goodmorrow | Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do

Entry tags:

!event

Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do

arrogance is in everything I do

a cold wind | devotion | beautiful things | ooc notes

if you think my winter is cold

A Cold Wind For the last several weeks, the village has been blessed by visions of the future and of the gourd-creatures that came to visit at night. But that all appears to be taperiong off entirely. Townsfolks disposed of the carved pumpkins once they started to spoil, and the monsters subsided accordingly. For now, at least.

Since then, the temperature has been steadily dropping. The standard novitiate robes increasingly feel thin against the elements, though those who have achieved higher levels will find thicker outerwear provided to them, progressively ornate in accordance with rank. Some of the veterans who refuse to pledge to a higher rank try to spread word of places outside of town where beasts can be hunted for their pelts, though the native townsfolk all advise against following the suggestions of "those rascal vandals," if asked. They insist that nothing good lives out there.

But there does seem to be a bonus for those brave enough to venture out into the verdant patch between the graveyard and the monastery, a boon to those seeking a bit of extra warmth, a protein other than the stews and soups usually offered, or just a new adventure. Though they aren't always visible, a patient hunter might notice a faint scratching sound just before a patch of soil unsettles itself. That small warning is all they'll have before a thorn-pelted creature digs its way up from underground and bounds onto the grassy knoll. They are enormous beasts, standing at more than half the height of an average man. They also seem to be more earthen than a traditional Dire Wolf, with pelts that appear far more akin to vines and branches than traditional canines. But those that slay such massive beasts will find that their skin can be pruned down into a coat as well as any normal wolf pelt. The meat cooks up just as well, if the taste is a bit gamey. At the very least, it's an animal that provides its own garnish.

opulent and imperial

Devotion The Devotion ceremony this lunar cycle focuses on revering the gifts received from the Old Ones. Ornamentation is the order of the day, and the church officials have spared nothing in their elaborate decoration of the devotional space. The hall is opulent, dazzling in the precious metals and gemstones draped over nearly every surface. Even the masks issued to devotees are gold and silver, often encrusted with heavy stones. Some revelers wearing robes of higher ranks are also wearing ornate neckpieces to allow for additional support to prevent their heads from bowing under the weight of their personal decorations.

The speeches this month explain the connection. Out of all the riches and finery that the Old Ones have brought to Revelbrooke, none are more precious than the pilgrims from other worlds. They are the true vessels of the will of the Old Ones, destined to bring their village into a new era. And for this proof of Devotion, they pray in thanks and appreciation for these gifts, which the town will watch over and polish until even the most rebellious novitiates have accepted the Old Ones into their hearts.

As silly as the intelligible portion of the sermon might sound, something feels strange when the elders slip into chanting in the tongue of the Old Ones. The travelers from other worlds will begin to feel an odd sort of rigidity settle over them. Perhaps at first it feels like the urge to sit up a little straighter, or to speak more formally than they normally would. But somehow, by the end of the sermons, all this finery makes much more sense. Of course this celebration is for them. Why isn't every Devotion dedicated to them? They are the gifts from beyond the stars, aren't they? It's high time that they are recognized for what they are.

This air of nobility will remain with them for the remainder of the evening, as even the sloppiest fishmonger novitiate is careful to use every utensil for its intended purpose and sip drinks with a pinky out. Surely everyone will remain polite and full of decorum, lest the festivities end with a proper midnight duel. Proper swords would be provided in such a case, but the church officials would really prefer that conflicts not go quite that far...

Unfortunately for those who skipped the Devotion ceremony, the attendees will return to their homes still carrying themselves with an overblown arrogance that they won't start to shake until they've gotten a good night's sleep. Hopefully there aren't any peas under their mattresses to keep them awake and cranky until their pretty princess needs are met.

rich in keepsakes

Beautiful Things Normally, the Devotion is easily discarded with no real outward indication that one was in attendance. But this time, there is no hiding that one went to hear the elders speak, regardless of how they feel about the experience when they return to their senses. From the moment they wake after their post-Devotion cooldown, they'll find an ostentatious gemstone embedded in their foreheads. Likewise, their robes will be encrusted with matching stones, marking them as precious and delicate, the blessing of the Old Ones. Trying to remove the head-stones will prove itself a dangerous endeavor: the skin around the stone feels more like a smooth, hard porcelain, and is apt to crack before it will yield the glittering mark.

For the first few days, it might just exist as a gaudy annoyance. But over time, that hard feeling spreads, leaving a sense of being hollowed out somehow. If they're the type to study their religious texts, they might find themselves losing focus mid-verse and instead begin whispering in a tongue they haven't learned yet, manifesting the moaning, slurping sounds that pledge themselves to be an empty vessel for the Old Ones to use. The fits are temporary, and can be interrupted by an onlooker, but engaging in such prayer will make their gemstone take on a faint glow, giving the rest of their face a gaunt and sunken-eyed look in comparison.

After about a week, the gemstone-marked are nearly untouchable. The townsfolk are kind enough to send extra portions and blankets since so many of them report feeling unwell, but none of it seems to help with the feeling of hollowness. Moreover, the mark seems to have left them afflicted with a physical fragility as well. The threat of skin cracking around the gemstone is very real now, and has spread throughout their entire bodies. Even though they can move normally enough, their bodies have grown almost glasslike in durability. A bad fall could shatter a person's leg into pieces too small to set back together, and a simple game of tag could quickly turn lethal. But that too is the will of the Old Ones. Their pretty vessels are not built for roughhousing. Perhaps they are best left on a shelf until this too passes.

ooc notes

With apologies for the holiday-related delay on this post, please enjoy our event to carry us from late November into the start of December.

What's that I hear? You wanted to murder a giant wolf? Well have some stats for it, if that's the sort of thing you find helpful when threading out combat.

It seemed like a few folks were interested in having some deaths facilitated, so there might also need to be some parameters about that fragility curse in the back third of the event. Essentially, people affected with gemstones will slowly find their bodies taking on the properties of fine china, with all the risks that material normally entails. After a certain point left to player discretion, they are literally breakable. If someone with an advanced case is injured enough to break, there will be no blood or internal organs damaged; they're literally hollow with nothing inside of them. If you want to play out a broken/damaged limb or small injury that's put back together with some krazy glue and desperation, it will heal after the event but leave scars along the repaired lines. It's up to you if a completely broken body creates an immediate death or if the head can keep functioning independently until the event naturally wears off, at which point the broken person-pieces will become a pile of gore that needs to be scooped up. In cases of resurrection, the church officials will also take shards of broken novitiates and restore them within the normal death/rebirth timeframe.

Happy RPing! See you in a few weeks when the next TDM rolls around.

game navigation

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

His hands shifted down to rest at either side of Gale's neck then, thumbs dragging along the line of his jaw, marveling at the bristly feeling of his beard beneath his touch. Everything about the wizard was so warm and tactile, solid and real in a way that made the vampire feel grounded for the first time since he opened his eyes surrounded by cultists, alive once more. Now he felt whole once more.

A soft sound of his own as that kiss found more secure purchase, those lips fitted so perfectly against his own. His own lips parted, deliberate invitation for Gale to take more -- an assurance that Astarion wanted to give it, all of it.

He never wanted to stop kissing him. He knew he was a terrible disaster when it came to feelings, that he would likely make a huge mess of things along the way, but he did love this man, and gods above he wanted to do this right, to somehow be what Gale deserved.

Eventually though, something that Gale had said continued to nag at the back of his mind and he drew back from the kiss just enough to murmur, "What did you mean about keeping a hand under your pillow?"

"Ah, that.."

There was reluctance to have his lips released, and he almost followed that mouth, there was the movement of a centimeter as if he was set to give chase to that which he did not want to fly so easily away from him. His tongue felt bereft but, well he did owe Astarion an answer to the question and thus he attempted to find his words amid all of the thoughts that were currently swimming throughout his mind.

"When you died, everything cracked into so many pieces-- save for the hand that had been holding mine and I, well I carried it home with me." And then because he knew that sounded rather regrettably creepy, he continued. "I could not bear to give that hand up, I felt that I perhaps would've failed you if I had left that hand to the pieces."

And then even more quietly, sheepishly. "It is under my pillow right now."

Whatever Astarion had been expecting the answer to be -- and he really hadn't been entirely certain what -- it was emphatically not that. His eyes widened as Gale explained that he apparently had a piece of him kept safe and sound under his pillow.

The vampire couldn't help it; he laughed.

Even as he laughed, he wrapped his arms around Gale to pull the other man closer, clearly delighted as he leaned his forehead against the wizard's.

"Darling, that is so incredibly morbid and strange. ...I love it. It's somehow the single most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life." Get you a man who kept a literal memento mori under his pillow for want of not letting you go. "What am I going to do with you, my love?"

Well wait until it turned to gore in a few more days? That was what was scheduled to happen, or not core so much as it would probably be ash due to Astarion's vampire nature. The quirk of his lips off to the side as he relaxed with his lover's own laughter which made him feel predominately better about the entire thing. Even though Astarion would likely deny ever having such a bedside manner, it was clear that he was attempting to make him feel better.

"I would hope that perhaps you would keep me around?" he said with a smile as he leaned in closer, to press their lips together again. "Are you.. hungry?" he inquired, ever so slightly turning his neck to reveal the vein running through it, the one that was more pronounced than the others. "I did offer you refreshments, did I not-- and you would probably prefer that over wine, though I can fetch you wine too."

What an amazing host that Gale was being.

Ash would at least be less messy and do less damage to the linens. There was the bright side there. He felt oddly light now, for someone who had been dead not more than a few hours ago. Not that he was exactly alive even now, but he was at least back on the right side of undeath. This was the side of undeath that allowed him to tilt his chin to meet that next kiss. Oh, that was gorgeous. He could very much get used to that, to being kissed that way.

"Yes, I think I will. I've grown rather accustomed to your face. I'd miss it."

He did not miss that offer, the way Gale bared his neck a show of pure temptation incarnate. Oh no, he could not pass that up. "You're far more appealing than wine, yes. Perhaps just a sip..." Perhaps more than a sip.

A soft, pleased sigh as he nosed beneath Gale's jaw and found that perfect place to let his fangs sink into warm flesh, to piercing into that prominent vein, to taste the familiar flavor of him. His arms tightened around him, holding close as he drank and the smoke and magic of Gale's blood flooded through his senses.

It was like teeth sinking into butter, and while there was a whisp of initial pain that had him stiffening, the moment that the tongue dragged against the heated surface of his skin and then he positively melted right into it and against Astarion. He could've settled here in front of the fireplace quite happily, while his blood was drank from. Eyes slid shut and then he sank into those arms while his head arched toward the side.

It was so easy to release himself to the pleasure, to the way that his blood hummed and trembled underneath Astarion's expert touch. Once upon a time, back in Faerûn-- he had protested and warned that he was not something to be drunk from and yet here he was, giving his very lifeblood to the vampire.

How the mighty could fall, and yet he did not consider it a weakness any longer-- ah, the trembles that went through him, anticipation. It was sensual with a hint of sex just underlining it, and he almost did not want Astarion to cease this-- even though there was other things to look forward to; there was no greater joy then to wash the blood of others out of Astarion's mouth, and replace the taste with that of his own.

That had been the thought on Astarion's mind as well, that he would rather have the taste of Gale last on his tongue, on his mind, his memory, rather than what had been given to him by strangers who wanted to use him as some sort of conduit for whatever cataclysm they wanted to bring forth via the old ones. He'd much rather it be Gale's blood coursing through his veins.

Still, he kept a close hold on his self control, not wanting to take too much -- especially now. There was a precious if somewhat fragile glow about this night that Astarion was not ready to give up just yet. Love not only confessed but returned. What was rarer or more worth treasuring than that?

He lingered until with a soft, reluctant sigh, he drew back, lips and tongue soothing along the wounds he'd left. He did not draw away though, lips still against Gale's skin as he spoke. "Mm. My favorite..." In case it was not entirely obvious by now. Another soft kiss before he continued, "You like it too, don't you?" Those faint trembles, the way that Gale melted so sweetly into him.

To be honest, Gale was riding on the delicious wave of something, being loved combined with the way that his blood seemed to hum to be taken as it swirled and roiled-- despite the fact that he considered it tainted, Astarion drank from it as if it was an epicurian's wet dream, the very telling purr that spread warmth through him even as he provided warmth to Astarion in perfect time.

Huffed words which evaporated into sound against the sensitive skin there, he concentrated on that to bring him from the heady bliss of being wanted for his own self. Unfortunately, it was clear that he bonded easily but equally pronounced was that he was loyal as could be determined by the hand underneath pillow.

The vampire had found himself a wizard with sad eyes and an eagerness to please.

"I enjoy being able to provide you with something you need, it gives me a usefulness that at this moment I do not have without my magic or the Weave." And then he cleared his throat as if he was admitting something with the potential to be used against him, "In addition, the times that my neck has been kissed-- I have enjoyed it immensely so, when you are feeding from me, it may feel... well--" he trailed off as if he did not have to speak any more on it, but it did explain those moans that has come from Gale the morning after the 'supposed' end of the world, as well as the way that had prompted quite the cockstand.

Edited 2023-12-04 16:55 (UTC)

A usefulness. Somehow that echoed through Astarion like a churchbell through an empty shrine, ringing out to fill every corner. Ah, he understood that too. He knew that his own use was limited, that he was a monster with a pretty face, a lure for unfortunate souls. It made the fact that Gale cared for him, wanted him, almost impossible to believe, or at least begging the question why.

His eyes dropped half lidded, and he was all too happy to press a kiss to Gale's neck where he'd bitten, another then another before he eventually drew back. His lips were red with blood, and his tongue flickered out to drag along his lower lip chasing the taste.

His fingers slipped into Gale's hair, teasing through dark strands for no other reason than that he liked the way they felt slipping through his fingers. "Usefulness is it? I won't deny that I do appreciate your willingness to share your blood. But -- and gods I can't believe I'm saying this out loud -- I want you for more than just what you can provide. I want... you, as ridiculous and infuriating as you can be. You're enough, darling. More than enough." Echoes of words spoken to him in those terror filled final moments before he'd shattered.

The words touched into the deepest recesses of the shrine held within his heart. Two candles now on that fragile altar-- and one blown-out, with no hope of ever being re-ignited ever again, and that had been his own hubris and he had accepted that (he still had yet to believe that he may have been in the wrong for reaching for power, but he had been taken advantage before that point had even happened.) but there on the smooth polished stone was a new candle, one newly lit.

The colour glimmering dark crimson underneath the starry sky of Gale's soul.

His eyes slid shut at the soft caress through his hair, the soft rain-like kisses. He soaked up the affection as if he had been thirsting for it his entire life-- just as he had the night before the world-ending lied to him. And then Astarion's words came back him like a dagger to hit him right in the heart and then his eyes burst open and he looked to the other man, taking in the vermillion stained lips and one fang peeking out from those lips from the wry smile-- his own words.

And thus he wrapped his arms around Astarion's waist tightly and he buried his face in that shoulder, and when he spoke-- his words were muffled. "I will not ruin your reputation, it is enough to know that you feel that way." whatever would be a secret merely for the two of them to share.

They were both broken things, for different reasons, but both denied simple affection, gentle touches without condition or malice attached to them. Even broken things could find their matches it seemed, since Astarion could feel an uncharacteristic surge of protectiveness in him as he watched Gale's eyes slip shut. Yes, even if he wasn't good at it, didn't know the first step of how to do it in any sane or usual way, he would take care of this wizard, would see him kept safe and loved as he deserved to be.

The arms around him were still a surprise, and for just a moment Astarion wasn't sure what to do, but that moment lasted little more than a second, two, before he wrapped his arms around Gale in turn, holding him close even as those arms held so securely around him. He could get used to being held, he thought, like this.

"Mm, good. How kind of you to protect my image." He did, after all, work hard at it. He turned his head, leaning his cheek against Gale's hair, not bothering to hide the utter softness on his face. There as no one else there, no one could see how vulnerable, how happy he was in the moment. For someone who had quite literally nothing left to lose for centuries, to suddenly have something so precious, something he wanted to keep, it was frightening.

But worth the fear, he thought.

"I will need the world to know you're mine, however. So no one gets any ideas."

"I can promise you that there are no people lining up; sad though it is-- my prize is my mind and most people mistake it for arrogance and pride in my intelligence. That can be rather off-putting." Gale said with a wry tug of his mouth at the very corner, he knew when to take himself not so seriously just as there were other times where he rather was too serious on himself.

It depended on so many different factors.

Needless to say, he did let out a soft mrrh of contentment as he felt the weight of cheek against the top of his head, while he returned in kind touch up and down that back. To anyone that happened to come downstairs, they would be faced with quite the sight, of two men being broken together. And how nothing could tear this moment away from them, though deep inside Gale thought that there was something and it was that nameless feeling of dread that surrounded this place.

It had already taken Astarion before, he highly doubted it would stop now that it had a taste for the vampire.

"Mm... you're insufferably intellectual, there is that. I find it cute." His voice had slipped back into its usual flippantly sardonic tone, but there was a lightness to it that seemed new, a relief that had somehow shaken something at his foundation and knocked away some of the roughest of his walls.

Astarion's eyes fluttered mostly shut as those fingers ran along his back, ever the cat who had discovered he actually did enjoy attention and affection when he chose to allow it. For Gale, mm, for Gale it would be allowed quite often. He hadn't even considered that Gale's housemates might be around. Gods knew what they'd think stumbling across this scene, but the vampire didn't particularly care. He had no plans on moving, not yet.

He let the silence linger a moment before he murmured, quietly. "It came with a cost, you know. Returning from the dead, I mean. It's gone now. All of it."

Gale managed a smile in response to Astarion's words, and perhaps he caught the gist behind it-- the sweet tenderness which made him want to pull him closer, although he was very careful. Gods, he was still afraid that the vampire would break-- would shatter into a million pieces and with himself powerless to stop it, he would see it whenever he closed his eyes, at least for the foreseeable future.

Although at Astarion's next words, he leaned back but only so that he could look at Astarion, really regard him. A price, well he rather expected that there would be a price to be paid and it utterly killed him, of course it did. And thus, he inquired quietly-- granting Astarion something respectful and certain. "What is gone? I did not expect this not to come without a price, you coming back." his voice then lowered to even more of a whisper.

"What did you pay?"

The vampire looked at Gale for a silent moment. He trusted the other man, with his heart and what was left of his soul, he could allow this bit of vulnerability more. He smiled, but there was no humor in it this time.

"Memory. Well, what was left of it. Admittedly most of it was already little more than blurs and shadows, but I did have least have those dim recollections. But now, there is nothing there, no memory at all of being alive, of who I was before I was, well... this."

He loosed one arm from around Gale enough to gesture in a vague all encompassing wave at himself. This. A Vampire spawn, undead and cold and only recently even allowed the ability of freewill. "Not that this isn't a delight, of course. I remain a gift to the world." He was trying perhaps a bit too hard at the moment to seem like this was fine, that it didn't phase him or bother him at all.

Memories?

That was the price for coming back from the Valley of the Shadows? It was the surrendering of memories, of things that happened before and somehow? This was what he wanted to safeguard. After all Gale had no one who could speak those memories back to him, no Tara.. his mother was not here as well. And Mystra? Well did he really want her repeating memories back to him, he'd feel indebted to her more so than he already was (funny that he should still feel indebted to her, as if she had bought him dinner and then expected things in return.) and, he was not sure that Astarion could tell him back things that he had forgotten.

His brows knit together just as his arms firmed around the vampire tighter, more secure. "You are a gift to the world, but it is worrying that this place would demand our memories for such boons; that you do not remember who you were before Cazador.. that you were a Magistrate in Baldur's Gate."

Of course Gale would attempt to feed those memories back, even though it would not do a speck of good for either involved. "For as memories that you lost, I will endeavor to fill as many new memories within you.. if you would let me. You may have lost a fragment of the past but." oh gods, Gale-- you sweet summer child, you. "You, no we still have a future."

Astarion did not know he needed those arms around him so much until this moment. But gods help him he needed it. He'd told himself it shouldn't matter, to lose that part of himself. That life had ended the night he'd met Cazador, had been buried in the very grave that Astarion had clawed his way out of into the darkness. But it was still his, or it had been, and now it was gone, the only piece of his existence that had not been lived as a monster and a slave to an even greater monster.

He thought perhaps he hated this foolish little cult, for taking that from him, even if they had returned him to life. The vampire was tired of being used as a pawn in the games of other people.

It was Gale's voice that drew his thoughts out of what could have very easily been a terrible spiral. A magistrate. Yes, that sounded right, even if it didn't feel like true recollection. Maybe he could hold onto that detail. It was something, at least.

When the wizard continued speaking though, Astarion nearly came undone. "You're a ridiculous man," he informed him, winding his arms around the wizard's neck and leaning close to rest his forehead against Gale's. "I would like that, to make new memories, with you, to have a future together. I do like the sound of we... how strange."

Gods, Astarion was speaking in Gale's language-- heartbreakingly sweet and romantic, borne of devotion and promise. It was a hope that he was going to tenaciously cling to, also he was going to do everything in his power to feed the other man whatever validation that he required; because he came back to him. No, he did not have memories of who he was before Cazador but now he had a future.

They had a future.

"I am rather ridiculous, Tara would agree with you there." Though he was not sure how Tara and Astarion would get a long. "Though Tara is just ridiculous, can you imagine she has been pestering me to shave my beard?"

Astarion would not be able to put into words just how badly he needed this, the feeling of something solid and stable to hold to while the rest of the world felt like it was shaking to pieces. It was difficult to admit even to himself how much he needed this, needed Gale.

But admitting it or not, it would seem that he had it.

So Astarion relaxed, some of the tension bleeding from the edges of him. One arm unwound from the wizard to settle at his cheek, to brush fingers along that beard. "Don't you dare." The vampire was clearly fond of the look.

The truth of the matter was that he and Tara would likely be constantly at each other when they eventually met, but refrain from murdering one another for Gale's sake.

That would be a bridge that would be crossed when they came to it, if they came to it; he was at the moment uncertain with the way that the Cult and the Elder Gods seemed to be yanking on their proverbial leash, attempting to control them from the inside.

And yet still all he ever wanted or needed was here in his arms.

He pressed a kiss to that forehead. "She has yet to get me to shave my beard off; I think she thinks that I can go back to being the man before the beard, but there are events that change you and it's unlikely that I ever will-- no fear there, Astarion."

A rather wry smile as he took up Astarion's hand and then he placed it right there against his jawline so that the hair could tickle the skin of palm. "Giving you beard burn between your thighs could be my absolute favorite?"

It was certainly possible that this was their life now, that there would be no return to Faerun, no finding their way out of the clutches of this infuriating cult. It was strange, perhaps, that Astarion could not bring himself to care for the moment. He'd died here, had memories ripped away from him as he was torn away from death, and he didn't care. Because Gale's lips were warm against his forehead and those arms were secure around him, and that was enough.

"No rewinding time, hmm? I suppose I can't argue the truth of that. I never knew the man you used to be. The one I do know has his moments though, enough to be worth keeping around. Most of the time."

Teasing, deliberately goading words, but somehow strung through with affection. He let his hand be taken, watching, fingers flexing briefly before resting against that cheek, enjoying the way it felt, the prickly brush of beard against his palm. Then Gale spoke and managed the impressive feat of making the pale elf blush.

Gale's blood was fresh in his veins, after all, the source of the heat that suddenly rose in his cheeks as he pictured just that. "You wicked thing," he scolded, but there was no real chastisement in the words so much as a definite and undisguised interest.

And perhaps Gale was learning how nice it is to actual be wicked; he would never truly be wicked but there was a certain set to his lips, just to veneer the legitimate fear that he had felt, as he got up from the floor and then offered his hand to Astarion.

"Come, let's sneak into my room.. play a little bit at being school boys in love?" he suggested with a roguish smile, which meant of course that once they hit the confines of his room, they would be all over each other; well at least Gale certainly intended to be so.

Once Astarion took his hand, he would lead him up and then at the very least Gale could revel in the fact that Astarion was whole, for the most part.

Astarion would happily play his part to corrupt the good wizard at least a little. He knew who Gale was though, and despite how much he might sigh and fuss about him, he wouldn't actually want to change him. Not really. Well, they could work on the whole penchant towards martyrdom because that was just unhealthy in general. But other than that, for all his flaws and infuriating little habits, Gale was... well, Astarion was glad that Gale was Gale.

Very glad.

Another laugh and a roll of his eyes. "How could I say possibly no to that?" Oh absolutely all over each other. The vampire was fully in agreement on that point. He was alive again -- or well, close enough -- and he would like to make the most of that, to feel as fully alive as he possibly could, and right now that meant climbing Gale like a tree.

He took the offered hand, standing and allowing himself to be led to the wizard's bedroom.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Event: Arrogance is in Everything I Do

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