hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dead Ringers

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dead Ringers

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Dead Ringers event!
Where: All around the city
When: January 16th-January 25th
Warnings: Evil doubles, so we can assume manipulation, violence, murder, and maybe some nasty words

Everything seems normal on the morning of the 16th - actually, everything seems normal about the city for the entirety of this event. Nothing is strange, nothing is obviously wrong. Well, except that the population has mysteriously doubled, and the new residents each look exactly like one of the old residents. So weird! Definitely not ominous at all.

At least until your new double gets down to business. After all, their only goal is to ruin your life, and that can take any form. Smashing your favorite coffee cup? Telling your worst enemy they're right? Kissing someone else in front of your girlfriend? Brutally murdering you and then hiding your body in a closet so they can more effectively destroy your life? The possibilities are truly endless, and the only way to protect yourself is to kill your double first. They're not really open to negotiation, after all - but they sure might pretend to be in order to trick you.

So watch your back, and try to make sure that really is your best friend and not an evil clone masquerading as them. Boy, that would be awkward. If you can stick it out until January 25th, good for you! But if you didn't manage to and your double survives until the end - well, just as a final 'fuck you', there's a chance you'll come back to life and remember every awful thing your double did. Hey, at least that'll make it easier to fix, right?

► This log covers January 16th-January 25th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If your evil clone happens to take you out, please let us know here, and remember that you will not revive until the event is over.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Probably," he replies quietly, rubbing at his face again before adding, "unfortunately. I'm sorry."

That apology comes out reflexively, as though things might get better the more times he says it. They don't, so he adds more, despite the fact he probably shouldn't waste so much energy on words -- it's in his nature to do so.

"I don't mean to be a further burden to you after all you've had to put up with today," says the guy who was impaled by a pair of hedge clippers. He looks down at himself, his eyes still more or less out of focus. "Cisth, I'm a mess."

Glacius does not mind the apology, though it's not necessary--he's just relieved that Carlisle is alert enough to be responsive. He leans in a little bit closer, starting to help the clergyman with his jacket, then his undershirt--that last layer gets pulled from him very carefully, not wanting the tight-fitting fabric to peel painfully across any wounds. The pants can go later once he's ready to move him to the bed... now that he's bare from the waist up, the ice alien wastes no time in inspecting his body for wounds. Thankfully the shears didn't punch all the way through, though he's afraid what he'll find when he looks to the other side.

"It's just fine," he tries to reassure Carlisle, "You're going to be fine. We'll get you all patched up and taken care of. I just need to gather some medical supplies from the washroom... can you lay down on your front so I can see the wound, in the meantime?"

The shears didn't go all the way through, but Carlisle can still feel them pressing against his front from the inside, the pain having not yet ebbed away in its entirety. It flares again as his layers come off, but aside from a hiss and a pained expression, he keeps any and all complaints he may have to himself. Glacius' worry is evident; he doesn't want to worry the alien any more.

And so he does as he's asked, leaning down on the couch before turning into his front. The wound on his back is sealed shut with fresh skin, but the purple, bruised coloration of it is probably unsettling.

"I'll be fine," he repeats, more for himself than for Glacius.

"That's right," Glacius agrees, watching Carlisle turn over with some trepidation--which worsens as he sees that unsettling coloration. Despite himself he can't help but reach out to place his hand on the clergyman, rubbing his back above the ugly bruising slowly and reassuringly. "You're doing very well. I'm almost done, actually... it looks like you managed to mend the wound completely, so I don't know if I need to do much but clean you up a bit."

Taking a moment longer just to sit with his friend as he continues to run a hand rhythmically and soothingly over his back, he then gently pats Carlisle's shoulder and then rises so he can get on that. Moving into the bathroom, he grabs up washcloths, some soap and a bowl of warm water... then some bandages as well, just in case he uncovers any other cuts as he washes away the blood and dirt. His eyes also linger on the painkillers sitting up in the cabinet, but he ultimately passes over them; the clergyman has said those things don't help him much. Very shortly it's going to be time to put his glyphcrafting practice to the test.

For now he returns to his friend's side and sits down right next right to him; he's tall enough that his upper body is easily level with the couch cushions the human is resting on. The otherworldly being sets out the various supplies he's brought before him, then--after taking a moment to focus-- extends his hands and closes his eyes, sucking in a breath as he retracts the opaque white ice from his fingertips all the way down to his wrists. The process is painful as ever, but if his skin was left intact he wouldn't be able to wet the washcloth without it freezing over, and moreover he suspects prolonged exposure to his natural armor would be unpleasant for the human. Now prepared, he soaks the first washcloth in soap and warm water, then begins scrubbing some of the blood and detritus that surrounds the mended wound and streaks down the clergyman's back.

"How does this feel?" Glacius murmurs gently. If Carlisle didn't notice him skinning himself before, he should certainly notice the complete lack of chill coming from the alien's hands as they press the warm, damp fabric to his body.

Though he stiffens at first in surprise, Carlisle takes in a shaky breath and eventually relaxes against Glacius' touch as he alien rubs his back reassuringly. He'd be more impressed that he managed to fully close the wound if not for the fact he feels so completely and utterly drained, weakened to the point where Glacius is forced to attend to him. Given how sturdy the alien is by comparison, he may never get the chance to return the favor.

That's not what this is about, he reminds himself, Glacius' voice practically playing in his head. They are friends, and perhaps Glacius wants the same as him: to feel useful, needed. Wanted.

As the alien makes his way to the bathroom, Carlisle closes his eyes, trying to rest his weary mind. He finds no respite as he wonders something new, something unnerving: if there is another him wandering around, is there another Glacius, as well? Probably, he decides grimly, but he doesn't doubt for a moment that this is the true one. Their shared signs of solidarity, the care he's being given... Carlisle wants to believe that he'd know an imposter if met with one.

But Glacius hasn't known. Perhaps the false gods made these doubles cleverer and crueler than any of them could imagine. His certainly had been, if what Glacius said is true.

He opens his eyes once Glacius returns, trying to spend what energy he has focusing on one thing at a time. The warm towel feels good on his back. "A vast improvement ov—"

He stops, realizing that yes, that is a warm tag against him, and pushes himself up from the couch. "Glacius, you didn't ju—"

Yes, Glacius did just retract his icy shell, but Carlisle doesn't get the full question out as he winces, curling in on himself as sharp pang cutting through his middle.

Glacius' eyes widen in surprise and he pulls back slightly as Carlisle shoots upright... or as upright as he can managed when his body is so weak and exhausted. The otherworldy being's hands--bare, pale, and sinewy, his tendons jutting out against his alien flesh--return to the clergyman's body immediately, urging him to lay back down. That wince is highly disconcerting... what caused it? Did he manage to fully heal the wound, or simply seal it, leaving internal damage?

"Stay down, Carlisle, you are hurting yourself," the ice alien tells him--he's afraid to apply too much pressure for fear or hurting him worse, but if the human is doing that to himself already then he will force it. "What ails you? Have you not mended? Is it simply sore, or is there a more grievous problem that I need to address?"

"Sore!" Carlisle chokes out, relenting to the alien's coaxing and easing back down into the cushions. "And stiff. This- this happens. I'm fine. This- this is fine."

He catches his breath before turning his head to look Glacius' way. "Your hands," he utters, hoping that will be enough for the alien to deduce his cause for alarm.

"This is not fine, Carlisle--you are in pain, you can barely move!" Glacius rumbles out, absolutely not buying into the clergyman's attempts to downplay his condition for once. The otherworldly being is about to ask him for an actual explanation of what is wrong when he turns his face--still streaked in blood and ink--to face him, the alien finds himself taken aback that somehow, despite his injuries and his exhaustion, he's the one that the human is concerned over.

It's enough that Glacius feels himself blush the tiniest bit as he looks down at his bare hands. "Y-yes. It has to be this way for me to continue treatment. Plus, you already have a hard enough time staying warm as is... I did not want to worsen your discomfort..."

Edited 2017-01-19 20:57 (UTC)

Aware he should trust Glacius knows what he's doing, Carlisle nods, a sigh rattling through him. "Just be careful, please. I... worry about you. About burdening you. About- about losing you." And he doesn't want to lose Glacius any more than the alien wants to lose him.

He relaxes once more as best as he can. He'd suggest that a shower would be far easier, but he's not sure he could manage standing on his own for long enough to take one. Some enchanted tea would help stave off the stiffness of his limbs, but he expects he'll need at least a day of rest to recover from what he's been through. It might be even longer before Glacius recovers from his ordeal... if he recovers at all.

Carlisle's eyes close again as he bites back frustration, Glacius' trust in him so obviously hindered by what the double had said. He can't say he blames Glacius for his doubt -- the alien has been through so much, been betrayed by his kind before. Carlisle can't say he'd trust himself, either. Who would trust a twice-cursed, those who bring misfortune upon everyone they meet?

That extends to other worlds as well, it seems. He tries not to give in to his paranoia, but he's so sure that this friendship will one day end, possibly messily.

Both of them are afraid that their friendship may one day end, but Carlisle is helping more than he knows when he confesses his worries to the alien. Every since his clone had suggested they go their separate ways, Glacius had wondered how long it would be until his original shared those thoughts, if he wasn't having inklings already... to hear that his presence is still so important to the clergyman is... not only touching, but settling as well.

He draws the washcloth away--it's already been stained through with blood and needs to be rinsed, anyways--and then places his hand to his friend's shoulder once more. The contact feels novel all over again, given that he's never touched a human skin to the skin of his underbody before... the ice alien sighs in a contemplative manner, then turns his attention to Carlisle's face.

"I don't want to lose you, either... why do you think the double's words shook me as badly as they did?" Glacius asks, beginning to unconsciously run his hand over the clergyman's back again--the physical contact has become such a sign of solidarity and comfort that he's not even really thinking of it right now. "For so long now, you've been here with me in this cave, offering me kindness and understanding and support... if I lost that... if I lost you, I... I don't know what I would do." The alien pauses again, his hand stalling as he fights to find a better way to describe feelings that he's not sure he's ever felt before. Finding that words fail him, he goes with something succinct but meaningful, something that he figures the clergyman should probably hear.

"You're my closest friend too... you're important to me, greatly so. Thus, I will renew my promise to you: as long as you will have me, I will stay by your side, Carlisle. I could never forsake you, no matter what happens."

Physical contact is a strange thing for Carlisle: even before he was cursed, he more or less had an aversion to it, having never been the rough-and-tumble sort the rest of his family was. Once he started studying magic, he donned more layers so as not to accidentally expel magic when he ought not, to not release a channel into some unsuspecting person due to a lack of control on his part. Given how panic-stricken he can be, that seemed like a reasonable choice. After they discovered his affliction, he donned even more layers. The vestments of his order not only hide the mark of his curse, but act as a barrier between him and everyone else. Some would call them stifling, but to him, they are protection.

And so he doesn't shed them often, and almost never in front of others. Glacius is a rare exception to this rule. It had been out of necessity at first, as the alien would only allow him to examine his wounds if Carlisle would grant him the same courtesy. It is out of necessity now that so much of him is bare, as Glacius was right -- if they'd allowed the ink and blood to set in, the stains would never come out of the fabric.

And yet, he doesn't feel completely out of his element, doesn't feel unsafe to have so much of him exposed -- not with Glacius right there, checking on his wounds, shielding him, as always. The icy giant continues to be his stalwart protector, no matter how much Carlisle feels he doesn't deserve one. He offers Glacius a weak smile, absolutely grateful.

"I will try not... to disappoint you and force you to reconsider," he replies softly. "I... admit I worry sometimes" —a lot of the time— "that I will make a mistake with... this."

He's not entirely sure what this is, so he makes the barest of gestures with his hand, something vague that is supposed to encompass everything around them -- what they're doing, where they are, them.

"Perhaps if I'd been better at telling you such things, you'd... have had no reason to doubt me at all, or to believe the lies you were told by a creature wearing my face." Though there's another apology on his tongue, he holds it back.

Edited 2017-01-19 23:00 (UTC)

Physical contact is tricky for Glacius as well, given how nuanced it is in his culture. His people, being beings that liked their space, usually only initiated it in this manner when they were rather close--of course little touches of support or solidarity were fine, but the frequency and length of the contact that the ice alien and the human have come to share are a step beyond that now. Glacius and Carlisle have managed to jump right over that hurdle, given how often they had to see to each other's physical injuries... and that giving of themselves out of necessity, as Carlisle has viewed it, had helped the transition feel a bit more natural.

And then there's the contact he had initiated now, which involved his underbody... that was decidedly more intimate than even regular physical contact, and yet Glacius doesn't feel uncomfortable about it either--physically, yes, the exposure to the warm air around him hurts, but emotionally... he is doing what he needs to do to see to someone he cares about. He's glad to see that his attempts are paying off... he's fairly certain that grateful smile is the first positive expression he's seen to grace the clergyman's face tonight and it does a lot to refresh his hearts, to dull some of the pain he'd been feeling every since his double first laid into him.

"As long as you are trying, you could never disappoint me," the ice alien assures him, shifting a little closer. "And... I appreciate you... saying all this. I... I do not mean to seem weak, or needed, but I... I needed to hear it, after what happened." Glacius exhales quietly as he gets that admission out--it hadn't been easy, then looks into Carlisle's eyes again. "From here on out, if anyone attempts to undermine our friendship, I will believe in the strength of what we have forged. I... I won't do you the disservice of doubting you again."

Carlisle meets Glacius' eyes, relief washing over him once more. He'd first felt relief at his warning having reached Glacius before any physical harm came to him; after that came relief from the alien's rescue. Now, he feels relief that his double hasn't thoroughly ruined what they have, didn't manage to undo all their time together in a single day.

And as someone who has lived through that kind of occurrence once already, that degree of trust means more to Carlisle than he can express. He does try, though.

"You aren't weak," he starts, unknowingly a sharp contrast to his twin, "nor do you do me a disservice. After everything you've been through, you are still kinder to me than I deserve, even in light of... of what I have done, and what I have the potential to do. Even now, you- you grace me with something I know is not common for your people."

He flicks his eyes toward Glacius' hand, his muscles too worn and his joints too rigid for a full gesture. The close contact and all it entails has not gone unnoticed.

"It..." Color sears into him, so light along his cheekbones; it's vibrant against his pale hue, even more so than usual. "It means a lot to me, having your trust. I suppose that... that we all need to hear it sometimes, don't we? Actually say what- what we mean rather than hiding. I'm... better at hiding than, ah."

He loses his train of thought somewhere, his nose wrinkling as he tries to flex his fingers, feeling that wave of numbness creeping through him.

Edited 2017-01-20 02:56 (UTC)

Glacius can't help but flinch slightly as Carlisle provides that sharp contrast to his double that he so desperately needed to hear, the shock of relief he feels at the notion that the man doesn't look down on him for any of this enough to move him physically. It is also enough to finally elicit a familiar expression from the alien: a tentative but fond grin seems to finally lift his features, which had been weighed down by sorrow and hurt for so long now. "Yes, I suppose we do. So I will do my best to remind you often that you are valued and cared for, and..."

The otherworldly being trails off at the same time that the clergyman does, watching him try to flex his fingers, taking note of the way his expression tightens. That's right--wasn't he having difficulty with his hands before? Glacius gives a soft warble, moving one of his own down to touch his fingertips to the back of the human's. "Carlisle... what is wrong? Are you experiencing pain again? There's ink here, too..." Which he can't recall if he's ever seen before--coming up out of his mouth, yes, but seeing it well up from underneath his fingertips is new and alarming.

"It happens... sometimes," Carlisle utters, unease in his voice. "More and more these days." Ink seeping from under his fingernails is more of a rarity, a surefire sign he has overdone it. He tries to explain so as not to worry Glacius further. "After expending a lot of energy, I feel... not just exhausted, but- but frozen. Pe- petrified for a time. Stiffened, like..."

Like a corpse. That thought has always made him nervous, especially given his perception of the undead, some of Armand's comments toward him, and of course, the old superstitions about the twice-cursed.

"I- I need only rest," he assures the alien. "It's more of- of an inconvenience than anything, trust me."

Glacius listens intently, that familiar sorrow for his friend's condition gnawing away at his hearts again. This doesn't sound good at all... and it explains just how listless Carlisle has been looking this past hour or so. His intact mandible clicks--the motion of the ruined bone causes him to flinch, as always, but he doesn't let it break his concentration as he tries to think of what can be done to aid the clergyman.

"Rest. Right. Alright. You just... lay here, and try to do that, and I'll be right back," the alien tells him. He resists the urge to bump his forehead against Calrise's in a bid of comfort, too aware of the suffering he's enduring to move him even the littlest bit. Instead he rises, plucking up the clergyman's clothing so that he can set it to soak in cold water as he gets to work on that pain-relieving brew he was taught how to enchant not all that long ago. Depending on whether or not he manages to stay conscious, Carlisle can probably hear him moving things around in the kitchen, setting up the kettle to boil some water and procuring some papers on which to draw the proper glyph. He's actually drawn one a long time ago that he never activated, which he'd been using more as reference in his studies... it makes it easier to scrawl the magical instructions quickly, and given the urgency he's feeling to provide care to the listless human, that's something he needs right now. That same urgency also means that he allows his energies to flow more freely into the glyph, unaware of how even his regulated levels had affected the human.

When everything is all done, the towering ice alien returns to sit on the floor by the couch where Carlisle is laying. Just in case he has managed to fall asleep, Glacius reaches out with one hand and shakes him very gently. "Here. I brought you your tea to drink." There's a brief pause, then the ice alien seems to remember that he can't just absorb fluids... and being horizontal seems like it would make it much easier to ingest anything. "...Do you... require my assistance to sit up?"

Happy to just lie there a moment while Glacius wanders off, Carlisle closes his eyes again, trying to relax and focus on what energy he has running through him. One advantage to being so attuned with the flow of magic through his own body is he can tell just where injuries still lie, and redistribute his energy accordingly. He is indeed still bruised where the shears had gone into his back, but that will heal on its own -- more worrying is that stiffness in his limbs, about which his magic can do nothing. Using any more would actually exacerbate his condition.

But Glacius has a plan, one he can hear from the couch. He doesn't need to sit up to know the alien is in the kitchen somewhere, and he privately hopes Glacius might be making him tea. He'd have suggested it himself if he weren't so busy considering how much of a burden he is at the moment, troubling his alien friend with carrying him home, tending to his wounds, and even cleaning him of blood and ink. To be fair, he did get stabbed with a pair of shears by a man who looks just like him. It's been quite a day for both of them.

He nods off for a moment, but the chill of his body keeps him from resting for too long -- it reminds him too much of his nightmares. Thankfully, Glacius returns only moments after he stirs, and he does indeed bring tea.

"Please," Carlisle hisses as he tries to sit up himself, only for his limbs to refuse to bend very far. He's back to trembling again, though it might be from the cold rather than his fatigue. He is missing most of his clothing, and is slightly more aware of it than he'd like.

Glacius nods wordlessly, carefully placing the mug on the ground with a good bit of space between it and himself so that he won't knock it over when he rises to his knees to assist Carlisle. He had to reform the ice around his hands to protect himself while he boiled the water and brewed the tea, so the clergyman is going to have to put up with a bit more cold as he is helped up... but the good news is that the ice alien fully intends to move him into his bed where there are blankets aplenty under which he can bury himself when he'd done cleaning up his friend and tending to what wounds remain.

Glacius nods once he's helped Carlisle into a sitting position, then regards him with some worry. It looked like it was so difficult for him to move, and he doesn't want him to have to expend even more energy on fine motor functions, nor does he want him to risk fumbling with hot ceramics. "Will you be able to handle the mug yourself...?"

He nods, doing his best to not shiver from the chill of Glacius' hand. He takes a deep breath to stifle the trembling in his limbs, and though he meets with limited success and bites back a grunt, he still offers his alien friend as much of a smile as he can muster.

"I- I would rather hold it, I believe," he says, leaning a little closer to Glacius despite the cold, the barest bit of warmth flaring in the depths of his chest. Though it makes his chest ache, he covets that feeling, even if he can't quite describe what it is or why it's there.

Edited 2017-01-20 06:08 (UTC)

Meanwhile, Glacius is unaware of any warm feelings he may be instilling in the human. Instead he focuses on the answer, which is completely expected, and nods agreement before moving to retrieve the still-warm mug. The good part is that he picked one with a decently wide handle, which should be easier for the clergyman to get a grip on despite his stiff hands (and everything else); the bad part is that there is only one of said handle, and the ice alien is not about to make him grip hot ceramics on top of all of the other physical pains he's suffered today.

So his great white hand grasps the side of the mug, his microweave immediately flashing and flowing quickly as it works harder to keep his skin from melting. He presents the handle to Carlisle, and when he speaks it's with a calm that he is not entirely feeling. "Take it, please--I do not want it to get too cold."

As always, focusing on his friend's comfort before his own.

As always, indeed. Carlisle notes the way Glacius' body reacts to the mug, and he takes it as quickly as he can, so concerned the icy giant is hurting himself on his behalf. After all, he still worries every time Glacius retracts his protective, frozen layer; to see his microweave reacting in such a way is alarming.

Wrapping one hand around the handle as best he can and placing the other one at the side of the mug, he drinks greedily at it rather than the careful sips he'd managed before, downing all of it in a matter of seconds.The temperature doesn't seem to deter him at all -- he'd rather deal with some initial burning that wait any longer, the rest of his body reaching a breaking point in terms of aching. He's delighted to find the effect kicks in a little earlier than it should -- any respite is good at this point.

... Or so he thinks now. The shaking in his hands slows, and he lets out a relieved sigh. "Good. Very good, actually. Thank you."

"Easy, Carlisle..." Glacius blinks at how quickly the clergyman drains the mug--he's seen him gripping at his stomach repeatedly today, and he's not sure how good of an idea it is to fill it so quickly with a very hot substance in spite of that. His friend, however, does not seem to suffer any extra distress--in fact he already seems to be relaxing, which also causes the alien to take a little bit of heart. His mandible clicks once, an anticipatory sort of mannerism.

"I am glad to hear that I am learning well. Now--" he reachs to his side for the bowl of warm, soapy water and another wash cloth, then leans back up towards the human, "--let me get the last of that blood and ink off of your body and face so you can finally go lie down."

"Yes, of... of course," he replies, his distraction apparent.

As much as Carlisle tries to focus on the task at hand, he finds it difficult with the immense heat spreading through him, easing away his aches, soothing what ails him in a far more effective manner than any tea he's ever made. Glacius must be a very good student. Or perhaps he's just better at drawing circles. Either way, the potency of his concoction is far stronger than Carlisle is used to, and while the part where he's no longer in intense, agonizing pain is good, the fact his head is starting to swim is not. The current is a force to be reckoned with.

He takes in a deep breath and holds still, but the hint of a smile appears on his face.

Unfortunately, Glacius does not know enough about how his energies interact with Carlisle's magic to realize that the human is in the process of flying high as a kite; that hint of a smile gets interpreted as simply an expression of relief from his persistent aches and pains, so the alien actually feels... rather accomplished. Retracting the ice from his hands again, he wets the washcloth and gets to work, scrubbing gently at everything that's caked onto the clergyman's face and neck before he sits back and rinses the bloodied fabric.

Next he tackles what blood and ink had soaked through Carlisle's garments to stain his skin, rubbing gentle circles over the man's chest. This would be much easier if the human could simply liquefy his outer skin to let everything run off, Glacius thinks, but he doesn't mind the extra work. In fact, it's actually... rather soothing, not only because having his hands on the clergyman's chest allows him to feel his unbothered breathing--much better than that hacking and coughing and choking from before--but also because he looks much better when he's not covered in blood and dirt. It's easier to believe that he's on his road to recovery...

"Let me know if anything hurts," the ice alien murmurs quietly, moving his hand slightly lower to continue working.

Edited 2017-01-20 20:59 (UTC)

Carlisle closes his eyes as Glacius works at washing away the blood and ink that coats him, his mind now far, far away from the thought of the shears in his back, or how they pushed against the skin of his chest from the inside, or how unsightly his hair is. While he knows he should be more embarrassed by the amount of skin he is showing, or with how visible those scars that run down his abdomen are, he can't find it in himself to care at that moment. Everything just ebbs away with the warmth emanating through his veins.

"That feels really good, actually," he mumbles himself as Glacius takes care of his wounds. He should do the same, shouldn't he? It's only right for him to make amends, his intoxicated mind says, trying to get onto a familiar track of thinking.

His limbs are still obviously stiff as he reaches forward to put his hands on Glacius' jaw, his fingers searching the alien's neck for that scar.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject