two_handed: (Default)
[personal profile] two_handed
[Continuation of this]

He'd ended up in the enchanted lake.
At first it had been in the hopes of turning him back, but for some reason it just didn't work. Nothing seemed to work, and he was beginning to think this was some kind of elaborate curse, or maybe this was just who he was now.

Nobody was particularly pleased to have another VK in Auradon, but Mal (at least, Harry thought it must have been Mal) had convinced them he wasn't exactly a threat - for all they thought this was some kind of plan - and what was he going to do, swimming around in the enchanted lake? It wasn't like he could go anywhere else.

He was kind of miserable about it, if he was honest, since word seemed to have spread that he was there, and the last thing he wanted was all of bore-adon knowing his predicament, but what exactly could he do?

At least Mal visited fairly regularly, usually to try new solutions but as their options started to dwindle more often than not she'd visit just to talk, sitting in the old temple beside the water while Harry leaned on the edge. He didn't want to admit it, but talking to Mal was the bright spot of every day, he enjoyed her company a lot, he'd come to consider her a friend. He wanted even less to admit he'd come to hope for more than that.

She usually showed up around this time, so Harry had pulled himself up to sit on the side, leaning against one of the pillars while he waited for her.
brooklynishere: (4)
[personal profile] brooklynishere
When the Hydra facility had been raided, the last thing anybody expected to find was a 16 year old kid on ice, and yet there he'd been. Steve had been the one to stop the Hydra scientist from shutting down the life support, but they hadn't got there in time to prevent the destruction of a good half the facility's records - including the ones about who the kid was or why he was there.

So what choice did they have but to wake him up and find out?

He was uncooperative at first, refused to give them any details other than the name 'Spot' and kept threatening to fight anybody that came close, though they managed to work out pretty easily that he was from Brooklyn and he'd been on the ice almost as long as Steve had. It's when he overhears a comment about Bucky that he seems to change his tune.

"Bucky Barnes?" he asks, and while he still seems wary, for the first time since he woke up he says something actually helpful "I'll talk to him. Tell him the name's Sean Conlon."
brooklynishere: (4)
[personal profile] brooklynishere
Siobhan Conlon had run away from home at age 12 and very quickly realised that the streets were a terrible place for a girl. Especially one with a smart mouth and a violent temper. It wasn't that she couldn't handle herself - she absolutely could - but she didn't want to have to all the time.

So she'd stolen some boy's clothes from a washing line and spent her second-to-last dime on a haircut, and when she'd shown up at the circulation gate with the other newsies one cold November morning, three weeks after first leaving home, they'd accepted her with open arms.

After that, it wasn't long before she had a bed at the boarding house, a whole new family and a name - Spot.

By now she has it down to an art, as the leader of Brooklyn she had her own room at the boarding house which made it easier, but she's spent years perfecting her act, she's got the swagger and the voice and the look, and everybody thinks she's just small for a boy - Spot's certainly got more than enough personality to make up for it.

So when Dodger comes strolling into her life she doesn't think anything of it at first, he's just another cocky kid for her to take under her wing and show the ropes, and if she finds him somewhat attractive... well, it wouldn't be the first time she's thought that about someone. She'll get over it, she always does. She can't risk revealing herself, not after all this time.

There's something about him, though, something that's just kind of easy to get along with - even when they're arguing - and Spot just likes having him around. It's dangerous, really dangerous, but she can't stop herself being around him.
ainissesthai: (41)
[personal profile] ainissesthai
Setting up in Bludhaven had been a simple matter once he'd dealt with a few locals who hadn't been welcoming of his move from Gotham, no matter how temporary he expected it to be. Once that was handled, Edward had set himself up in a suitable building on the outskirts of the city and got to work.

This was a private game, no need to involve the entire city so the preparations were surprisingly modest for him. He was even kind enough to avoid anything that would call upon the kind of cutting edge tools Batman was always carting around. A true battle of the minds not the wallets.

The first riddle is waiting for Grayson when he returns home one evening, three weeks to the day after their chat. A bright green envelope emblazoned with a question mark sitting propped up on his bed. It's equal parts invitation and reminder of who he's playing games with and just what the Riddler is capable of.

Within the envelope is a simple white card, elegantly penned with the following words:

'Many stories I tell yet within I remain quiet. My uses are changing but the same I remain. Of me Strabo and Plato both are fond.'
brooklynishere: (aged up)
[personal profile] brooklynishere
It was rare, very rare, when Brooklyn was outmatched. It was a point of pride for Spot Conlon that there wasn't nobody who could soak Brooklyn, or anybody from Brooklyn, and get away with it.
He didn't intend to break that track record. This upstart gang from Queens is gonna get their asses handed to them.

...just maybe not today.

His eye is stinging and he can already tell he's going to have one hell of a shiner in a couple of hours, it's going to make a nice accompaniment to his split lip and the bruises blossoming up and down his ribs. Half his boys have already scarpered and honestly, Spot doesn't blame them, they're cornered and even Racetrack wouldn't bet on them winning right now, not without reinforcements.

He smacks one of them across the face with his cane and sees a break in the scuffle, Dodger already darting away down an alley. Spot dives after him.

Queens will give chase, he knows they will, but if he can lure them deep enough into Brooklyn then revenge will be swift and merciless. If they decide to fall back, he'll get them another day, when he's healed up and has the satisfaction of soaking them himself.

He makes it down two more side streets, hot on Dodger's heels, when there's a sudden yank on his braces and he's pulled off his feet with a yelp that (thankfully) gets lost in the yelling and pounding of feet.

He swings out wildly with his cane, but it's not long before he's reduced to curling into a protective ball as boots and fist rain down on him - there's four of them and only one of him, and he still ain't that big.

He's starting to feel pretty dazed by the time there's another, more familiar shout, and suddenly his attackers are falling back under a volley of stones. The cavalry's coming.

Most of the newly arrived Brooklyn boys give chase, but a couple haul Spot to his feet and start checking him over. He waves away their fussing.

"Jus' get me back home," he mumbles, jaw stiff and swollen, and they blessedly don't need telling twice. He refuses to be carried, instead slinging his arms around their shoulders for support as he hobbles back to the lodging house - or more accurately, hops; one of his legs refuses to take any of his weight without trying to buckle underneath him.

They get him back to the house, carrying him up to the bunk room and getting him sat down on the edge of his bed. A hoard of newsies crowds around him, conflicting medical advice flying in all directions.
justlikeacircus: (Default)
[personal profile] justlikeacircus
Dick didn't entirely know how he'd got here, if he was honest, an experiment gone wrong, an explosion, some kind of multi-verse event.. the details are all a little fuzzy. All he knows for sure is he woke up in an unfamiliar city in a world that was almost - but not quite - like his own and he had no idea how to get back.

That had been a couple of months ago now, and he'd made the best of a bad situation. It was hard to get himself set up without the resources he was used to, but he'd got himself a job and a crappy apartment and he'd done what he could. It wasn't long before he took to the streets as Nightwing, crime was just as prevalent here as it had been back in Gotham and he wasn't about to sit back and let it happen. He'd even made a few alliances here and there with other vigilante types - which came in handy when he started to run low on supplies and his favourite grappling gun broke beyond his ability to repair it. They pointed him in the direction of somebody with a reputation for supplying high-tech equipment to the discerning buyer, so later that evening Dick decided to pay this 'Q' a visit.

And if that involved breaking into his place of work and waiting for him to show up, well, he had been trained by Batman after all.
utilitybelted: (Uniform: Hacked)
[personal profile] utilitybelted
There's always that person, when you see news reports of dramatic events, who stands there distressed beside the reporter and says "it all happened so quickly."
Dick had heard it a lot, the night his parents died.

Ever since training with Batman, he'd worked on sharpening his reflexes, his response times, doing everything he could to get to the point where he would never be in a situation where things happened too fast to react to (unless it involved metahumans with super speed, obviously, even Batman had trouble reacting to those situations).

This? This happened too quickly.

One second he was with his team, on a rooftop in Gotham, trying to stop a cackling villain who had built a device to create a portal to another dimension, the next...

He was alone, on a rooftop in Gotham with no villain or portal in sight.

It definitely looked like Gotham, but there were enough differences that it was vaguely unsettling.
There were only two conclusions to draw;
1 - the portal had worked and dragged his team, the villain and somehow itself to a different reality
2 - the portal had worked, but the person in the other reality was him.

It didn't take a genius to figure out which was the more likely scenario, given his observations.

His communicator was getting nothing but static, no sign of the team on any frequencies they used. This could be world where they used different channels, or it could be a world where the team didn't exist, he couldn't be sure which.

His phone, at least, was getting cell service here, so some things were similar enough. He tapped in a familiar number and held his breath, sagging with relief when it at least started ringing.

"Please pick up dad, please..." he murmured as he waited. He had no earthly idea what he was going to say, but he needed to know there was someone here he could turn to.
breadpants: (12)
[personal profile] breadpants
Jaskier stared down at the beautiful calligraphy scrawled across the parchment in his hand as though he could change what it said through sheer force of will. He couldn't.

Well, shit. was his first thought, followed immediately by several other, equally profanity-laden reactions, none of which felt like they entirely did the job of expressing how he was feeling in that specific moment.

It wasn't the parchment itself - an invitation to attend his cousin's impending nuptials - that was technically the problem, though it certainly evoked plenty of feelings of dread. No, the real problem was the letter that had accompanied it, a short but pointed note from his mother.

I have ensured your cousin make allowances for you to bring a guest, she had written so that we can perhaps finally meet the man that has kept you from accepting any other match I might have made for you.

Which is all very well and good, except the man didn't exist.

Well, okay, he did exist, in that whenever Jaskier had written to his mother explaining that he simply couldn't be set up because he was still seeing somebody, the somebody he had described had been Geralt. The problem was that Geralt was not now, nor had he ever been, Jaskier's somebody.

He dropped the paper on the table in front of him and slumped back in his chair, trying to summon the words to express to the world at large how he felt about this development.

"...well, shit." he sighed eventually. Sometimes you just had to go with your first reaction.
justlikeacircus: (Nightwing: Thumbs up)
[personal profile] justlikeacircus
Technically speaking, Bruce Wayne's eldest son had no business hanging around a Wayne Enterprises employee break room.
Technically, he didn't have any business hanging around the Wayne Enterprises building at all, but he'd been dragged in (on his one day off, thanks dad) to give a presentation to the board that his father couldn't give due to being otherwise occupied.
He was on a yacht with some supermodel or other.
(At least, that's what the papers would say, he was actually resting up at home after a particularly nasty injury sustained on patrol the night before).

However, just because Dick had to spend an hour in a meeting room with the board didn't mean he actually wanted to see them, so rather than getting his preparations done up on the 40th floor in one of the board rooms or his father's office, he'd elected instead to commandeer a spare office on the 10th floor, where he knew the executives would never venture, and he could be spared any attempts to have 'friendly chats' with him (usually in an attempt to either curry his, and therefore Bruce's, favour, or to try and get him to make executive decisions he wasn't supposed to make, just to get around Bruce.)

Prepping for board meetings was tiring work, however, so he'd retreated to the break room to avail himself of the free coffee and stop looking at spreadsheets for five minutes. He's leaning back in his chair, feet up on the table, and reading a trashy magazine somebody left. Right now he's reading an article speculating on his own love-life. It's inaccurate.
two_handed: (5)
[personal profile] two_handed
He hit the water wrong.

Hitting the water at all wasn't exactly part of his plan, he was supposed to be the one used to this, the one steady on his feet even in the midst of a storm, but the ship had hit a wave at the wrong angle and the resulting bounce and lurch had thrown him overboard before he had time to react, before he'd had time to twist his body to stop him slamming down on the water's surface in a way that stung his legs and back and knocked the breath right out of him.

He lost his grip on his hook and his coat tangled around him as he plunged into the turbulent depths of the sea, the latter making it harder to gain control and kick himself upwards. His lungs were already beginning to burn and the dark water felt as though it was closing in around him, for a moment he felt as though he might actually be done for.

Then he managed to get his coat off, the sodden fabric drifting away like some bizarre jellyfish, and he thought maybe he could get through this after all... but his legs still stung from the impact and they didn't seem to want to move the way he wanted them to and he was almost dizzy from the lack of oxygen and every instinct was screaming at him to try and breathe despite knowing that was the very last thing he should be doing, until finally his body took over and he gasped for breath.

That's when things got weird.

Instead of choking or drowning or filling his lungs with water (or all three), he felt... fine. He was breathing underwater. The pain in his legs intensified until suddenly it was all over - his shoes were falling lazily to the ocean floor and his pants were a tattered mess around his waist because instead of two pale legs he suddenly found himself the unexpected owner of a tail, shimmering red scales just like...

Just like his mother.

Harry barely remembered his mother, but he knew she was a mermaid. He'd always taken after his father in so many ways he assumed he hadn't inherited anything from her at all.

Apparently he was wrong.

He had no idea what to do with this revelation... but at least he wasn't drowning anymore. A flick of his tail sent him almost flying back up to the water's surface, but when he finally reached it he could see that while he'd been underwater, their plans had not exactly come to fruition.
The Lost Revenge was back on the other side of the barrier, with Uma cursing up a storm as the sky continued to rage overhead. In the darkness and the chaos she couldn't even see Harry amongst the waves, but he could easily swim back to the ship and Uma would be able to help him figure out what was going on.
At least, that was his plan until he nearly dove headfirst into the barrier itself, and as the ship turned to start sailing home (what else could they do?) he realised he'd succeeded, he was outside the barrier, he was free... and right now he'd give anything to get back inside.

That was two days ago, and the intervening time about the only productive thing Harry had managed to do was to retrieve his hook from the ocean floor. He was getting used to living in the sea but he was also getting lonely, and he still hadn't figured out how to change back, or even if he could.
So he'd taken to staying close to Auradon's shores, hoping to find someone who might be able to help him.
Two hours ago he'd spotted a young woman walking on the beach and had managed to charm her enough that she didn't ask too many questions about who he was and where he came from, but still agreed to go to Auradon Prep and find Mal, to deliver a message - Harry needs you at the beach.

Now he just had to hope the message got delivered, and that Mal actually showed up.
justlikeacircus: (Default)
[personal profile] justlikeacircus
Things with Jonathan have been going really well, Dick can't quite believe his luck. There's a certain amount of balance to the world, of course, since Gotham is still being plagued by the mysterious Scarecrow and Nightwing is being run a little ragged trying to keep up with him, but at least after late nights and injuries and near-misses he always gets the chance to spend some time with Jonathan and that somehow makes it all better.

It doesn't hurt that, so far, he has managed to avoid the Scarecrow interrupting any of their dates, because at this point that would be unforgiveable.

Tonight there doesn't seem to be anything afoot, so he's decided to take a break from patrolling so he can actually spend a night in with his boyfriend for once; he shows up at Jonathan's door with takeout and DVDs... and then realises that he probably should have called ahead to check that Crane was actually free. Too late now, all he can do is knock and hope for the best.
watchmerip: (Default)
[personal profile] watchmerip
Looking into the future was not a precise art, Ripper knew that, it often only showed a possibility of things to come and sometimes trying to avoid a specific vision was exactly how one drove oneself into it, but he would argue - were he to actually bother discussing this with anyone - that he didn't want to achieve or avoid any particular future, he only wanted to know if there was a possibility his attempts to avoid his supposed destiny would be successful.

The world, or more accurately his father, was pushing him heavily towards becoming a Watcher, it had been planned since before he could even remember, they'd pushed him into the best schools and encouraged him to study languages and history and mythology all with the express purpose of readying him for a life guiding a Slayer.

And then he'd rebelled.

And that was going great so far, it really was, but he suspected he was being humoured more than actually allowed to continue his rejection of everything his father stood for. As though he was being left alone to get this out of his system, only for his father to step in at a later date and drag him back to his future.

So he decided to try and figure that out for certain. Or slightly more certain, anyway.

The spell itself had been easy to set up, given his little gang's predilections he had almost everything he needed just lying around the flat (or close enough approximations), so when he had the place to himself it seemed the perfect opportunity.

He drew the sigils, lit the incense, spoke the incantation and... nothing.

The stream of smoke wafting up from the incense was supposed to coalesce into a kind of mirror and show him a vision of things to be, but instead it just seemed to be looping lazily around him, caught in whatever cross-current of air filtered into the room.

Then it began to thicken, and he suddenly realised that none of it had actually dissipated, it had just continued to curl around him and now it was curling even tighter and almost solidifying, pulling in tight around him and squeezing until -

he had just enough time to wonder if maybe he'd chosen the wrong substitutions when the room around him disappeared and there was a sudden release of pressure as the smoke almost exploded back into, well, smoke. Ordinary, non-corporeal smoke.

Only when it cleared, he was standing in a graveyard he didn't recognise on a warm summer's night, and not in his dingy flat in London.
coffeedependant: (Default)
[personal profile] coffeedependant
Werewolves, everybody knew, were uniquely suited to the military life. The British Empire was practically built upon the strength of her werewolf regiments, that was the way of things. Vampires served Queen and Country in rather more political ways, traditionally.

Which is probably why everybody thought Corporal Maladict was a spy.

The rove was an anomaly, that much was certain, the fact that he was a vampire serving in Her Majesty's Army (attached to whatever werewolf regiment was in the area, as they were most inclined to operate at night) was curious enough, the fact he was a lowly corporal and not an officer was even stranger, but he was amiable enough (as long as he had his coffee) and got on remarkably well with the other NCOs, even the werewolves, much to everybody's surprise.

Nobody entirely trusted him, of course, but the assumption was generally made that either Maladict was where he was because somebody very important wanted him to be, or he was rich and/or important enough himself that he could get away with such wild eccentricities - either way, most people let him get on with it for fear of offending or angering somebody who could make their lives very difficult.

For 'his' part, Maladict was just mysterious enough about his past and connections to encourage the rumours without actually confirming anything.

So the warm summer's evening found him - or, rather more accurately, her - leaning casually against one of the guard posts at the gate to the British Embassy, rolling a cigarette.
justlikeacircus: (Nightwing: Thumbs up)
[personal profile] justlikeacircus
The season was just beginning so of course the ball was absolutely packed, all the eligible debutantes vying to make a splash and secure themselves a good match - exactly the kind of scene that Dick hated, so of course he'd drawn the metaphorical short straw and had to be the one putting in an appearance, the one circulating the news that his father wasn't yet back from his business trip and was expected in a few days (while Batman stalked the streets and thus it could not possibly be Bruce Wayne behind the mask, for he was still away).
Later he would take to the streets himself, safe behind the comfort of his mask, back to doing things he was good at - but later seemed a thousand years away in the face of the throngs of eager suitors who would surely hear, before long, that Richard Grayson was not only single but also worth in excess of £10,000 a year and set to inherit even more one day, and then this ball would become insufferable.

Right now it was merely barely tolerable, for he'd agreed to attend this evening with Clark, an old friend to his family but a newcomer in this town and an attractive enough prospect that he was drawing most of the attention while Dick stood beside him, sipping champagne and trying to look as unapproachable as possible, giving just the barest of nods whenever Clark introduced him to each new conversation partner.
If he was really, really lucky, he'd make it through the whole evening this way.
keepsmeawake: (4)
[personal profile] keepsmeawake
It was supposed to be easy... in theory. Okay, so, Stiles had known their plan was risky, stupid even, but they didn't have anything better, and surely the Calavera followed the code and probably wouldn't hurt them... he didn't know why they'd been banking on that one, really, because these guys seemed crazy.
So of course their cunning plan to rescue Derek had ended up with Stiles locked up in a bathroom with no idea where the rest of his friends were. But hey, at least he'd found Derek... because he'd been thrown in said bathroom with the werewolf in question.

Explaining to Derek that they were there to rescue him had gone over predictably well, so Stiles had resorted to banging on the door and yelling. He'd just reached the part about kidnapping a sheriff's son, yea, didn't know that did you assholes, when he finally got a response.

"We know everything about your ragtag little pack, Mieczysław" a voice called pointedly through the door "your father doesn't scare us, he has no jurisdiction here, and nor does Agent McCall."

Technically true, he supposed, though Stiles is pretty sure the FBI can do something about kidnapped American teenagers, even in Mexico...if they know it's happened, which neither his dad nor Scott's did.

"Oh well done, you know my name, I'm suitably terrified." He shot back with venomous sarcasm, but he did retreat from the door and kick a wall in frustration. All it did was hurt his foot and he glared at it, offended.

"You know, you could try to be some help here." He snapped at Derek
itvaries: (Default)
[personal profile] itvaries
Once he was safely out of sight of Dodger - and yes, he definitely checked to make sure his son wasn't sneaking after him - he allowed his rage to finally surface.
The first victim was an innocent vase that happened to be in the hallway outside his quarters, siezed and hurled against the wall with an incoherent yell.

Just about anybody in the castle knew to stay away when they heard Loki's voice echoing around the hallways as he ranted, cloak flowing behind him as he marched to the armoury. When his London disguise had melted away for his normal clothes, he didn't entirely know, but it's far more satisfying to sweep around in an angry rage when you're wearing a cape, it just is.

There were a very small number of people who'd dare approach Loki when he was in such a mood, and even fewer he actually wanted to see.
utilitybelted: (Civvies: Smug)
[personal profile] utilitybelted
When Dick had been on a lengthy mission in the middle of nowhere (aka Beacon Hills, California), the last thing he'd expected was to make a really good friend.
Well, technically the last thing he'd expected was to get mixed up in a weird werewolf pack showdown, but the friend thing was a close second - and he was definitely much happier about it.
Lydia had turned out to be one of the best friends he'd ever had, and if he maybe had just a little bit of a crush on her that was neither here nor there, so he'd been eager to keep in touch after heading back to Gotham.

It helped that she was somebody who knew his identity (not that he told Bruce that part) without being directly involved in his crime-fighting life, so she was someone he could talk to about that part of his life when it was getting too much for him. Conversely, he hoped him being someone who knew about the weirdness in her life without being directly involved was helpful to her as well.

It all added up to him being glad to hop on a plane and come see her whenever he had the chance, so when she told him she needed him to come to Beacon Hills to help her with something important one weekend, he didn't even ask what it was.

So right on schedule he was heading into the arrivals lounge at the nearest airport, looking out for a familiar redhead.
itvaries: (Default)
[personal profile] itvaries
The fact that Loki had paid a little visit to Earth and engaged in a dalliance there was... probably not that surprising. He had a habit of doing that kind of thing, after all.
He hadn't actually intended for that dalliance to result in a child, but nobody really did.
It was just a pity he hadn't realised the child was born until much later, he had intended to be a better father than Odin after all, and he hadn't exactly got the best start on that.

But he dropped in whenever he got the chance to make sure Dodger was doing well for himself, and he seemed happy and healthy and he seemed to be having fun, so Loki didn't really question it and instead just taught him all the sleight of hand he knew - and maybe he watched for a little bit of magic as well. He didn't know if Dodger had inherited that particular gift, but it was worth looking out for.

Dodger's not the easiest to find, of course, so each trip tends to start with a bit of a wander around the streets of London - he's almost made his way through all of Dodger's usual haunts and still not found the lad, so he's starting to get a little concerned, not that he'd show it of course.
seenmoremovies: (4)
[personal profile] seenmoremovies
Paris was nice. Really nice. The city of love and all that - not that Peter had anybody to love. Not in that way. And he wasn't bitter about that, really he wasn't, not when it was so cool to be halfway across the world - he was even grateful that he didn't have to do any big, world-saving fights while he was here, he actually got a chance to sight see and enjoy the city and...

Yea okay, he got a little bored. Which was why he'd suited up (because of course he'd brought his suit), and headed for the rooftops to see if there was any crime he could stop. Besides, he's heard about the mysterious Ladybug and he wouldn't mind meeting another costumed hero while he was here, maybe it would take his mind off things.

Because while he really wasn't bothered about not having anyone, really he wasn't, there was supposed to be this big dance the last night they were all here, and somehow he'd got himself tangled up in a web of lies (ha) about having a girl to take to it.
Which he didn't.

But he was sitting on a rooftop in Paris enjoying the view, and that was pretty good at least.
elderfrye: (Default)
[personal profile] elderfrye
Most people who knew the Frye twins would be very, very surprised to hear they had another sibling - but that was the way they liked it.
Their brother may have something of a resemblance to Jacob, but that was about where the similarities ended, Tom had always been a gentle and kind man who never really took to the life of an assassin, so it was hardly a surprise to the twins when he changed his name, moved to France and opened a bakery.

Despite the fact that his exact relation to the Fryes was (mostly) a secret, Evie was hardly about to lose all contact with family, whether he was an assassin or not, and she loved to hear about Tom's family and his life. She tried to be as involved as she could, but London kept her busy.

So when an assassination mission took her across the channel, she jumped at the opportunity to stop by for an impromptu visit.

The bell jingled merrily as she pushed the door to the bakery open, breathing in the sweet smell of cakes and pastries with a smile.

"Hello? Tom?"

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