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Because the other threads are at night...; Hurray for dawn! ...No, not the soap.
Topic Started: Thu Nov 29, 2007 3:30 am (692 Views)
Theron
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A loud crashing of a fruit stand livened up the quiet morning of a humble housing zone near the docks of Taras. Men and armed guards alike ran and called after a fugitive dashing through the streets, dodging pedestrians and animals alike with one arm occupied with a cantaloupe and the other clasping onto an ale for dear life.

Having a glance backward cause Theron to tumble into a fruit cart that had seemingly apeared from thin air. His melon was lost in the blunder as Theron had to clasp the ale with both hands or lose it as well. The cantaloupe splattered on the stones to mimick most of the fruit lost to a very angry vender. Ignoring the swears and curses spouting from the infuriated fruit dealer, Theron bit his lip in indecisiveness. As he got back on his feet, he concluded that with two hands holding his precious cargo, he could have double the chances of escaping with it still intact.

Dashing around a street corner, his face lit up in a smile as he recognized a dark alley he used to make escapes on to avoid conflicts much like this one. He shot down the corridor and slowly made his way deeper and deeper into the darkness, taking advantage of the silence his soft-soled shoes offered him. Assuming he was in far enough, he sat down behind some long lost garbage bins and waited for the footsteps to pass and the shouting to cease.
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Iolanthe Lucine
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With a dagger by her side, and a bottle of rum in her hand, Iolanthe trudged along the city streets. It had been ages since she'd found a birth, and needless to say, she was getting restless. A poor merchant offered her a fine deal on some foreign jewlery, and she ended up offering him some violent events dealing with her beloved dagger that accompanied her side. She was drunk, irritable, and restless. Her blazing green eyes flashed manically until she downed the rest of her rum, which softened her mood quite a bit.

She had soon found herself in an alley, away from the damned noisy people who continuously fought for her money. It was her money, and the only one who was likely to get it was her favorite bartender at her favorite pub. End of story. Though a large crash of cracking wood splintered her eurphoric state of mind. She raised an eyebrow as a man came darting into the alleyway with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. Not too bad on the appeal, really. Anyone who runs into an alley with a bottle of booze has got to be somewhat interesting. He seemed smug, nevertheless, probably ditched the authorities. They were stupid anyways.

"Ahoy, matey." She mumbled as she watched him slide in-between some trash bins. "Having some conflicts with the higher sort?" She chided, as she did a little dance before tossing her empty rum bottle into a trash can. Her webbed black threads danced over her collarbone as she bounced, along with her windswept hair. She then approached the man, coming eye to eye to the sitting man, and cocked her head. "I'm Iolanthe mate, what do ye call yerself?"
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Theron
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Theron was rather suprised at the woman in the alleyway, as he had not seen her on the way in; the mob chasing him had his full attention, and the insident with the fruit cart proved he spared little elsewhere. When she started talking to him, he held out a hand to shush her much to his own regret. She had quite a voice, and any woman as slim as she was mighty fine in his eyes.

The stomping of boots and greaves alike audibly alerted Theron of their passing; additionally, confused shouts soon followed, but were well a ways away and allayed his fears of being ever being found. He immediately apologized for his shushing this woman who had... more alcohol? His eyebrow raised at the bottle.

He eyed the thing in her hands while talking, obviously forgetting what he held in his own, "I do apologize... Iolanthe...? for my abrupt rudeness. You see, I came to liberate this lovely drop of ale..." He leaned even closer to her to whisper, even though it was completely unnecessary, and pointed to the jug, "Which, by the way, would have cost a fortune..." He waved a hand at the word "fortune" to emphasize before he leaned back against the stone wall of the building behind him. "So, being caught was completely out of the question." His clear use of words made it obvious he was sober, and his longing eyes made it even more obvious that he didn't want to be. He popped the cork from the jug and lifted the thing to his lips, taking many delighted gulps before parting with its company with a euphoric sigh. He held it out towards the woman, "Take a swig and see for yer self, Missy." He bobbed it infront of her while introducing himself, "And the name's Theron, Liberator of Everything Not..." He pondered for half a second, his eyes glancing to the right in thought, "...Mine." His eyes returned to her a moment before adding the afterthought: "...Nor yours."
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Iolanthe Lucine
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The gesture thrown in Iolanthe’s way by Theron did not shut her up, she continued to babble, and cared nothing for the situation he was in. She continued to ramble on about how the higher were nothing compared to her. Despite her drunken state, her airy voice never lost its charm. It had something to do with her very great grandmother or something being an elemental. Her mother never ceased to tell Iolanthe about how special she was, and how lucky she was to be apart of such a heritage. Bah, a bunch of old people who reproduced, what else is new? She might be a lowly pirate, but, that didn’t mean that she wasn’t a classy lass. She patted her stomach, and slunk down against the wall near Theron. Her thoughts were wandering quite carelessly, along with her eyes.

A big grin spread across of Iolanthe’s face, and she waved her hand at Theron’s apology. “No need to apologize, I dint listen to ye anyways!” She bursted into a long laughter, and patted her stomach again; her translucent hair bouncing about her face.

"Which, by the way, would have cost a fortune..."

Raising an eyebrow, Iolanthe was interested. She leaned forward, so she could hear Theron’s emphasized words, clearly entertained. Though at his next statement, Iolanthe shook her head. “Nay, being caught is always out of the question.” She winked, and chuckled to herself. She watched him drink the liquid enviously, and as he offered her a swig, she slapped him on the knee and hooted. “Ye ain’t so bad, mate. I always said a man who shared his ale, has ta be someone worth talkin’ to!” She snagged the bottle, and took a swig, giving it back to Theron. She leaned her head against the wall, feeling to cool liquid fall down her throat. “Aye mate, that’s good stuff.”

"And the name's Theron Liberator of Everything Not..." He pondered for half a second, his eyes glancing to the right in thought, "...Mine." His eyes returned to her a moment before adding the afterthought: "...Nor yours."

Iolanthe raised an eyebrow, and shook her head. “No need with fancy titles. A simple scallywag will do!” She bursted into her fluttery laugh and patted Theron’s knee, quite happy with herself and the world around her. Though, she was aware that this happiness would soon fade away into the next morning, bringing a rather disturbed, and disgruntled Iolanthe for the world to have to put up with. Perhaps this Theron would understand. Or just maybe they’d be going through the same dilemma together. She looked at the man, and a grin split across her face. “Aye…” She breathed.
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Zesziel Carrigan
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Painfully agonizing screams in his subconcious woke up the dark-skinned man laying in a bed in an inn in the Docks district of Taras. Bolting upright, he tried to remember the reasons for the screams and who was screaming, but it was lost to him now. All he knew was that something utterly horrific was going on in his subconcious. He figured that it could probably be tied back to his parents.

Sighing, he swung his legs off the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, staring into the mirror that hung on the wall. There were some days when he could not believe his reflection, that fate was playing a cruel trick on him; for although he was an elf, he was no surface elf. He was a Drow. Dark skin, white hair, and most of the time, horribly cruel.

There were not many Drow on the surface. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if he had been able to stay in Llurth Drier. But no, that could never be, and he had to stop thinking about it. He was too much of an abomination to be allowed in either of his homelands.

Yes, he was Drow, but only half-Drow. The other half was Avariel.

"So I am the biggest bloody wanker on the face of the planet," he said to his reflection, "I have the dark skin, white hair and creepy eyes of the Drow and the BIG WINGS of the Avariel! It is no wonder I cannot catch a break!"

After he was done feeling guilty for himself, he finished getting dressed and strapped his katana and lute to his body. Looking himself over one more time in the mirror, he sighed, mussed up his hair and left the room, forgetting his cloak in the closet.

Ten minutes later, he was running for his life down the street of the just-after-dawn Taras. He jumped over vendor's carts, ran around people and tried as hard as he could to not bowl anyone over with his wings. It was incredibly difficult, though.

He twisted through a crowd of confused-looking guards who were obviously looking for someone else, but saw a Drow running and decided to try and block him in.

"Sorry, chaps! No time for a lynch mob today!" he said as he sped down an alleyway, hellbent on staying alive. About halfway down, he saw some garbage cans and dove behind them.

As he lay there, catching his breath, two things happened: the guards, innkeeper, tavern wenches, tavern patrons, the innkeeper's dogs, and some random drunk guy who had no real idea what was going on at the time but thought it would be fun to go for an early morning jog all ran by his hiding spot without noticing him, and the second was that he thought he heard someone introducing himself to a woman with a thick accent. Oh, bollocks. Not more chasing. I cannot take it anymore. He peeked over the cans.

"Hullo?"
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Theron
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“No need to apologize, I dint listen to ye anyways!” She bursted into a long laughter...,

He opened his mouth to say something, but his teeth clicked shut at the thought of her still not listening to him. He shrugged and didn't care. At least she has the jewels to admit something like that, he thought. Besides, she had a gem of a laugh.

“Ye ain’t so bad, mate. I always said a man who shared his ale, has ta be someone worth talkin’ to!”

"Aye, too true." His eyes found her drink and his suddenly felt dry. "Speakin' o' which, mayhaps you wouldn't mind sharin' yours?" He tried on his best grin: a sly, half grin, softening the eyes, but the teeth added a sort of deviousness to it that he never found a way to rid away with.

“No need with fancy titles. A simple scallywag will do!” She bursted into her fluttery laugh and patted Theron’s knee...,

He went to salute his new companion with an 'Aye aye, matey,' but his words were cut short when a dark skinned fellow stuck his head over the trashcan next to him with a questioning greeting. He eyed the man curiously and didn't see anything of interest: no boobs, no booze, and no party. He waved his hands toward the newcommer to shoo him off, "Like I told the last damn hobo, I'm not paying any bloody rent for squatting in an alley to have a drink. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to enjoy some very...," he glanced beside him to Iolanthe, "very enjoyable company." He looked back at the man. "So... good-bye." Theron offered a curt wave, turned back around, took a large swig of ale, and held the bottle out for Iolanthe.
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Iolanthe Lucine
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"Speakin' o' which, mayhaps you wouldn't mind sharin' yours?"

Iolanthe’s joy came to an abrupt halt as she realized her own rum bottle was empty. “Aye, mate, I would. But ye see…” She upturned the glass bottle proving to him the validity of her words. “Drank it dry this morn'in.” She shook her head, still mourning at the emptiness of her bottle. “But…” She raised an eyebrow at her invitation, “would ye like to join me in a tavern of sorts?” She matched Theron with one of her own sly grins, welcoming him with her.

She clinked her bottle on the ground, and rolled her eyes, absolutely disappointed that something as wonderful as booze ended. She did not have some glorious pint that continued to refill itself. Oh, how amazing something like that would be! She could sit on an island, drink her ale, sing some merry songs, and live out the rest of her days in a substance-induced euphoria. What else was there to life? Find something in life that makes you happy, and embrace the hell outta it! Iolanthe continued to laugh at her internal joke. However, the two men beside her were a little left out from this joke.

Though, Iolanthe suddenly took notice to the newcomer and she blinked several times. Wings? Dark skin? “What… Are you supposed to be?” She tilted her head, raised an eyebrow, and let her mouth hang agape. She looked to Theron, and nudged his side. “Ain’t that the funniest lookin’ drow you ever saw in your whole life?” She blinked again, unsure if she was seeing correctly. Her vision was becoming a little blurred.

Iolanthe rose, and approached the young man. He sure did look funny, and that was even after her already confused vision from the alcohol. She’d never seen a drow with wings, let alone a drow standing in front of her, not wanting to kill her. “Yas know, I don'y have any booze left,” she held the sad bottle upside down again; shaking it. “See?” She shook her head with a disappointed moan, “so can’t help ya, savvy?”
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Zesziel Carrigan
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"So... good-bye," was all he needed to hear. A curt dismissal was everything he had hoped would not occur. Even among the jakes of the pre-morning, whinging about their empty bottles, no solace was to be found for him. He turned around and stood up without saying a word.

As he turned his head back to say "Get stuffed, mate," he saw the eyes of the woman with the thick accent widen as she took in his angelic wings and dark skin.

"What... are you supposed to be?" Zesziel wanted to answer with snark, as he had heard this question many, many times before and had just come to terms with the fact that pretty much anyone he ever meets for the rest of his life will ask him again and again.

And when she answered her own question, crouching there with her mouth agape, Zesziel sighed. Turning around, he noticed her standing up and approaching him. He fluttered his wings, preparing to make a getaway in case she tried to jump him. Instead, she spoke so suddenly of booze, and not of the half-Drow's impending burning at a stake, that he jumped back several paces.

"Cor blimey! I en't no jessie, but yeh made me jump just now. Usually you barmy townsfolk are too frit o' me to start a dialogue." Zesziel looked at the empty bottle the pair were holding, showing him their emptiness and sighed. Not because he wanted any, but because he knew that he was not much of a drinker and had just fallen in with some real jakes.

"That is quite alright, Miss. I en't much of a drinker, to be quite 'onest. With my...appearance, one 'as to always keep a level 'ead, lest 'e wind up on the wrong end o' nasty bit o' trouble. I dunno if yeh noticed, but me mum was a Drow. And the wings? Well, me dad was Avariel. Yeh know, the winged elves? But...I can see I en't wanted. Not by 'im, any'ow. If yeh can jes' point me in the direction of--er--anyfing, I s'pose. The docks, may'aps? Mebbe I can sneak aboard a ship and travel th' seas fer a time."
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Theron
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“Drank it dry this morn'in.”

Theron's gaze dropped in mourning the loss of another fine drop, but his spirits quickly gathered themselves back up at the invitation of company AND drink. In fact, he almost kissed her right then and there to declare his love for such a woman. Instead, he went to take her by the elbow and lead the way to his favorite place in the world, but stopped short at her question towards the dark-skinned fellow that apparently hadn't taken the clue that Theron didn't want to be bothered. The corner of his eye twitched ever so subtly with his back to the newcommer.

“Ain’t that the funniest lookin’ drow you ever saw in your whole life?”

Theron turned around, clearly not amused; however, his humor seemingly turned as the genasi tilted his head sideways and his eyebrows furrowed together, a look that often meant 'am I really seeing this, or am I too drunk to care?' Not having a stick in hand, Theron actually poked the Drow with his bottle, but frowned when it started talking. He turned his head briskly to Iolanthe, his hair making a swishing sound like the wind caught in a tight alley, "Now look what ya did! It won' stop talkin'! Let's go 'fore it passes out from lack o' air." With his arm unknowingly around Iolanthe's, Theron started walking whether or not the woman was ready to move.
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Iolanthe Lucine
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Iolanthe just stared at the winged man as he continued to give her the history of the world, that she didn't even notice it when Theron first locked arms with her. But when he finished, she was completely baffled. What had he just said to her, anyways?

She looked over at Theron, who seemed up and ready to go to the tavern. Her wild green eyes flashed with a bit of irritation with the wordy nonsense. Theron scowled her for 'making him talk'. She opened her mouth to speak, but was soon dragged away on Theron's arm. Before she could protest, thoughts of the beloved liquid, in a tavern, and enjoying Theron's company overtook her and she went along after giving the newcomer a little wave. "To the pub, matey!!!" She cried in jubilee.

The two whisked away down the alleyway, venturing towards a good time with alcohol. Her hair flew behind her, the translucent hairs akimbo in every direction; wild and everywhere. Her thoughts then wandered to the old days of sailing, and the many different captains she had served under. Though, none of them really 'told her what to do,' they just 'suggested her desired tasks' as she liked to think of it. She had class, and wasn't going to be ordered around, depite her "lowly" status of "pirate". Oh no, she was Iolanthe Lucine, serving her own cause.
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Zesziel Carrigan
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With blood red eyes wide open, Zesziel stood before the amorous pair, not entirely surprised at the reaction he was receiving. And just before he started to back away, he was poked in the shoulder with a bottle.

"Now look what ya did! It won' stop talkin'! Let's go 'fore it passes out from lack o' air."

Zesziel opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it and stood still, taking the abuse. Knowing what usually came next, he winced slightly. When no physical abuse came, he breathed a sigh of relief and decided maybe he should duck out before the opportunity arose.

As he turned to leave, she gave him a look of confusion and a small wave before cheering "To the pub, matey!!!" and sped off. He did not return the wave, instead merely looked down to the ground and slouched off, down the alleyway, his already sour mood seemingly worsened by the encounter.

"Whate'er. I dun need 'em," he whispered to himself after realizing that neither one of them had even been of any help to him whatsoever. As he trudged, he held out his lute and thought that maybe he should give that a try, so as to earn some gold for passage on a ship to anywhere.

"Although, if they run me off o' the ship, I'd be doing a fair bit o' flyin' before I made my way to land...." He sighed and continued walking through town, head down so as to avoid the stares of the people passing by.
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Theron
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"To the pub, matey!!!"

That was all Theron needed to hear and his ears were deaf to the rest of the world around him. He cheered along with her as he rounded the corner of the building to a main street that lead him right to his favorite place he has found so far on this earth.

The streets were busier than usual for this time of day. If Theron wasn't so overtaken with his current company, he would assume it was from his previous display when he found himself that rather awsome drop. It was a shame he lost the melon though, like so many times before in his life. His subconcious thought that at least this Iolanthe aparently was able to hang onto hers since she was still carrying a pair. This caused his eyes to wander in their direction without his complete understanding, but he wasn't one to complain about such indiscressions.

A very familiar noise awoke his senses as he looked back up in alert. "Ah! Ma'lady, th' best damn tavern in Taras. Well... maybe not, but don't let them hear me say tha'." He led her in through the double-swinging doors to a tavern that was already decently occupied at this time of day. A few of the patrons cheered at Theron's entrance, but he had blatenly ignored them and sat down at the bar with his new friend and ordered them a pair of drinks. "So what brings ya to Taras, ma'dear? Business, I hope?"
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Iolanthe Lucine
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Iolanthe trotted down the busy streets with Theron. Normally she would have been disgusted and annoyed with the bustling people knocking into her.... But not today. Not when she was about to wash all her troubles away in a pub with some new lad. Perhaps he would know someone to find a ship to get off this land and out where she belonged - the big open blue! Her pride and joy! The only place where she felt she truly belonged (besides the pubs, that is).

"Ah! Ma'lady, th' best damn tavern in Taras. Well... maybe not, but don't let them hear me say tha'."

Nodding Iolanthe chuckled. "Aye, well, as long as it ain't dry, I don't give a damn." Grinning, Io elbowed Theron merrily. This was the prime of her youth, and she was going to live every minute of it. Besides, when she wrinkles and curls in her old age, she has to have something to look back on, to tell stories to wandering travelers, or even to the sad youngin's who can't figure out what to do with themselves.

"So what brings ya to Taras, ma'dear? Business, I hope?"

Eagerly awaiting the booze, Iolanthe shrugged at Theron's question. "I s'pose. Rather for the lack of it, really. I've been searchin' for a birth. Can't wait to get off this damn chuck o' land!" She upturned her lip a bit with disgust but soon wiped it off of her face as the bartender returned with their drinks. Iolanthe held up her mug, proposing a toast. "May we drink ourselves to happiness!" She laughed, waiting to clink glasses, yearning to have the cool liquid down her throat as soon as possible.
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Theron
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Theron happily clanked his glass against Iolanthe's and took a few large gulps before slamming it down against the table, almost spilling some. "I hear ya there, m'dear. I've been waiting to set sail since I were a lad. I sit on the docks day after day, waiting for a chance to snag me one o' my own." He raised his hand, which interestingly enough had his drink in it, using it to exaggerate his speech, "I dream of more than this spit of land. I want to make m'self big on the seas; the seas be even bigger than land, I s'pect." He downed more of his drink and his language grew even more shady. "An' one o' these day, I'mma take me one... take me a ship and sail it betwix th' sun." He reached out with his empty hand and grasped at air fiercely.

Setting his half empty mug on the table, he eyed the woman across from him. "What say you, lass... what say you to stea-... liberating one o' them fine vess'ls and sailin' wit' me 'nto riches, hm?" He raised an eyebrow with his mug in anticipation of her response, even if he already knew the answer. Someone as eager as she to sail would die to get off land, and if he actually had a partner this time, maybe he could pull it off. Not the bigger ships yet, but at least one of the smaller sailboats to start with. If he's going to force his way into things, he'll have to take it slow.
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Iolanthe Lucine
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Iolanthe loved the sound as the mugs clanked together. It was a glorious and jubilant sound that peaked a celebration; or, rather, just the escape of a bad mood. The brown liquid entered her mouth, running down her throat. A wide grin was plastered across her face as she brought the glass down from her lips, setting it on the rustic table. She leaned back in the tavern chair, enjoying her good time with Theron. With a yawn, and a sigh, her eyebrow rose slightly as Theron began to speak.

"I hear ya there, m'dear. I've been waiting to set sail since I were a lad. I sit on the docks day after day, waiting for a chance to snag me one o' my own."

Those words sounded so familiar, and relatable. However, he rambled on again, but for once, Iolanthe listened to him speak. She listened all the other times, sure, but she never really absorbed his words. He was just a possible comrade for drunkenness. Because everyone knows being drunk isn’t nearly as fun alone.

"An' one o' these day, I'mma take me one... take me a ship and sail it betwix th' sun."

Iolanthe let out a long, yearning sigh, agreeing with Theron. “Aye… Tha’ll be the day…” A little daydream wafted into her mind, and she grinned wider. Though, soon enough Theron let out a proposal that Iolanthe could not ignore. Her chair clapped down on all its legs and she leaned forward as Theron conjured a plan.

"What say you, lass... what say you to stea-... liberating one o' them fine vess'ls and sailin' wit' me 'nto riches, hm?"

Her eyes became the size of saucers and she jumped up, shooting her mug into the air, and yelled. “I’ll be dead before the sun touches the horizon to not agree to a thing such as that!” She slurped down the rest of her ale, and fell back into her seat, offering another clank of celebration to Theron. “Aye mate…" She mumbled not nearly as loud as before. “I’d be a dead wench before I would turn down an opportunity to sail the blue…” The riches were just an extra bonus.
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