suppose that I'll be allowed a parachute? A comfy helmet would be nice as well." Fenter circles the machine, mumbling a test incantation to see how difficult it might be to keep the machine under control. He's known some Titanians to put redundant machinery in their vehicles to confuse or slow down the whole probability problem, but the Spirit seems almost too small for such thing. "Steam you say? So there won't be any horrible disfiguring fire … just hot boiling scalding steam."

"Not a lot of fire, no," Awrful promises, and pulls out two leather helmets from the contraption's cockpit. "Got helmets and pary-shoots! And special safety helper," she says, patting what appear to be rockets attached to the seat backs.

"Well, I'm a bit comforted to hear that you have a little bit of self-preservation in you." The Rath'ani's tail is still on the frizzy side. "When would you be taking your little bird thingummy out for its first flight?"

"Right after you chase out gremlins!" Awrful barks, tail wagging again. "We start pumping up out-runners now, okay?"

Fenter starts feeling wobbly. "You mean now … as in right now and not later now? Now now?"

"Yah!" Awrful says, as Whumper signals Old Chompy to open up the steam valves. The hoses feeding the "out-runners" go taut and seams of the metal tanks start to groan. The Titanian aviatrix begins strapping on her goggled helmet.

"But … but … butbutbut… " the raccoon sputters. "I need time to draw a circle and get a ritual and … oh sugarbugs!" He digs around in his pockets for powder and chalk. "Is it alright if I draw on your ship? Maybe write a few final words or something like that."

"Hey, that not bad idea!" Awrful comments, her ears perking up. "We sell space for merchants to write on ship later. Need help with your pary-shoot?"

Fenter hastily scrawls some Chaos runes on the surface of the ship. The chalk seems to be made of some odd iridescent material, as the colors don't quite stay as they should. He's hesitant to scrawl on the engines, as he might burn his hands, but gets a few designs in as close as he can. "Just a moment, just a moment. I need quite a bit of help, I think."

"Sure!" Awrful says, and drops a helmet over Fenter's own hat. Given that the helmet is at least one size too big, the squashed hat actually makes it fit better.

The raccoon makes one final whimper and then scrabbles up into the ship. "Oh, by the way … there's this thing that Chaos mages do that might make you think I'm getting airsick. If it happens, I assure you that I am not getting airsick, and don't tell anybody about it either! Just help me turn my robe inside-out and find me a place to clean up before anybody notices the smell."

A group of Kavis roll a fuel drum up the side of the Spirit, and begin pumping to fill the on-board tank. Several others dash around, doing final checks on the wheels, wings and other components. Another group climbs around Fenter and straps him into his parachute and seat.

Fenter attempts to scrawl a rough mage's circle around his seat. Candles would be out of the question, but hopefully he'll be able to manage alright without them. Once that's done, he starts chanting softly, which gives him an excuse to close his eyes and pretend he's just sitting in a comfy chair somewhere on stable ground.

Awrful finally straps into the pilot's seat ahead of Fenter, and turns her head back to tell him, "See green lever on right? That open out-runners for launch. Red lever on left make them drop off. Very important to pull that one if they gonna blow up, but pull it before they blow up. Yaw stick and pedals you don't worry about, but be careful of lever just under front of seat. It make your chair eject." Given that the ejection mechanism is powered by rockets, and Fenter's seat is right in front of the fuel tank, being careful would seem good advice.

Various cables running alongside and underneath the chair move back and forth as Awrful tests the flight controls, and the large stick and pedals in front of Fenter move with them. With a rumble, Old Chompy opens the doors at the end of the warehouse, letting in sunlight and a view of the open sky beyond the docks. Curious bystanders gather to watch.

The Chaos mage nods, making another whimper of affirmation. "I believe I might be able to tell if the engines are about to explode. I'll remember that." He swallows. "If I don't explode or fall to my death at the end of this, I think I shall need to get very drunk for a very long time."

With a whistle of escaping steam from the out-runners, Whumper announces, "Full pressure!" and Kavis wearing heavy gloves disconnect the hoses from the bulging steam-rocket tanks. Whumper offers, "We go drinking after! Big party!" He then takes his place at the large propeller, and gives it a jerk when Awrful calls out, "Contact!"

"That's good to kno-aieee!" Fenter squeezes his eyes shut again and focuses on his chanting.

With a belch worthy of a dragon, the Spirit's engine comes to life and spouts flame from the exhaust ports alongside the engine cowling. The huge propeller begins to turn and speed up. "You say when to release wheel locks, Fenter!" Awrful calls back to the raccoon.

The noise and terrible shaking caused by the engine thankfully drown out the details of the wagering going on just outside the warehouse doors, as people bet on how long it will be before the odd machine explodes.

The raccoon chants rapidly as he builds up his spell, willing a bubble of normalcy around the machine. Once he reaches a maintainable level, he pauses long enough to bark out, "Alright, go ahead – and remember, Chaos mages do not get airsick!"

Awrful pulls on a lever, and Old Chompy fires a steam-whistle to clear away the crowd. "Pull the green lever now, Fenter!" the pilot yells as the ship begins to roll along the rails, pulled by the propeller.

"I'm horribly grateful I'm not colorblind right now," Fenter muses to himself as he grabs the lever on his right and yanks it.

With a WHOOMP of compressed steam, the warehouse vanishes while an invisible Rhian suddenly sits on Fenter's chest. The shuddering and shaking is enough to loosen teeth, but eventually it dies down as the Spirit unfolds its wings to their full span and the out-runners run out of steam.

The pressure on Fenter's chest eases up, and Awrful's whoop of triumph is actually audible above the roar of the engine. "We're alive!"

Fenter makes a choking gasp as he tries to draw enough air into his lungs to keep his chanting up. "Forget what I said about airsickness. I think that after that jolt, nothing will be coming out of my innards for quite some time."

The aircraft tilts to the left as Awrful starts to bring it around, passing close enough to the deck of an incoming airship that Fenter can make out the gawking faces of passengers as they stare in amazement and not a little fear.

"Now … you really meant it when you said I was going to be rich and famous, right? I've heard that before, and I've ended up the next day with a hangover and a public order not to come out of my room for a week." The raccoon manages a weak wave to the airship crew.

"Yeah, we're sky gods now! No one ever forget us!" Awrful shouts as she buzzes the docks. A few Vartans and Eeee start chasing them, but they can't hope to keep up as the Spirit of Titania climbs higher and higher.

Fenter feels his stomach lurch again and he tries to distract himself by concentrating on his spell again. "And we can land this later, right?"

"No problem!" Awrful yells. "We land and collect prize money! Big prize for first working aeroplane!" Sure enough, it's at the end of such a statement that the engine decides to choke and sputter before dying in a cloud of greasy smoke.

"Whoops," the Titanian utters, and begins yanking on levers and turning cranks. "Hold onto stick and pedals for me, Fenter!"

"Hold onto WHAT?!?" The raccoon flails his arms out and grabs the stick and sinks down in his seat far enough to touch the pedals with the tips of his toes. "I hope you know I have no ruddy idea of what I'm doing… "

"Ruddy controlled by pedals," Awrful explains while she unstraps herself from the pilot's seat. "Stick make nose go up and down. Try keep steady, I go chase out sneaky gremlin that jumped from airship!" That said, the Titanian begins to climb across the top of the Spirit to the engine compartment, a moderately-sized hammer clenched in her teeth.

"Steady, right. I think I can do steady." Fenter holds the lever as though it were his last bottle of liquor and chants like mad.

The lever and pedals take a certain amount of effort to keep steady. They seem to want to jump around, like a Fuff'nar on a short leash. Meanwhile, Awrful reaches the engine and gets the cowling open, and proceeds to whack on it with her hammer while the estate of some noble or another passes by underneath.

"You know," the raccoon notes aloud, "if I wasn't scared out of two season's fur growth, I think I would have the growing urge to spit over the side. I shall have to do a research paper on that sometime. Perhaps it's a side effect of the gremlins."

A sudden gust of wind threatens to rip the control stick from Fenter's hands, but he manages to hold on and keep things steady. With another mighty belch of flame, the main engine starts up again, and a greasy Awrful waves back to the Mage from where she's sitting on top of it.

"Don't toast yourself, Madame! I'll probably crash this into someone important's house if left to pilot this myself!" The Chaos mage's teeth start to chatter from the cold.

Nodding, the aviatrix starts climbing back into the pilot's seat, and gets herself strapped in again in a few moments. "I got controls now, we go land, okay?"

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!!!" Fenter slips back properly into his chair and focuses on his chanting again. "Remember what I said about forgetting about the airsickness part? Forget about that … uurgh!"

"We not even go upside-down, though!" Awrful says, and turns the craft back towards the docks. "I hope they got special landing stuff ready! We never landed any of the test models."

Fenter swallows. "Madame, if we go upside-down I shall end up making someone on the ground rather upset. Speaking as a Chaos mage, I can say that without a doubt I will make someone who would be the type to hunt me for the rest of my days extremely upset."

The docks pass below once more, and quickly vanish behind them as Awrful takes them out farther before turning back to land. "You funny man, Fenter! We the new Sky Gods now! People line up to be puked on by you, you see!"

"In my six years as a Sky God I can safely say from experience that if I did such a thing to even my most devout of worshippers I would find some important body part chewed on." The raccoon's brows knit together. "You do intend to mass produce these, don't you?"

"Mass produce?" the Titanian asks in a confused voice. "No, it runs on alcohol, not heavy vegetables," she says. After making her turn, the Spirit seems to be lined up with the pier in front of the warehouse, and Awrful begins to throttle down the engine.

Fenter swallows, the dock looks awfully tiny from up here. "Er … I mean you're going to make a whole bunch of them – that is if we don't crash and explode between here and the docks."

"Oh! Maybe lots, yeah!" Awrful says happily, and begins turning a crank. Fenter can sense something happening below his seat. "Landing claw down!" the pilot announces.

"Not to question the plans of an engineer, but do you intend to hire a Chaos mage for each and every one? That might get a tad expensive." The raccoon's voice gets a bit squeakier sounding near the end as he feels his seat move, and the thought of his chair dropping out the bottom flashes through his mind.

As they get closer to the pier, Fenter can make out dozens of cables strewn across it, as well as a large crowd gathered near the warehouse. "We use prize money to build bigger aeroplane next time! More room for anti-gremlin devices, so won't need mage every time," Awrful explains, and cuts back the engine more as the plane descends.

Fenter grips his chair as the plane flies in, bracing himself for the impending jolt. "That's rather clever of you. You must not have been hit on the head with a hammer very much growing up, or were hit with one a great deal. I'm not sure how Titanian heads work."

"Hold on!" she shouts, as the Spirit touches down. The landing claw catches on one or more of the cables, and Fenter is jerked forward against his seat straps as the aircraft rapidly decelerates.

"Houuuf!" the mage grunts out, feeling that Rhian sitting on his chest suddenly decide to kick him in the backside as well.

It's even more bumpy than takeoff, but the landing is apparently successful! Awrful shuts off the engine and lets out a whoop, which most of the crowd echoes. She's quickly out of her harness, and turned around to undo the straps on Fenter. "We did it! We did it!"

The raccoon lets his chanting die down as he closes his ritual properly. Stopping it abruptly might cause the probability to cave in at once and make something blow up regardless; instead he just dispels it and lets his bubble slowly close in and vanish. He attempts to stand up and ends up falling backwards into his chair again. "Would you mind horribly picking me up and dropping me on the ground, Madame? My knees appear to have momentarily turned into some sort of squishy material. Feet first would be a preferable dropping method, as my head is still rather valuable to me."

The Titanian woman grabs Fenter under the shoulders and heaves him up out of the seat. As she does so, however, the Rath'ani feels a distinct tug as the lower hem of his robe gets caught on something, and then an ominous click. "Uh oh," Awrful moans, and Fenter suddenly finds himself flung across her shoulder as she runs towards the docks.

Turned backwards as he is, Fenter gets a very good view of the ejector rockets firing, launching his former seat into the sky … and setting fire to the rear part of the aircraft.

"Madame! I'm as eager to get to celebrating as you, but … oh, sugarbugs." The raccoon winces as he's bounced against the Titanian's shoulder. "That was distinctly not my fault! I take no responsibility for the actions of my clothing!"

The pair reach the dock just as the Spirit of Titania explodes spectacularly, reducing itself and most of the pier to expensive kindling. The only thing to survive is the propeller, which embeds itself over the main door to the warehouse.

Fenter peers across the Titanian's head. "Well, you have something to hang that sign from, warning people to watch their heads from now. It … was still successful though, right? We're still going to celebrate and drink ourselves into unconsciousness, right?"

This being Rephidim, only half of the original crowd flees. Those that remain cheer even harder after the explosion, appreciating a good show. Awrful finally sets Fenter down on solid ground, and sighs as she unstraps her parachute. "Drink into stupor … oh yeah. Get prize money? No, not without aeroplane."

Some of the crew-Kavi arrive to help Fenter out of his own parachute and helmet, while Whumper stands by and rubs his chin in thought.

The raccoon scuffs at the ground with his foot. "I'm terribly sorry about all of that. I'll make a point of giving my robes an extra firm beating when dust whacking day comes around."

Awrful suddenly cheers up, and gives the Mage a thump on the back … gently. "Hey, it worked right! We went up and came down! Next time, use big springs for ejector seats!" She grins and starts wagging her tail, already imagining the design of the next airplane.

"Told you we should have got lucky black Khatta," Whumper says morosely. "Not find him though. Maybe just a story."

The crowd begins to disperse as the fire brigade and Port Authority guards arrive to inspect the damage. "We better go get drunk now, before they take our booze," Awrful Wrot tells her older brother and Fenter.

"You know, Madame, you're a jolly good sport about all of this. I think the last job I had where something exploded, I ended up getting furniture thrown at me for a solid hour." Fenter brushes some bits of soot from his robe. "My thanks for not forcing me to remain in my seat as it departed the ship, although I'm betting that it's landed in someone's melon garden or wine cellar."

That actually seems to cheer up Awrful more. "Good, we can reuse it!"

The mage opts to bite his tongue. "Yes … booze would be quite good right now. It's Titanian liquor, isn't it? I've heard that you can not only drink it, but clean away grease and power small vehicles with it."

Putting her arm around Fenter and guiding him back into the warehouse, Awrful says, "It good stuff. Two drinks, and you won't even care that we can't pay you now."

Fenter happily toddles in with the two large wolves. "That's alright. That means that they can't deduct the price of my lost key from my wages either. It's not like I ever lock my room anyway… "