(it's a gang leader's room, and right now, there are two of them breathing the same air. alliances are feeble, not meant to last when territories and egos clash and burn through time - like the most perfect loop of politics. mikey knows this might not hold up forever, and who knows whether it's worth it on the long run, but tonight, he's honoring his part of the deal. just foster masaomi here for a little while, concealed from fleas' and snoopers' eyes who can't fucking stay in their own lane.
they'll get him back. toman's too big, too tight.
once he makes it into his own room, he tosses his flip-flops, not exactly homely as he climbs (literally) his own shelf to grab a dorayaki from his stash, one for him, one for the other. once his feet touch the ground, he tosses it to the other playfully, a smile on his face as he plops onto his own bed.)
You're sleeping on the couch and no fucking funny business with my sister. We cool?
(curse mornings when he wakes up with his head pounding and hissing at the slightest of sounds, or when the smell of alcohol is still overpowering his nostrils... or when the aforementioned noise isn't slight at all, but the sound of baji's snore against mikey's ear.
fuck off, dude. hangovers suck, and while mikey too is in the habit of snoring and sleeptalking, the other boy seems unfazed. he remembers baji came over last night, a pack of spirits in hands, and while mikey's size might not make that much difference for most things, it certainly impacts his tolerance.
maybe he should have passed. snuggling against baji's chest, he sighs loudly and dramatically over the snores, as if it would somehow have them quit from his annoyance alone. when it doesn't happen, his index pokes baji's rib, no strength is spared.)
[Mikey talks a big game, but Baji's always been of the mind that big game has big consequence. You can't just say you can drink half of what he'd brought and not prove it. If Mikey had a hangover the next day? That was his own damn fault, let him blame his pride.
Baji, for his part, held his liquor moderately well even though he wasn't a fan of frequent drinking. And, as Mikey was now getting the VIP preview of, it helped him sleep soundly. Open-mouthed snoring and all.
He could sleep through just about any sound but his alarm. A full-on poke from Mikey, on the other hand?]
Ow-! The fuck-?
[Comes the loud, sleepy mumble, as he'd fidget awake, halfway sitting up, holding his side, hair in his face, already half-growling a perceived threat...
Only to see the 'threat' was an angry blond little kitten stretching its claws.]
The hell, Mikey! I was asleep. What was I doing, air-horning the national anthem??
(with the other sitting up, even slightly, mikey's comfort is now disturbed, and he's forced to leave the other's chest and breathe by his side. there's a glare from the smallest one before his fingers reach for his towel, biting an end and curling another around his digit. thank god it's the weekend.)
(there's a kick to the other's shin, but unlike any other time when mikey's foot meets another, it isn't meant to hurt. it's a kind warning that he'll definitely kick the other out if he does it again, and at the same time, certainty that he won't. his arm snakes around the tall figure, his forehead thumping in the face of his hangover, but it finds a home on the other's chest either way.)
We had fun. I ain't gonna apologize for overdrinking.
[He'd wisely cover up a snort in the fluff of the pillow beneath him, turning his head into it. Wasn't a good idea to laugh at Mikey-- even if he was being real cute with all that fake fussing'...
Reaching up a hand, he'd go to softly ruffle the back of his hair, then smooth it out in a pet.]
Well now comes the shitty part. If you ain't gonna apologize, don't complain too much, neither.
(simply on the grounds of 'can nobody tell me nothing'. he'll probably get drunk again next week, and this whole scene might as well repeat sooner or later. slowly, almost hesitant to move, mikey leaves his position to make baji his new mattress. it's easier to get pets and ensure the other won't go anywhere like this.)
You gonna be a good mama's boy and go home soon or do you wanna stay here with me today?
(for once, manjiro does dishes. the repetitiveness of the motion is somewhat grounding when he feels his mind slipping further, and further, and further. it's an effort to stop being on auto-pilot, pay attention to the texture of the dish his hand runs across under the cold water, the splashes that inevitably hit his shirt.
it's effort, because there is nowhere manjiro would like to be right now. it's a world where baji no longer breathes, no longer snores as loud as an engine, doesn't punch a fucker on the face for daring to cross him, doesn't share his stupid erotic magazines like they kept the secret to the universe printed on those pages.
feels empty to live right now in a world he can't rest against baji's chest and feel it move as they talk about absolutely nothing before drifting to sleep.
the shattering noise that echoes the wooden dojo is as deafening as his inner turmoil, when he sees a short-haired baji walking into the kitchen like he's lived here his entire life. it can't be him, it just can't-- he's gone, but that reasoning pales in volume to the sound of his heart thumping in his ears.
fuck, say something, manjiro.)
Fucker, this is not dojo-hours. Come back later, Gramps is taking a nap.
[...Wow. Who the hell was the kid with the attitude-?
As Baji skulked in, hands in pockets, expression dim, his eyes would catch the golden ghost washing the dishes. He had something of Emma in him and felt so familiar in his tonality, his expression... there was some long-lost quality, some obvious quality to the kid who couldn't get a grip on his washing-up.
But Baji had a mental road block against it. Something that obvious, but that impossible, would still equal out to be impossible, wasn't it?
He didn't know who this mouthy shit was, and he might look like Mikey, but--
But that just soured him. Since he wasn't.]
...You got a mouth on you. I know it's off-hours. I'm here cause it's off-hours.
This is my house. Who said you could? Respect other people's fucking space. Come back when we are open for walk-ins, or I'mma make you leave.
(it's not just baji who's sour from seeing a ghost, not when this ghost sounds like baji, speaks like baji, and walks here like he has grown up between these walls like baji has. adding insult to injury - baji's body is still pristine in his coffin.
[Okay, yeah... so some fuck-up cousin, with the audacity to have no idea who the fuck he was, stepping on Mikey's memory with that face of his, that hair, that posture and bearing like he owned the place...
A glance around hadn't revealed Shinichiro, so he wondered if he was even home right now. He was probably too exhausted to adjust this kid's-- perspective on the matter.
Stepping up, starting to look mildly annoyed but unfazed, he'd raise a brow.]
You'll make me leave? Yeah, okay, nugget. Why don't you do that.
[He'd nod back towards the dojo, the home.]
But this ain't just your house, if it was ever yours anyway. And you should watch yourself before you go telling Shinichiro's friends to fuck off. I'm here to check up on him, fucker. And your shit-for-brains attitude isn't gonna scare me out the door.
[Hitting the floor, of course, cause who the fuck could dodge that?
He was slower than the Baji Mikey had known, too, not that he'd have known it. He didn't keep up as vigilantly with his dojo studies or... any studies, really. He wasn't a first division captain. He wasn't much of anything. He was just going through the motions.
And right now, the motion was wiping his nose on the kitchen floor, where he'd gone down like a stack of bricks. Looking at the slow trickle of blood that he'd smeared into his palm.
And it was as if that fucking monster kick had jerked him to his senses. He hadn't felt that in-- ...not since...]
Mikey-?
[Whispered, before he could hold back, still looking at his palm. He couldn't look right at the guy or that fragile delusion might crack. And that's all it could be, right?
(a part of him is so hopeful, so, so hopeful, while the other tries to smother it not to let any emotion show. the way the other called, the voice, the tone, all so similar, but something's just missing - the passion in baji's eyes is no longer there, he notes -, not that it could be him in the first place.
breathe. rejoice the blood flowing from the other's nose.
(two days. two days of hiding baji here in this room, although the percentage of success is definitely debatable. he's had to fib so many times as to why he was eating in his room, why emma shouldn't come in, and not to mention the times baji heard emma's voice and spoke - totally a movie he was watching, don't worry about it. kenchin hasn't come to wake him up, either, and there's only so long he can hide the boy resting on his bed.
at least the snoring is the same, albeit not so much, he's come to find. his hand slowly caresses baji's cheek, a gentle touch before he smiles from the other's lap, the other hand gently held with fingers intertwined against his chest.
(ten minutes before mikey makes it into his elevator that sanzu reminds him he has a date expecting him once he reaches his penthouse. one of the beauties of owning the building - his own elevator, his own entrance, his own garage, where he doesn't have to worry about the blood dripping from white strands as he walks from a day of work.
this time, it wasn't even business-related. it hadn't been a rival or a traitor who had him soak his clothes with crimson, but instead, someone with a thirst for vengeance, and not even from mikey. it'd been some people kazutora crossed through his years in jail, who had been waiting for the perfect time to jump the man before mikey made his presence known.
this man will never see, never move, and mikey will never feel bad about it. baji might have heard a hubbub, that the boss put someone six feet under, and the body had to be taken care of - but it had never been his job, he's way above that paygrade. baji's job was simple. pull mikey from the fog in his mind when it turns into a loved one, balancing sanzu, and putting the organization into place should a fucker step out of line.
so, it doesn't bother mikey in the slightest when he arrives at home and baji's waiting, his shirt dropping to the floor as he stretches, stains of blood in his fists, chest, face, dripping from his hair.)
If we're going to that soba place you wanted to go, I'm gonna need a few hours.
[...it was a favour, is how he liked to think of it. When Mikey did 'sweeps' like this. He was doing them all a favour. And maybe that's part of why Baji stuck around; though where the fuck else would he be, really?; because that shadow of the boy they'd all once loved was still doing good deeds for his people, but under the guise of skinning the competition. Or burning his enemies. Or plucking their eyes out.
Whatever.
You got desensitized to seeing Mikey covered in blood, is what it came down to, and Baji had long since dropped the idea of 'turning him into a kind person', and had unclenched about Mikey retaining more of who he was. That shit was currently impossible, so drink the kool aid and get on board until you find a way to make the impossible possible, was his POV. In the meanwhile? Mitigate.
The boy he loved had become the man he loved, so you learned to ignore the blood beneath the finger nails and bite your enemies when you needed to.
So when Mikey drops some punks who would have hounded their prison-free, doe-eyed, PTSD-soaked Kazutora? No great loss to humanity, one great favour to Tora; who Baji still loved too. Pick your teeth, say good riddance, and raise a brow when the elevator dings open.
Baji would be in his living room, dressed well; they all dressed relatively well now, and Baji had never lost his love for dark clothes, too much jewelry, and the exact unflinching aseptic of a 90s Goth Metal Band Groupie; his button-up buttoned-down, lags crossed, hair tied back. He'd give Mikey a cursory once over, and then shrug.]
We could bring the yakiniku to us... and I could help you wash that crap out of your hair. I ain't waitin' a few hours while you to play with your bath toys.
... But you look nice. If we bring it to us, then it's for my eyes only. Isn't that selfish?
(as if he would ever complain about that. even as an adult, even as his heart froze, toughened and crumbled a gazillion times, some habits still remain. his possessiveness, immature and full of puffed cheeks and crossed arms, or the fact that, even when he's fucking up their carpet (again) with blood stains, he is completely aloof to it, sticking his hand into his taiyaki stash.
with the fish hanging between teeth, he drops on the couch, undoing the shoelaces as his hamster teeth busy themselves with munching. a miracle of skill is the fact he can speak with his mouth full and HOLDING THE FUCKING CANDY BETWEEN HIS TEETH.)
It ain't crap. It's just blood. You ain't gotta help, it's gon' fuck up your clothes.
[Maybe leather cleaned easy. He wouldn't know. Mikey had lackeys for that sort of shit.
Tilting his head, watching him spill crumbs of cake and crumbs of dried blood like a god damn post-apocalyptic confetti parade, he'd snort.]
Oh, you prefer I show off for a crowd, eh? That's a first.
[Because they all knew Mikey was the Queen of not-kicking-in-the-teeth-of-anyone-who-touched-his-stuff. Baji barely contained an eyeroll, before reaching out; jangled of silver bracelets; to prod his nose.]
The couch ain't gonna bitch at me. Besides, then you can't sleep on it.
(mikey... felt lonely, but that doesn't need to be said. it's whispered in the ways he clings to baji when he's over, starfishing him as if they've never grown older, or how he finds solace on sanzu's chest when meetings end and he needs a nap. he's always needed it, physical contact, attention, and this was a way of saying - sleep next to me instead.
ah, all that's missing are the pants, now that his feet are free, but he'll deal with that later, when he showers. he'd attempt to bite the finger, if his teeth weren't capybara-busy.)
Of course not. He didn't see me.
(because he isn't supposed to. none of them are. he's got people to watch, protect, and all he does is receive intel nowadays. hardly ever does he come any near.)
(he had a quitty comeback, but he's forgotten once he reached for his cigarette pack for a stick. it doesn't bother him that he's sticky - he's been through this over and over and over. it's fine.
once he exhales, the words come out amidst the smoke.)
... I know. He can't find us, though. He's worked too damn hard for me to just pull him into this. It ain't fair. It's-- It's Takemitchy. I think he's back and completely ignoring what I told him.
(a sigh, before he decides to be a dick. much like a dog would, he shakes, blood spills now painting the couch and, well, baji.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for emma - bonten mikey/baji
for wind
masaomi (tokyo rev vs durarara!!! au)
they'll get him back. toman's too big, too tight.
once he makes it into his own room, he tosses his flip-flops, not exactly homely as he climbs (literally) his own shelf to grab a dorayaki from his stash, one for him, one for the other. once his feet touch the ground, he tosses it to the other playfully, a smile on his face as he plops onto his own bed.)
You're sleeping on the couch and no fucking funny business with my sister. We cool?
for mads
fuck off, dude. hangovers suck, and while mikey too is in the habit of snoring and sleeptalking, the other boy seems unfazed. he remembers baji came over last night, a pack of spirits in hands, and while mikey's size might not make that much difference for most things, it certainly impacts his tolerance.
maybe he should have passed. snuggling against baji's chest, he sighs loudly and dramatically over the snores, as if it would somehow have them quit from his annoyance alone. when it doesn't happen, his index pokes baji's rib, no strength is spared.)
You snore too loud!! Shut up!!
(needless to say, his hair is a mess.)
no subject
Baji, for his part, held his liquor moderately well even though he wasn't a fan of frequent drinking. And, as Mikey was now getting the VIP preview of, it helped him sleep soundly. Open-mouthed snoring and all.
He could sleep through just about any sound but his alarm. A full-on poke from Mikey, on the other hand?]
Ow-! The fuck-?
[Comes the loud, sleepy mumble, as he'd fidget awake, halfway sitting up, holding his side, hair in his face, already half-growling a perceived threat...
Only to see the 'threat' was an angry blond little kitten stretching its claws.]
The hell, Mikey! I was asleep. What was I doing, air-horning the national anthem??
no subject
(with the other sitting up, even slightly, mikey's comfort is now disturbed, and he's forced to leave the other's chest and breathe by his side. there's a glare from the smallest one before his fingers reach for his towel, biting an end and curling another around his digit. thank god it's the weekend.)
I think I'm dying.
Back from the dead
[Grunted, shifting to roll and face him, then picking up a lazy hand to aim a flick dead center of his forehead.]
That happens when you drink too much.
[He'd like to give less of a shit, but there's empathy swaddled up in that gruff tone of his. There always was, for Mikey.]
no subject
(there's a kick to the other's shin, but unlike any other time when mikey's foot meets another, it isn't meant to hurt. it's a kind warning that he'll definitely kick the other out if he does it again, and at the same time, certainty that he won't. his arm snakes around the tall figure, his forehead thumping in the face of his hangover, but it finds a home on the other's chest either way.)
We had fun. I ain't gonna apologize for overdrinking.
(a squeeze. a kiss. love.)
no subject
Reaching up a hand, he'd go to softly ruffle the back of his hair, then smooth it out in a pet.]
Well now comes the shitty part. If you ain't gonna apologize, don't complain too much, neither.
no subject
(simply on the grounds of 'can nobody tell me nothing'. he'll probably get drunk again next week, and this whole scene might as well repeat sooner or later. slowly, almost hesitant to move, mikey leaves his position to make baji his new mattress. it's easier to get pets and ensure the other won't go anywhere like this.)
You gonna be a good mama's boy and go home soon or do you wanna stay here with me today?
(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
it's effort, because there is nowhere manjiro would like to be right now. it's a world where baji no longer breathes, no longer snores as loud as an engine, doesn't punch a fucker on the face for daring to cross him, doesn't share his stupid erotic magazines like they kept the secret to the universe printed on those pages.
feels empty to live right now in a world he can't rest against baji's chest and feel it move as they talk about absolutely nothing before drifting to sleep.
the shattering noise that echoes the wooden dojo is as deafening as his inner turmoil, when he sees a short-haired baji walking into the kitchen like he's lived here his entire life. it can't be him, it just can't-- he's gone, but that reasoning pales in volume to the sound of his heart thumping in his ears.
fuck, say something, manjiro.)
Fucker, this is not dojo-hours. Come back later, Gramps is taking a nap.
no subject
As Baji skulked in, hands in pockets, expression dim, his eyes would catch the golden ghost washing the dishes. He had something of Emma in him and felt so familiar in his tonality, his expression... there was some long-lost quality, some obvious quality to the kid who couldn't get a grip on his washing-up.
But Baji had a mental road block against it. Something that obvious, but that impossible, would still equal out to be impossible, wasn't it?
He didn't know who this mouthy shit was, and he might look like Mikey, but--
But that just soured him. Since he wasn't.]
...You got a mouth on you. I know it's off-hours. I'm here cause it's off-hours.
no subject
(it's not just baji who's sour from seeing a ghost, not when this ghost sounds like baji, speaks like baji, and walks here like he has grown up between these walls like baji has. adding insult to injury - baji's body is still pristine in his coffin.
and then there's this fucker.)
no subject
A glance around hadn't revealed Shinichiro, so he wondered if he was even home right now. He was probably too exhausted to adjust this kid's-- perspective on the matter.
Stepping up, starting to look mildly annoyed but unfazed, he'd raise a brow.]
You'll make me leave? Yeah, okay, nugget. Why don't you do that.
[He'd nod back towards the dojo, the home.]
But this ain't just your house, if it was ever yours anyway. And you should watch yourself before you go telling Shinichiro's friends to fuck off. I'm here to check up on him, fucker. And your shit-for-brains attitude isn't gonna scare me out the door.
no subject
(calmly, whatever he was holding is set back to the sink, his hands jerked to rid of excess water...
before he turns around, and with no warning, his foot meets the baji spectrum of a boy - the fucking audacity, the insolence.
wearing that face and daring to speak to him like that, under his own roof? he hopes he broke something with the boy's fall.)
My brother is dead.
no subject
He was slower than the Baji Mikey had known, too, not that he'd have known it. He didn't keep up as vigilantly with his dojo studies or... any studies, really. He wasn't a first division captain. He wasn't much of anything. He was just going through the motions.
And right now, the motion was wiping his nose on the kitchen floor, where he'd gone down like a stack of bricks. Looking at the slow trickle of blood that he'd smeared into his palm.
And it was as if that fucking monster kick had jerked him to his senses. He hadn't felt that in-- ...not since...]
Mikey-?
[Whispered, before he could hold back, still looking at his palm. He couldn't look right at the guy or that fragile delusion might crack. And that's all it could be, right?
A dream, or a hallucination, or a mistake...
A fucking cruel one, at that.]
no subject
(a part of him is so hopeful, so, so hopeful, while the other tries to smother it not to let any emotion show. the way the other called, the voice, the tone, all so similar, but something's just missing - the passion in baji's eyes is no longer there, he notes -, not that it could be him in the first place.
breathe. rejoice the blood flowing from the other's nose.
he earned it. it can't be baji.)
(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
at least the snoring is the same, albeit not so much, he's come to find. his hand slowly caresses baji's cheek, a gentle touch before he smiles from the other's lap, the other hand gently held with fingers intertwined against his chest.
well, he's got to ask.)
Hey, Baji. Can I kiss you?
no subject
this time, it wasn't even business-related. it hadn't been a rival or a traitor who had him soak his clothes with crimson, but instead, someone with a thirst for vengeance, and not even from mikey. it'd been some people kazutora crossed through his years in jail, who had been waiting for the perfect time to jump the man before mikey made his presence known.
this man will never see, never move, and mikey will never feel bad about it. baji might have heard a hubbub, that the boss put someone six feet under, and the body had to be taken care of - but it had never been his job, he's way above that paygrade. baji's job was simple. pull mikey from the fog in his mind when it turns into a loved one, balancing sanzu, and putting the organization into place should a fucker step out of line.
so, it doesn't bother mikey in the slightest when he arrives at home and baji's waiting, his shirt dropping to the floor as he stretches, stains of blood in his fists, chest, face, dripping from his hair.)
If we're going to that soba place you wanted to go, I'm gonna need a few hours.
no subject
Whatever.
You got desensitized to seeing Mikey covered in blood, is what it came down to, and Baji had long since dropped the idea of 'turning him into a kind person', and had unclenched about Mikey retaining more of who he was. That shit was currently impossible, so drink the kool aid and get on board until you find a way to make the impossible possible, was his POV. In the meanwhile? Mitigate.
The boy he loved had become the man he loved, so you learned to ignore the blood beneath the finger nails and bite your enemies when you needed to.
So when Mikey drops some punks who would have hounded their prison-free, doe-eyed, PTSD-soaked Kazutora? No great loss to humanity, one great favour to Tora; who Baji still loved too. Pick your teeth, say good riddance, and raise a brow when the elevator dings open.
Baji would be in his living room, dressed well; they all dressed relatively well now, and Baji had never lost his love for dark clothes, too much jewelry, and the exact unflinching aseptic of a 90s Goth Metal Band Groupie; his button-up buttoned-down, lags crossed, hair tied back. He'd give Mikey a cursory once over, and then shrug.]
We could bring the yakiniku to us... and I could help you wash that crap out of your hair. I ain't waitin' a few hours while you to play with your bath toys.
no subject
(as if he would ever complain about that. even as an adult, even as his heart froze, toughened and crumbled a gazillion times, some habits still remain. his possessiveness, immature and full of puffed cheeks and crossed arms, or the fact that, even when he's fucking up their carpet (again) with blood stains, he is completely aloof to it, sticking his hand into his taiyaki stash.
with the fish hanging between teeth, he drops on the couch, undoing the shoelaces as his hamster teeth busy themselves with munching. a miracle of skill is the fact he can speak with his mouth full and HOLDING THE FUCKING CANDY BETWEEN HIS TEETH.)
It ain't crap. It's just blood. You ain't gotta help, it's gon' fuck up your clothes.
no subject
[Maybe leather cleaned easy. He wouldn't know. Mikey had lackeys for that sort of shit.
Tilting his head, watching him spill crumbs of cake and crumbs of dried blood like a god damn post-apocalyptic confetti parade, he'd snort.]
Oh, you prefer I show off for a crowd, eh? That's a first.
[Because they all knew Mikey was the Queen of not-kicking-in-the-teeth-of-anyone-who-touched-his-stuff. Baji barely contained an eyeroll, before reaching out; jangled of silver bracelets; to prod his nose.]
...Tora didn't notice anything?
no subject
(mikey... felt lonely, but that doesn't need to be said. it's whispered in the ways he clings to baji when he's over, starfishing him as if they've never grown older, or how he finds solace on sanzu's chest when meetings end and he needs a nap. he's always needed it, physical contact, attention, and this was a way of saying - sleep next to me instead.
ah, all that's missing are the pants, now that his feet are free, but he'll deal with that later, when he showers. he'd attempt to bite the finger, if his teeth weren't capybara-busy.)
Of course not. He didn't see me.
(because he isn't supposed to. none of them are. he's got people to watch, protect, and all he does is receive intel nowadays. hardly ever does he come any near.)
no subject
The couch was pretty comfy though, no lie.]
Who says we couldn't both sleep on it if you stopped shedding red?
[Rescinding his finger, and nodding a little aimlessly.]
Yeah... but you know he's been tryin' catch up to us.
[Bad idea. Tora had gotten out. He was safer this way-- happier. Healthier. They both knew it.]
You reek, by the way.
no subject
once he exhales, the words come out amidst the smoke.)
... I know. He can't find us, though. He's worked too damn hard for me to just pull him into this. It ain't fair. It's-- It's Takemitchy. I think he's back and completely ignoring what I told him.
(a sigh, before he decides to be a dick. much like a dog would, he shakes, blood spills now painting the couch and, well, baji.)
Now you do too.
(the little shit smile. it's still there.)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)