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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 0:47:42 GMT -5
( I HAVE SOME I WISH I COULD SEND IT TO U ))): yes go eat a cracker. and rest. and maybe put on some sweats and fuzzy socks and bingewatch ur fav show <3 )
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 0:51:04 GMT -5
[ .....i read that as "i have some weed i could send you" and i started laughing so hard i was like "thats very forward but why not lol" thanks for the advice <3 ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 29, 2016 0:52:38 GMT -5
{ just rest my sweet koifish. rest and try not to die. }
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 29, 2016 0:54:46 GMT -5
Dashiell Shay (i love ben howard so much guys you should all listen to him)
In medical school they taught you about how to deal with troublesome patients. It was to be expected; when people were in pain they lashed out in ways that they never would were they well. The body treats pain as an immediate danger, as many times it is, and thus one becomes defensive, quite literally a wounded animal backed into a corner, into a situation they are unfamiliar with. Soraya was hurting, tired, frustrated, apparently upset that Dashiell had been so invested in the philosophy of absurdism that he was not able to tend to her wounds immediately. Now she looked up at him in a way that was almost cat-like - back-arched, narrowed eyes, dark hair framing her face in a way that accented the arch of her cheekbones – goodness, he could almost hear the hiss in her voice. He barely stifled the sigh that rose to his lips; he had dealt with people of similar attitude before (he thinks back to his youth, to a girl who assembled an Ikea table completely incorrectly because she refused to follow the instructions and then complained when he pointed out her versions utter lack of structural integrity) and knows that there is a correct way to go about dealing with her.
Whether or not his bedside manner is perfect is up in the air; certainly he was a little harsh when he entered the situation but – there was no excuse for it, he knew. Dashiell was tired as well, sad; for a doctor he was easily stressed, and while he does, usually, handle stress well, seeing the girl trying to do her own sutures with a sewing needle and fishing line! It was not one of his finer moments. (Actually, as Dash very well knew, fishing line plenty fine for sutures sans the fact that she probably didn’t sterilize it at all before braiding her leg up. The line was quite too thick, which was why it would have been painful, but it worked well enough. He still wanted to redo them, though, in usual Dashiell Shay fashion. He was a perfectionist who, admittedly, also took too much pride in his own work. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust anyone else to do a good job, it’s just that most of the select few he trusted were dead, and none of them here with him. He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers rolling along the black leather of the necklace.)
“Soraya, I know how hard you tried on those stitches. It was very brave to put them in yourself”, his legs are starting to feel kind of numb by this point, pinpricks searing up his thighs as he sits in a kneel, probably messing with some nerve along his knee. He shifts, slightly, but maintains eye contact. “I can leave the ones you put in, but understand that they are a little messy and there is a greater chance of infection. If you cut your leg on a nail there’s a very high chance of infection.” Dashiell completely ignores everything that Mark Lias says (he’ll get to that boy in a second; god, it’s hard to believe that the man is only like, a year younger than him, he acts like he’s barely older than fifteen. Such a stark difference from the boy Dash sees vaguely in his companions features.) “Your leg burning is natural, it will ache for a while.”
Dashiell turns towards the first aid kit now, gently, since the girls leg is now pressed hard against his chest, nearly against the place the wooden pendent hangs just below his collarbone. He pops the lid and reaches in, pulls out the alcohol bottle and a cotton swab, rummages a second for lidocaine. He doesn’t like using the stuff, but if they’ll be traveling today it will be necessary (he wonders if anyone there has drinking alcohol tucked away; the wound would be a little b*tch tonight and they would all need their sleep if they were to come up on Edgemont). The doctor turns towards Mark Lias, repeats the boys name on his tongue, it even sounds obnoxious, thinks of the word liaison, there is a grammatical similarity. Mark Lias has been a tick on Dashiell’s back since they day he and Moira ran into this little squad, since Moira had opened her mouth, said, “he’s a doctor”, as if Dashiell were no more than a bartering tool to her.
Which was true. That is half the reason that she saved him from withering away in some backend corner of that cesspool. She was immune as long as she was with the gold; a show dog and his handler. But that was Whatever.
In short, Mark Lias was a little b*tch. He was petty, loud, seemed to talk without any comprehension of what he was saying, and had a temper so mercurial interacting with him was closer to walking on nails than eggshells. Dashiell often wonders about the mans life before the end of the world; he danced, or something, Dashiell recalled and (if he’s being honest) could definitely see. Mark was a pretty boy. A verifiable Snow White, pale skin, sharp features, dark eyes that Dash never looked at too closely, but when he did made eye contact, thought could hold the infinity of space, ethereal. He was so pretty that Dashiell wanted to punch him in the face. Anyways. He threw a, “thank you, Mark”, the mans way, he would at least try to be civil, for now, for Sorayas sake, because he couldn’t deal with anymore drama right now. For as much drama as Dashiell started and would insert himself into, he did not enjoy it. He liked to be the center of attention but only when that center was a positive one.
“Ok, Soraya, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to”, Dashiell stated, softly, no longer smiling but letting his face fold into a neutral expression as he moved onto cleaning her wound. “I’m just going to clean it now. It might sting a little bit. I also have some lidocaine here, it’s a numbing cream, for the pain. We have a limited supply so I have to ration it until we can raid another drugstore, but it’ll take some of the edge off.” As he is speaking Hester enters.
Hester Scoresby is an interesting specimen of a person. She’s the kind of crude, awkward person that would have been absolutely chewed apart back home; a tan, freckled, messy girl who moved like a field of sawgrass swaying in the wind, all curves and hard-lined smiles, but with a definite edge. Homely more than beautiful, unassuming until one brushed up against her and, like touching sawgrass, removed their hand to find it covered in blood. Dashiell adored her.
While he could not move a hand from his task to wave, he let his eyes flicker up for a moment. “Welcome back, Hester”, he chimed, throwing her a smile, closed lipped, that almost reached his eyes but not quite. He could probably throw in a quip here about how he enjoyed Hester because she reminded him of his little sister, or something, but didn’t, because none of that was true. He just liked Hester. She was nice and funny and that was the end of it. And she was much more agreeable than the rest of the lot, anyways.
He set Soraya’s leg down, then, finishing up by applying a swipe of lidocaine along the edges of the wound. “Try not to mess with it, ok? If the stitches start to itch that’s a good thing, part of the healing process. If they start to burn, or if anything starts to burn more than it already does, let me know right away.”
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 0:54:47 GMT -5
( HAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD. no, koi, sry babe. not sending u weed. i'm laughing so hard rn. u need some sleep, dear hahahahaha pls don't die ok )
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 1:04:22 GMT -5
[ "In short, Mark Lias was a little b*tch." this is the best day of my LIFE
mag im still laughing can we be each others drug dealers? well. i have no drugs but i can offer chocolate as payment ]
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 1:14:17 GMT -5
( bro i'm still freaking sobbing. but i'm but a smol child so i feel like the only thing i could give u would be hugs. and tacos. but let's be real tacos are p addictive and eating a good taco can be p exhilarating so i would say tacos would suffice. so u send me chocolate and i'll send u lots and lots of a+ tacos. )
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 29, 2016 1:22:37 GMT -5
[im ded pls send me tacos maggie we can have an underground industry i also feel like im gon get banned for posting around the forums with my screenname i break like 20 rules on the daily why am i leik this ]
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 1:25:14 GMT -5
( will do ;D we can have our own Super Secret Taco Trading Industry™ HA i mean u were beer for like ever hahaha so i think u should be fine!! )
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 1:27:11 GMT -5
[ taco dealers. im here for this. briar you, by yourself, are probably breaking 20 rules somehow so honestly whats that screenname gonna do make you break 21 instead
also i just realized: i am only using mark lias to talk about my ballet experiences. Please, hit me over the head with a broom ]
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 1:34:02 GMT -5
( i am so down for the taco dealers. this needs to be a thing.
PSH koi mark is like. my one true love. so if he's only here for u to talk abt ballet, so be it. i love. him. so. much. )
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 29, 2016 1:35:28 GMT -5
[ it'll be Great. we can have code names. I want to be Sriracha.
yeah. you right. remember the old forums when me and koi got the original incendio chat page deleted for making bj jokes? because i do. the good old days. god bless the old forums. lotion.
LMAO GIRL. that's not a bad thing. use him as a therapy character. you write what you know; you're a badass ballerina. write it.]
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 1:39:31 GMT -5
( sassy sriracha. i approve. i gotta think of a code name now hehehe
BRO I REMEMBER KOI TELLING ME ABOUT THAT HAHAHAHAHAHAH THATS SO FUNNY i wish i couldve been there. i shouldve joined the hp rp tbh )
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 29, 2016 1:44:49 GMT -5
(we can all just be taco toppings. it's Inconspicuous™
the hp rp was iconic. i'm happy we met you when we did though, maggie! <3333 ur such a sweetie. lmao fun fact i f*cking hung "it's burgundy, fool" on my quote wall. )
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 29, 2016 1:45:18 GMT -5
Soraya: Soraya was grateful that the doctor would not try to remove her stitches. She knew that if he had she would have tried to run and if she did that they might have grabbed her and removed them by force. She was too weak to run or fight. Pursing her lips together she gave Dashiell a curt nod. “Infection would be a more graceful death than what lies outside the library doors.” In some strange that was all she wanted. Even if she lived to be a hundred death would claim her sooner or later and she just wanted to go out in a clean way, and hopefully not return and bite someone’s face off. On the other hand she wanted to fight like hell to even live to see her hundredth birthday. She kept her foot against his chest though, just in case it was a trick to get her to lower her guard. Her gaze followed the length of her leg down to his neckline, where his pendant sat. An intrusive thought told her to move her foot up and snap the pendant off. She didn’t listen thank god, she wasn’t that delirious that she would take something that must have been precious to the man trying to help her.
When Dashiell addressed Mark once more she could practically feel the strain between them. She liked Mark, he was a bit odd and his braces held food too often which he sometimes spit out while he was talking but she never said a word about it because that would have embarrassed him. But Mark was nice, at least she thought he was nice. Everyone had their own way of showing kindness. Soraya’s way was making a fool of herself and looking like a cold-hearted b*tch in need of an attitude adjustment. Dashiell she thought was distant and needed to stop wallowing in his self-pity like a bottle fed lamb, but he was a gentle person. So if they started fighting Soraya didn’t know who she would bite in defense of the other.
Soraya opened her mouth to say something to Dashiell about putting something on her leg when Hester appeared. If she hadn’t been so tired she would have looked confused. Her mouth stayed open as Hester talked. “I can’t understand a word of what you just said.” Soraya barely got her sentence in before Hester started talking again. She called her Ray, she had never been called that before. It made her wonder if she should be offended, probably not. “I was-” she was about to answer Hester’s question when Hester got distracted, again. “Fishing. I- alone. Time to think.” Forming complete sentences was now a chore as she tried to understand what Hester was saying as she was saying it. Her dark brows knitted themselves into a mask on her face.
Hester was an enigma to Soraya. But her constant happiness was contagious. In times like these Soraya admired how happy someone like her could be. She always looked on the bright side and found a way to plaster a smile on her face. Soraya wished she could be that easy going. But even as Hester prattled on about nonsense Soraya couldn’t muster a smile. Watching her fling the fish around like she was studying it she didn’t even notice Dr. Dashiell until he put that stuff on her leg. It stung. She pulled back with a hiss of pain and shot the doctor a warning look.
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 1:45:19 GMT -5
[ if you're sriracha then im Franks Red Hot on a Weekday
it's not my fault gray put it in his mouth . that time i tried rec'ing my favourite song to someone once and i typed headlights and the forum swerved me so hard i still taste blood to this day ]
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 1:47:58 GMT -5
( hmmm ok. well. i can't go a day w/o cheese even tho i'm lactose intolerant WHOOPS so i think i'll go w queso c:
i'm so glad i met all of you!! i'm so glad u guys like. let me into ur group bc i love u all a ton <3333 )
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 1:50:01 GMT -5
mark lias group 2, library, in need of vodka
“I’ve had a lot of things worse than soap in my mouth, Soraya,” Mark finds himself saying, as if hearing the words exiting his mouth is a surprise, before graciously distancing himself from Mr. Doctor Man, y’know, elbow space and all.
He is uncharacteristically silent as his eyes fall on Soraya, after moving further away from Dashiell, unsure of what the sight reminds him of for some time, until it comes to him in a generous reach. He performed in the Nutcracker as Fritz, who was the lead role’s brother, and the lead role of Clara was played by a tiny Italian girl who was a year older than Mark and half a foot shorter. Her name was Giovanna De Luca, which was seriously one of the most stereotypical Italian names Mark had probably ever heard, and she was an absolute wildcard. Not to an Injured-Soraya’s status, not as bad as that, but watching Soraya put her foot on Dashiell’s chest as if that was going to stop him from fussing brought back memories of Mark having a broken pair of pointe shoes shoved into his chest, a ‘this is the reason why I’m not okay’, another harsh reminder that their entire school was broke as hell and Mark was lucky, being a boy, not having to spend his entire savings on an emergency pair of Capezio Glisses. Man, he misses his old ballet class. It was the most statistically improbable thing he had ever been a part of. It was a ballet class so blatantly homosexual even their piano player was a little gay (and hated Mark. But everyone hates Mark, so. He tries not to blame it on the fact that Mark got so much fun out of pulling that kid’s pigtails--metaphorically, of course, he didn’t wear his hair in pigtails but that would’ve been hilarious as hell if he had and Mark would have definitely pulled them.)
Speaking of pulling pigtails. All Mark gets from Dashiell is a half-bitten out, “thanks, mark,” like his previous contemplation of the phrase “thanks, obama” and it just makes him think of his mom again, about facebook posts, about his supposed-maybe-half-sisters which he only knew about because his mom has no idea how privacy on the internet works, and Mark just--sits there, super sobered all of a sudden, throwing saltwater on a fire, throwing salt on a wound. This is what you get for purposefully annoying people, Mark. You get a sudden need for vodka and to apologize for unintentionally making a kid drop out of pre-calc 12.
He sits, kneeling, legs folded, zoned the motherf*ck out, and it’s just another sore reminder that he hasn’t danced in ages when his thighs ache at the stretch and his arches feel pressed and forced down by his own weight, resting on them carelessly, and he crosses an arm over one side of his thigh and generously gives his back a twist, and he really hopes no one here is decidedly grossed out by gratuitous popping because Mark sounds like a microwavable popcorn bag left on for ten minutes on a good day. When he crosses his other arm in front of his other thigh is when he sees Hester, and he grins at her right as his back cracks (again), something metallic and wide, releases the tension on his back and runs a hand through his hair. Hester is such a gal. He has no idea which corner of the USA she popped her freckled face out of, but she’s just--adorable, in that inexplicable, made-of-sunflowers-instead-of-organs-and-bloody-stuff way.
“Hey, you,” he says, “What’s crackalackin’. Aside from my back. God that is satisfying. How’d you sleep, Hes?” he says, allarush, but it isn’t necessarily an indecipherable rush, just...a speedy one.
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 1:51:42 GMT -5
( "whats crackalackin aside from my back" I WILL LEGIT USE THAT ONE OF THESE DAYS )
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 29, 2016 1:54:16 GMT -5
{ every time mark mentions gio i cry a single tear for the beautiful duo that was gio and felix c': gio was just. she probably could and would have fought mika on the spot. i miss her
"made-of-sunflowers-instead-of-organs-and-bloody-stuff." hester in a nutshell }
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 2:01:51 GMT -5
[ i LOVE using mark and jasmin because half their pov is "he sees an angry girl. Suddenly, he is reminded of one Gio De Luca" and it makes me so, so happy. i will bring them back for a rp one day, i swear. i miss her tons. ]
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 2:15:00 GMT -5
( sorry guys but i'm so tired tonight i don't think i'm going to be able to finish a starter. i have some of it done though! since i'll be gone p much all of tomorrow, idk whether i'll be able to get it up tomorrow night or friday morning. but it will be up soon!! <3 )
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 29, 2016 2:29:59 GMT -5
Dashiell Shay (this is short and kind of all over the place but it is 2:30am so )
“Obviously you’ve never seen an infection before”, Dashiell’s response is quiet, contemplative, as Soraya flinches away. She removes her foot from his chest quickly, withdrawing like a rubber band. He follows the line of her leg, watches how she moves on it. She still lithe, even with her injury. Dashiell will admit that he is slightly intimidating by Soraya; she was, in that peculiar way that one usually only saw in TV shows, dangerously beautiful. He felt like she could murder him and, while he wouldn’t be okay with it, it would at least feel as if his death were going towards making an intimidating girl even more intimidating, add to her backstory, and the end of his life would at least be for a good cause. Dashiell feels slightly less charitable after watching her line of vision, however, sweeping over his collarbone with an intensity that was almost tangible, uncomfortable like a feather, and landing on the pendent. He was not self-conscious of it - he was proud of it, really, even though there was nothing for him, personally, to be proud of; it was not made by him nor for him.
His sentiment for the trinket was, as previously stated, purely personal.
Dashiell tightens the cap on the bottle before placing it back into the kit, closing the lid with a click, before standing up. He often forgot just how young Soraya was. Where Mark often acted like little more than a young child trying to prove to his friends how Grown Up he was by cursing and blatant overconfidence, Soraya showed her maturity like some sort of regal panther. Highly independent and not particularly socially ept, she moved with a grace so cat-like it was impossible not to draw the parallel. If spirit animals were real Soraya would no-doubtedly be some sort of big cat.
(involuntary memory: Dashiell remembers a girl with bright pink hair laying across his bed scrolling through her phone and asking him to take some dumb Buzzfeed quiz that was something to the extent of spirit animal bs; can’t remember his own result but remembers hers. Also remembers her obsession with the zodiac, remembers her checking compatibility like it were some sort of romantic Bible, apparently Dashiell is a Virgo which is, you know, not entirely inaccurate, but the romantic stuff was nonsense, probably, but that didn’t matter anymore.)
Dashiell Shay is dragged out of his musing by the fact that Mark Lias literally has no filter. He feels his face reddening as involuntarily as his flashback to Ankita looking up how compatible Virgo and Libra were, turns away from Mark and is suddenly filled with the desire to punch Mark Lias in the face. Dashiell feels like this is probably not an uncommon feeling. Why, of all people to be stuck in the apocalypse with, was he with this fool of a man. Everything that came out of his mouth was cringe worthy. Dash wanted to scream.
(He did not; Dash has not screamed for a long time. He tries to remember the last time and thinks it was probably freshman year of college; it was the only real fight he had ever gotten into with Julianna. He’s not counting the times he yelled off a bridge, or underwater just to see what happened, or that one time he went to Disney with his friend’s family and ended up ditching the group because while hanging with Almach’s three year old daughter was fun and all, he had, like, ulterior motives? Even thought that sounds bad. It wasn’t bad. Don’t blame a boy for wanting to kiss someone at the top of Splash Mountain, he’s a hopeless romantic, ok.)
But he’s just being silly, now. Too caught up in his memories to pay attention to the present. That is Dashiell’s problem, the reason that he hates being alone. He thinks too much. So instead of following memory lane to a more undesirable place, he turns to Soraya for a moment. “You should probably take it easy today, but I’ll let you make the call on whether or not you want to press on towards Edgemont.”
Dashiell considers for a moment he should go find Moria. He doesn’t move.
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 2:53:42 GMT -5
[ the best quotes of this entire rp so far:
"In short, Mark Lias was a little b*tch." "Dashiell wanted to punch him in the face." "Mark Lias literally has no filter." "Mark and is suddenly filled with the desire to punch Mark Lias in the face. Dashiell feels like this is probably not an uncommon feeling." ]
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 29, 2016 2:58:46 GMT -5
Half of that list is the wrong word I am die I pjs like rewrite it on the morning but I probably won't wow I'm like ded right now spellcheck is my best friend it's like being sleep drink kill me ples)
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 3:03:31 GMT -5
[ ....... i feel like reading that was like watching someone have a stroke ]
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 29, 2016 8:43:50 GMT -5
(Dash hates mark so much and it really makes me laugh sometimes. on the other hand i'm pretty sure hester is so loving she'd hug a grizzly. and mark is just a big dink and i love him)
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 29, 2016 12:27:56 GMT -5
{ fine robin~ }
{ i'm gonna wait for mag to get something for ingrid up before replying for emilio. in the meantime i'll work on hester's reply~ }
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 12:47:57 GMT -5
( i'm going to universal today to go to all the harry potter stuff and i won't be around much. i prob will have a reply up tonight!! but if u guys wanna move on w/o me i'll just jump in whenever. i don't want u guys to wait around for me to get smth up bc it prob won't be til late tonight!! )
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