Deiniol
Human
Church Secretary
Life's a show and we all play a part
Posts: 112
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Post by Deiniol on Jan 22, 2007 23:52:04 GMT
Cold fingers touched his lips, his body was bent against something and an alarm blared out all around, filling his brain and making his head ache. Denny couldn’t seem to focus anymore than that, his throat still aching and crying out for some kind of relief, something cool and soothing pressed against the pain. A wave of darkness was sweeping across him and his awareness flared in and out, the young man just wanting to sleep now, even more so than dealing with the burning sensation at the base of his neck.
He vaguely felt himself being placed into a sitting position, a belt of some kind being stretched across his chest. Slowly, Denny’s head started to tilt and list to one side, the lack of continuous motion taking away the one thing that had previously kept the darkness at bay. Denny slumped to the side, head resting against the side of the car, completely out cold.
Continued at: Suburbia: Yelena’s Home with Yelena
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Teresa
Human
Hunter
Oh my smile is fragile; my heart is held together with string and sellotape.
Posts: 57
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Post by Teresa on Nov 22, 2007 23:35:35 GMT
Continued from Restaurants; Lorraine's
WARNING: This is a violent post full of swearing and bloodshed. There's a summary at the bottom.
Upon entering the alleyway Teresa saw pretty much exactly what she had been expecting. Well, actually it was better than she was expecting. A figure of a weedy white male weighed down by baggy jeans slug low enough to reveal the elastic of his boxers and a t-shirt so large it looked like he'd wrapped himself in bed linens stood hunched by the wall, his back to Tess. In front of him was a small man with a pinched, rat like face and the bloodshot eyes of a drug addict. The door slammed behind her and the druggie balked, turning on the spot before running down the alley and out of sight, away from the interruption. The white wannabe turned around and fixed a glower on Tess, who gave him a bored once over; his t-shirt read 'PIMP' and he had a .45 stuffed down the front of his pants. Idiot.
"Bitch!" he shouted, "You just cost me a customer."
Ignoring his words Teresa settled her hands on her hips, "Little far outside your turf aren't you?" she asked, lips curling into a grimace. Stupid fucking gang morons. It was a good thing she hadn't bothered to stop in the locker room for her bag and the weapons that were in it, they would have taken away the pleasure of beating the little git into a pulp with her bear hands. It didn't mater to Teresa that it was broad daylight; no one in the cafe would hear after all, not over the sounds of cooking form the kitchen and the rush of cutlery against ceramic plates and the alley was back far enough from the street that no one would detect the sounds of a fight that way.
Finally, something was going right with her day.
"Whole of LA's our territory," he replied, swaggering towards her, "we go where we please, do business anywhere we want."
Teresa raised a dark eyebrow, "You Red Eye Dawn fuckers really are stupid."
A scornful laugh, apparently he wasn't shocked that she knew which gang be longed too, in fact he paused a minute looking her up and down and not being too discreet when his eyes roved over her curves, "Reign, right? I heard you roll in this part of town."
Teresa's head tilted to the left, "I prefer Miss Reign, from the likes of you."
The man gang banger laughed again, "Ohh, 'Miss' is it? Who fucking calls a bitch like you 'Miss'?"
"People who value their balls enough not to get in my way-"
He interrupted her, actually interrupted her, "Wait, wait. This is the part where you tell me to get out of your way or you'll rip my balls off with your 'bare hands', right?"
"Wrong." Teresa smiled, the deadly smile of someone about to whale on a punk; "You don't get an 'or'."
Without waiting for him to attack her, as he was so clearly readying himself to do, Teresa's shoulders dropped and she darted forwards. He tried to dodge her, feinting to the left but Teresa performed a capoeira jump, sailing into the air with the precision and height of a gymnast, twisting as she went to send the inner edge of her foot cracking into the side of his head. He hit a garbage can which toppled over as he stumbled. Landing in a crouch Tess saw him pull the gun dazedly as she spotted her next spin, expending the kinetic energy of her last move rather than let herself slip and have it work against her.
Tipping her weight back as she rose, relying on her almost inhuman ability to balance that way as her right leg came up in a blur and his left forearm sending the gun flying before, lightening quick, she booted his head, aiming enthusiastically for his temple. Pimp shouted, stumbling side ways from the force and catching himself on the wall. Teresa bounced on the spot, grinning madly with her fists raised; her headache seemed to have gone, her body didn't seem to ache any more. There was only adrenaline, only the satisfaction of bones breaking under her assaults, attacks that carried far more power than they had a right do given her stature.
Pimp levelled a glower at her and then rushed forwards, hands up in loose fists, aiming punches at her that a preschooler could have blocked. Tess' arms went up in front of her, blocking the swings. She span and kicked, caving his nose with her heel and sending him reeling away in the flash of sticky crimson nasal spray.
"You fucking bitch!" he screamed, or at least she assumed that was what he was whining, his broken nose and the blood running down the front of his shirt made it hard to tell.
Whatever it was, his arrogance over powered his pain quickly and he rushed her. Again she span, this time her left hand hit the concrete as she dipped low, her leg arcing gracefully above her, again the heel of her foot slamming into his face, the hardest part of her footwear -even though as converse they weren't exactly the most practical shoes for her to be scrapping in, her feet would be bruised to hell but she didn't care- and therefore the part likely to inflict the most damage.
Pimp tripped over his own feet and fell. Teresa righting herself with a deft, acrobatic flip, pushing herself up and over with her hand on the ground to land smoothly. Without pausing she grabbed a brick from a pile of abandoned building materials and stalked over to where the little runt lay on his front. When he looked over his shoulder, eyes unfocused and dazed, and saw her coming he tried to reach for the gun. Instead of kicking it out of the way, Tess crouched down and in one fluid motion slammed the brick down on the outstretched fingers.
Screaming filled the alleyway as bones became splintered and useless beneath the skin and Teresa twisted the 'weapon' she had acquired for herself, grinding it down. The black haired woman rocked forwards, digging her knee into his spine, between his shoulder blades to keep him pinned down as she leant forwards to speak into his ear.
"You and your band of dipshits stay out of my way and maybe I won't rip off your balls and feed them to you." She growled, "How's that for a deal? Want to call me a bitch again? 'Cause that'll cost you another finger you dumb fuck."
"You whore! You fucking whore!"
Crunch.
Two more of his fingers were flattened by the brick hurtling into the ground with the fingers sandwiched in the middle, "Oops." Tess snarled, tossing the bloody brick away carelessly.
"When I tell... when... when I tell them you'll be on our list. You're as good as dead for this, Reign. As good as dead!"
Teresa snorted and let go of him, rising from where she'd crouched and pinned him with her knee. Another faction of people who wanted her dead to add to the list. What a joy. The gangs could try and take her out if they wanted, it wasn't like she couldn't hold her own, hell she could take on a crowd of vampires single handed, a crew of boys with pea shooters were nothing to her.
Giving him a nudge in the ribs she stood silently, impassive, face set and eyes cold, her message kind of obvious; 'get out of my sight'.
Summary: Teresa beats up a member of the RED gang, who warns her she'll be 'on their list' for it, though she doesn't seem concerned.
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Dec 17, 2007 23:41:00 GMT
POST TIMESKIP
Steel-toe-capped boots barely sounded a whisper against the concrete underfoot as the lone, muscular, grim-faced male worked his way through the network of dirty, litter-strewn back alleys that snaked through Los Angeles, criss-crossing the territory borders, bleeding one into the next, and the Russian wolf turned blue eyes that hinted at his feral red around the sides of the path he traversed. A homeless man caught sight of the loner and hunkered down and back further into his poorly-constructed shelter, and the rogue went right on past him without acknowledging his presence. He wasn’t a threat, and he wasn’t a lead. The human didn’t warrant attention.
Nikolai knew, however, not to underestimate just anyone. He was careful, very careful, with who he regarded as what, whether they were dangerous or trustworthy — extremely few and far between these days — and just how they could be of use. A petite young woman could be the most dangerous or useful individual in a crowd if her life had turned in such a direction, and a man built like a tank, with rippling muscle and a shaved head, could be the most cowardly pushover. Appearances could be deceiving. As Nikolai worked his way as if from memory through the network, following his feet and his nose towards whatever lay at the end of his journey, he kept his senses on the alert, as pungent and repulsive as some of the sounds and scents, and even sights, were to his sensitive ears, nose and eyes. The sights didn’t disgust or intimidate him, but they did remind him of just how badly humans were sinking. Had it really been so bad when he’d been human?
Briefly, he frowned. Fourteen years, his mind whispered sharply, and he released a breath harshly through his nostrils. Fourteen long, even lonely years, and still he searched. If he hadn’t been raised to believe that failure in his line or work was not an option, at least not one that would be taken lightly, he would have lost hope long ago. But Nikolai had been raised to believe such a thing. It kept him driven and focused, and right in that moment, it kept him walking, one foot in front of the other.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Dec 18, 2007 1:55:26 GMT
He didn't need a lady on his arm to have a good time, thank you very much. Wandering on one's own could be just as rewarding as enjoying the pleasurable company of a female, though Ian, being only a bit of a man-whore, was only somewhat disheartened by his current situation. Isabel was out for the night, that cute little Kansas girl from Lunacy was 'off-limits', and he didn't particularly feel like trolling the clubs. Not yet, anyway.
His movements were almost completely silent as he prowled along the fire escapse that grew like vines through these back alleys. Leaping from one structure to the other was laughably easy, and he did so with a grace that was unnatural for a man of his size and stature. 'Skid' didn't really think as he wandered, content to take in the night for what it was; quiet and simple.
For now, anyway.
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Dec 18, 2007 5:56:58 GMT
It wasn’t the ghosted clang of metal being disturbed that attracted his attention, more the shift of the air above and around him, and immediately, the tension in the Russian male’s body increased, doubling or more, his gaze scanning the alley overhead and around, stifling the growl in the back of his throat even as one gloved hand snaked up quickly to catch at the grip of one of his machetes, not drawing the weapon, but poised and ready as every nerve and fibre in his body screamed inwardly in preparation.
Something was moving, and he didn’t like that he couldn’t see it. His eyes bled crimson, flooding completely from man to wolf, and his canines extended in the heat of the moment, as frustration and predatory instinct swelled and fired inside of him, setting his heart into a rapid, pounding rhythm as blood pumped loudly in his ears. His hair scattered across his field of vision, but his lupine sight pierced through the weak barrier, catching sight of movement, true, tangible albeit quick and skilful movement.
There was no stench of death on the air, no taint of rot or blood in the feeble breeze. Whoever was up there wasn’t undead. They were bestial, a werewolf like him, and as such, Nikolai allowed his snarl to sound, reverberating with feral clarity through the alley and up the brick barricades on either side. Unless the other wolf was a coward, he would show himself, perhaps even respond to the subtle challenge that had carried through the loud growl.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Dec 19, 2007 3:36:07 GMT
The growl, and the challenged that echoed in it, reverberated through the alley to reach Ian's ears. Instinct forced him to freeze, to get his bearings, and to figure out where the danger was. In spite of himself, he growled in return, loud enough for it to echo back to whatever -- or whomever -- was poised below him.
Slowly but surely, Ian slipped from the shadows and one hand brushed at his side. The movement pushed back the leather of his jacket and let the wane light spark off the gleaming metal from one of his precious firearms. A warning; perhaps a slight threat. He saw the strange male below him and narrowed his eyes -- not someone he was familiar with. And Ian had a whole hell of a lot of contacts; he remembered faces. This one did not ring a bell.
"Out for a stroll, bro?"
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Dec 19, 2007 5:50:43 GMT
The responding growl put Nikolai completely on edge, nudging him the last few imaginary millimetres before he tumbled over the edge, his wolf straight and tall and ready for action, the hue clear and bestially brilliant in his normally pale eyes. It was definitely another male wolf up there, he was sure of that even before his ‘company’ showed themselves, melting from the shadows as if he had been a part of them, a stealth that the Russian internally acknowledged and understood.
Nikolai’s gloved hand remained poised at the solid, reliable grip of one of his machetes, experience lending him the ability to whip the blade free with breathtaking ease and speed, but for the moment, he held off, even at the clear and meaningful reveal of a gun.
“‘Bro’ would imply we have met before,” he said, voice carrying clearly up to the other male. “We are not acquaintances.” They were not familiar with one another in any way, good or bad, ally or enemy, and Nikolai was far from trusting or curious about new associates. “But in response to your question,” he continued, keeping his eyes focused and fixed on the other wolf, “I could ask you the same.”
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Dec 19, 2007 8:25:06 GMT
It took every ounce of Ian's self-control to keep him from sniggering when he heard the strange male speak. Wolf sounded practically Victorian; it was amusing, to say the least. Though, something told Ian that this male would not appreciate being laughed at -- that was probably a good way to start trouble, which was not what Skid was looking for. Not right now, anyway.
At the very least, he allowed himself a bare ghost of a smirk -- a slight upward slant of one corner of his mouth -- as he crouched closer to the roof's edge. One hand remained at his waist, close to his gun, but he saw no reason to draw it. Yet.
"'Bro' could also be the generic greeting for a stranger," Ian pointed out. "Seeing as how I don't know you and I rather despise the word 'dude'."
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Dec 21, 2007 2:51:39 GMT
Nikolai only ever relaxed his speech when around an acquaintance, where he would abbreviate and shorten words together into a much more casual, easy flow; with strangers, and unpredictable ones at that, he was stiff; professional and blunt and forward in his mannerisms and vocalisations. If that made him sound old-fashioned, then so be it, but it was, he was sure, better than breaking into a fluent, flawless stream of thick Russian.
“So maybe you should use neither,” he offered in a clear, strong voice, his gaze fixed up towards the other male. “Since I despise ‘bro’’ and ‘dude’.” Was this other male trying to antagonise him, perhaps, for being on ground he considered his territory? Unlikely though it seemed considering they were on what counted as the territory of the city’s larger pack, it wasn’t impossible; males were more inclined to claim land, no matter the size, even if it was only an apartment or house, or in the case of this male, the alley in which they stood. For all Nikolai knew, one of the shadowing buildings on either side was this wolf’s residence, and while he wasn’t about to assume either way, he also wasn’t going to cast aside the possibility altogether.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Dec 21, 2007 5:00:42 GMT
Ian responded first with a strong flash of wolfen color in his normaly dark eyes. He didn't like the way this male seemed bent on addressing him; their was a hint of condescension in his tone that was enough to make his wolf bristle. Ian wasn't stupid enough to think that he had claim over more than the area surrounding his apartment building, but this guy just rubbed him the wrong way.
So he met the foreign male's gaze. And then he held it. It was a gesture that any wolf would recognize, but Ian's posture didn't quite match the 'challenge'; the look on his face was one that said 'I don't like you' as opposed to 'come get some'. For now, he would just size this potential opponent up.
"Is there something you would prefer, monsieur?" he taunted.
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Dec 28, 2007 21:45:15 GMT
If the other male had known half of Nikolai’s back story, the twists and turns and complications of his past, then he likely would have understood his disposition and realised that it was nothing personal; Nikolai was cold to everyone he didn’t know, even superior in his mannerisms and posture and general demeanour. It wasn’t arrogance, but the rigorous, regimented training that had taken precedence in most of his youth, as soon as he had been old enough to train without running the risk of doing himself harm. There were precious few people he was comfortable enough with in order to relax, and this other wolf certainly wasn’t one of them, regardless of how that other male took that.
Nikolai, and his wolf more to the point, most certainly did recognise the gesture, holding the gaze in return, too stubborn and self-assured to back down or look away and therefore break the hold that had now become a challenge, loose though it might be in reality. The Russian male considered his options, few though they were, eyes halfway between man and animal, before he decided his response here wouldn’t really bring any true danger; he had already let it slip more than once around the city, and honestly didn’t have the energy and time to waste concocting aliases left, right and centre.
“Zuyev,” he said to the other male, his tone level and deep, businesslike even, and it was the other wolf’s choice whether or not he thought anything of being given a name. Nikolai had provided it simply to end what he was coming to consider a petty, tedious exchange of taunts or retorts.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Jan 3, 2008 19:34:13 GMT
Perhaps he was being immature, but it was just another facet of his personality. Ian truly prefered having fun to doing business, even though it was usually more prudent to be serious in a situation, especially the current one. He was well over two hundred years old, yes, but that was still relatively young as far as wolves went. Beside, given his typical company, playfulness was usually more appreciated.
"Zuyev," Ian repeated with a nod. Russian, probably. Pity he'd never bothered to pick up that language. "Well, I'm Davies, but most know me as Skid. Feel free to question about the nickname, but it's a dumb story."
An easy grin flashed across the dark-haired wolf's face and his eyes flashed, as well, a brief, bright show of wolf before Ian bounced down another level. The fire escape barely shook beneath him and he regained his balance easily as he spoke, "You're not an L.A. native."
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Jan 17, 2008 19:35:19 GMT
If the other wolf happened to ask Nikolai’s opinion, he would say that yes, he was being immature. But then, after he had reached a certain age, Nikolai’s life hadn’t exactly been normal; he hadn’t had as much fun as children his age would have had, destined for a life of danger and guardianship and loyalty and business. He’d been raised and trained as a killer, a brutal one if need be, and he’d had to know from an early age how to not only defend himself, but the lives of others as well, or more to the point, a specific other. The fact that he wasn’t with her right then, keeping her safe and protected, was almost literally killing him, one day at a time. Piece by piece.
He listened to the other wolf repeating his name, noting with a tiny flicker of relief and even miniscule gratitude that the male didn’t butcher the pronunciation. There were more difficult Russian names to say, his father’s given name — and Nikolai’s middle — being one of them, and his closest friend’s name was no easy feat to pronounce without tripping over the harsh but precise sounds of it, getting it to sound just right in one’s mouth wasn’t as easy as some made it out to be. Nikolai had heard people tear the name to pieces through their own ignorance, and he remembered feeling irritation on her behalf almost every time.
“Then I won’t ask, Davies,” he replied, his accent, now, sounding flawlessly American, his ability to flow without fault between the two coming to the forefront, effectively disguising his origins. He wasn’t being rude in his response, just straightforward, but the other wolf could and likely would take it how he wished.
He had watched, his face an efficient mask, difficult to read, as Davies bounded from one level to the next, his grip relaxing around the machete at his back, but only releasing completely when the other male sparked up a conversation that seemed harmless enough. “No,” was his initial reply to the statement, a pause following before he went on; “Not that it matters, I’m assuming.” The barest hint of a crooked smirk, albeit one lacking in genuine amusement, touched the corner of his mouth, his gaze locked on the other male.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2008 21:37:20 GMT
Clearly this male didn't get out all that often. Ian didn't expect every wolf to be as easy-going as he was; Zuyev had probably grown up differently. His stoic nature hinted toward warrior, someone who had been trained from a very young age to fight -- probably kill -- and therefore, it was probably unlikely that this strange wolf would try to free the steel rod that had been shoved up his back. Nevertheless, Ian figured that resisting the urge to try and assert dominace or territorial claim was probably a good idea. Perhaps he would need assistance from the Russian wolf at some point in the near future. Who knew?
He watched Zuyev carefully, inwardly impressed by his sudden switch of accent but showing no outward signs of amusement, save for the smirk that was already there. "It doesn't really matter, no," Ian replied after a moment. "Just curious. I'm a bit of a drifter in this city and it's always interesting to meet a new character."
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Nikolai
Pack Werewolf
Bella's Pack
Come with me into the trees; we'll lay on the grass, and let the hours pass.
Posts: 26
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Post by Nikolai on Jan 23, 2008 21:39:39 GMT
Nikolai was easy-going enough in the right company, but considering that only described one individual, the odds of him relaxing in this situation were next to none. Whether or not the other wolf came to terms with that was none of Nikolai’s concern, and honestly, he would rather seem capable and wisely wary than nonchalant or laid-back, either of which could get him hurt, or worse, killed. He had seen what ignorance could do to a man, and he had long ago made up his mind never to make the same mistake. He was always prepared, perhaps more than he needed to be on any given day, but that attitude had saved his skin more times than he could count. The only times he had ever willingly risked his life were when his charge’s had been threatened, when she had been endangered, and his own life had been rendered worthless by comparison. He had risked icy waters that could have killed him and numerous other dangers just to save her, and once again, he felt the stab of regret and anger in his chest that he couldn’t do that very same thing now, hadn’t been able to do so for over ten years.
Though his hands looked slackened, free of tension at his sides, he was in fact resisting the urge to ball them to fists, as if at any moment he would have to swing and defend himself, his eyes still gazing up at Davies as he said to him, “And have you encountered many other rogues during your time here?” Perhaps this was an opportunity being presented to him, a chance to ask questions of one of his own kind, someone with the same sharp senses and hopefully attention to detail.
Maybe, just maybe, he would have some luck for a change.
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