citylogs | [ OPEN ] want to be free

Entry tags:

[ OPEN ] want to be free

WHO: Kim Kitsuragi (

aceslow) & YOU
WHAT: Various July activities -- both for the event (happy to receive items/memories too!) and for every day activities.
WHERE: Throughout the City; bank, shopping centres, parks, etc.
WHEN: Through til the end of July.
WARNINGS: Probable discussions regarding racism, loss, and the diaspora.

[ EVENT ] a. in the vault.

[ The deserted bank is an eerie place as it is. On a Lieutenant's salary, Kim barely has enough money to put in the bank as it is, let alone frequent one as extravagantly wealthy as this one; the minute he steps foot in it with his grubby boots and worn - though well-maintained - jacket, he feels immediately out of place, a sense of unease dogging his steps. His footsteps are loud in the echo chamber that is the grand hall. Eventually, he makes his way back to where the keys are, name after name etched on the side of the keychain. It's a trap if he's ever seen one. He hesitates, hand hovering just over the keys, brow furrowed. ]

This is almost certainly a trap.

[ Then, decisively, he yanks it off the wall, then glances behind him towards whoever his companion may be. ]

But it's the best lead we've got. You coming?

[ OOC NOTE: The item I've chosen concerns racism & the diaspora, please only respond to this prompt if those are subjects you're comfortable with! ]

[ EVENT ] b. out and about.

[ After the whole messy incident with the vault, Kim's taken to keeping the toy plane with him, burning a hole in his pocket. In all honesty, it's not something that brings him any solace, any comfort; if anything he feels desperately uncomfortable about it. But after everything, it feels almost sacriligious to leave it in the apartment he's hunkered down in, unguarded, unprotected, the sole personal possession next to the rest of the nondescript apartment. It feels equally as wrong to leave it in the bank where he had found it, as though abandoning it again means --

God, he doesn't know. He's not one for analyzing his own thoughts and feelings. Straight ahead, down his narrow, narrow path. That's how he's always been, how he'll always be. So he puts it firmly out of mind for the time being as he goes along his daily business, pacing about the city, investigating every nook and cranny with a fine tooth comb, and largely trying to keep himself busy, whether that's in the park, in a store, or even roaming once more through City Hall. Whatever public place you can think of, he's there. ]

[ OOC NOTE: We can wrap the event into any of the other prompts as well, but this one is intended for sharing of objects/memories! Please feel free to have your character share theirs first (or have only them share it, without that reciprocation) if you like; I never mind a backstory dump. :) ]

c. daily life (shopping / exercising / a midnight smoke).

[ With little else at his disposal other than the grim dawning realization that if he truly has to start making a functional life for himself here, Kim can be seen during daily life in the City taking what he needs.

Perhaps you find him in the supermarket or convenience store, the handle of his shopping basket nestled in the crook of his shoulder as he stares at the shelves with a light frown on his face, combing the shelves for this and that: salt, cabbage, meat and onions rank chiefly among his purchases, but it looks like he's working his way towards a very bland meal -- that, and he seems to be pretty concerned about getting really badly injured, if the amount of painkillers, bandages, and other first-aid goods are of any indication.

Or perhaps you find him in the park, jogging around its perimeter again, and again, and again, and again... he'll periodically stop, huffing and puffing more than he'd care to fess up to. There's nothing better to do around here, after all, and he feels a certain compulsion to remain in shape (though all embarassing stretches take place in the privacy of his own bedroom; an old man he may be to some here, but he's not old enough to start congregating in the park with the other seniors) to face whatever dangers he's convinced have yet to come. If you catch his eye, he'll nod in greeting with a small smile, wiping the sweat off his brow, suddenly self-conscious. ] Afternoon. Pity there's no gym in this place.

[ Or maybe you're another night owl, coming across Kim leaning against a wall, silhouetted by the street lamps above, staring contemplatively off into the distance as he lights a cigarette. Before he takes a single drag, he takes a deep breath, as though even contemplating his cigarette brings some measure of serenity to his soul. He takes that first drag like an addict does; savouring it, hoping it never comes to an end. But as he blows out a large plume of smoke, he'll look your way, nodding in greeting. If you're clearly of age and look interested, he'll extend the cigarette carton in your direction, asking, ] Want one?

d. weapon creation.

[ It's been long enough that Kim has gathered the fact that all of their weapons have been forcibly taken from them, right down to the blade attachment in his poor multi-tool. With just one glimpse of Kim, it's easy to see that he's not a man who's used to getting into physical altercations all-too often, preferring to rely on the security of his firearm, but it's not as though he can make a gun.

Besides, this isn't purely for self defense. Rather, it's an experiment: if weapons are so highly prohibited, then is the creation of them also prohibited? Will he wake cuffed like that fellow on the network behind him? It's a small punishment, as punishments go, so Kim decides to risk it, heading to park as the sun begins to wane, long shadows cast over the entire area. After gathering some of the natural resources around the park, as well as a few helpful items lifted from shops here and there, he sits cross-legged on the grass and gets to work, beginning by taking some kitchen utensils and industriously hacking away at a particularly sturdy branch to attempt to make a fine point.

From his grumbling, it's not going particularly well. He could really use a hand. ]

Ugh. I could really use my damn knife right about now.

e. wildcard!

[ Wildcard! Feel free to make up your own prompt - Kim can be found out and about the City at large - and I'm happy to roll with it! Feel free to brainstorm with me on my plotting post or hit me up on plurk! I'd be happy to write custom starters as well. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Unfortunately. And something they shouldn't have been able to get their hands on, even if they had access to my world.

[ Normally he wouldn't be quite so forthcoming -- but to keep it hidden is to place more importance on the item than there really is. And there's something compelling about sharing it, though he can't think of why. It's fine, he decides, as long as he keeps it to the basics.

A little toy means nothing. Every kid out there had one or two. Just a piece of plastic. With that in mind, he removes a small toy plane from his front pocket. He remembers how big it used to feel, how comforting it was to hold it in his hands, but now it feels terribly small. Like it should have remained in his memories, not live in the present as this small, cheap bit of plastic. ]

A childhood toy. Nothing special. [ It's blue and white, with characters on it that look as though it should be from Asia -- but it's not, quite. The characters bear a resemblance to Earth's east-asian characters, but everything about it is just wrong. ]

And yourself?

[Shinjiro had hoped, perhaps vainly, that Kitsuragi would want to talk more about his own item before asking about Shinjiro's, and that he could possibly drag it out long enough that he could find some excuse to leave before they got that far. Now that the question has been posed, however, he stares at the older man like a deer in the headlights, because there is simply no way of explaining what he found that isn't either deeply alarming or so deeply disingenuous it might as well be lying to the man's face.]

Uh.

[...He genuinely considers lying, frankly. Considers fishing up his own story about a childhood toy -- the doll he stole for Miki, perhaps -- and claiming that he'd abandoned it in the vault because he didn't have any use for it, or something, but for some reason he can't quite get there. He keeps running his thumb along the hard plastic, the childproof cap that's just vaguely insulting now that he thinks of it, and there's a strange self-destructive part of him that thinks maybe he should just go ahead and tell Kitsuragi everything, the whole sordid affair from start to finish so that the man knows he's a lost cause and doesn't bother with him anymore.

Most of the rest of him thinks that's absurd, and unreasonable, when Kitsuragi only told him two words about his own.

(Another part, soundly unacknowledged, thinks it would hate to earn the man's censure)

Hands free of their apple'd burden, he shoves them back in his pockets out of habit, the tendency to withdraw physically in moments of stress hitting him full force.]

...A reminder of a lot of bullshit that should've been done with when I died. It's a long story.

[He resists the urge to take the bottle out of his pocket, for now. He'd much rather talk about the plane, honestly.]

What language is that in, anyway? Those ain't kanji, right?

[They look like they ought to be familiar, but they're...off? It's a weird feeling.]

...all right.

[ It's Kim's way, as Aragaki has probably cottoned onto by now, as Aragaki comes to Kim for. He doesn't ask questions, but will accept information as it's given to him. Sometimes people take his unwillingness to pry as unwillingness to listen which, while sometimes correct, isn't the entire picture. Likewise, Kim won't share anything about himself just because. But if someone asks...

It depends on who's doing the asking. But more often than people think, he's willing to share. In any case, he understands Aragaki's reticence and will respect it as he does his own. ]

These characters? [ Kim tilts the plane to the side, the fluorescent lights bouncing off of the cheap plastic. ] This is in Seolite. It's an isola where I am from -- at least half of my ancestors came from there.

[ He doesn't look white in the least. But he'll never relinquish that half. ]

Don't ask me what it says. I can't read it. If whoever gave it to me explained what it is, I've forgotten by now.

[ Both the words and who it's from. His mother? His father? Grandfather? Grandmother? God only knows if either of his parents could even read Seolite, or if they were just as divorced from their ancestors as Kim is. He doesn't know. He never will. ]

[It's comforting, the way Kitsuragi lets it go at a word. No lecture about speaking so callously about his death, no reassuring platitudes, no chiding reminder that he's alive now and he ought to embrace it. Simple acceptance, judgment free, that he doesn't want to talk about it. Who knew it could be so easy.

He's surprised enough that he almost misses when the older man starts actually answering his own question, and of course, immediately it's a strange answer. Seolite? Isola? These terms are unknown to him, and he has a feeling this isn't like those times when he doesn't know something because he didn't pay attention in school.]

...Huh. More weird shit in this place, I guess. It sounds like you're talkin' in Japanese, and this one guy was from a world where "Higashinese" was basically the same thing? But you ain't speakin' Seolite at all, either, are you.

Edited 2023-08-17 11:19 (UTC)

No. I'm not. I don't speak a word of Seolite. At least, no more than your average Revacholiere.

[ He knows a few words for foods that are seldom translated from the mom and pop shops scattered around. Even those, Kim tends not to visit too often, or points at the menu rather than attempt at correct pronunciation; enough times of the old women behind the counters jabbering away at him in a language he has no right to has scared him off of them almost entirely. The only thing worse than the feeling of being other in the world he grew up in is someone expecting him to be part of a group he's not. ]

I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Revacholiere, despite my appearance. My grandparents likely spoke Seolite, but I never met them, so it's none of my business. People around here seem to think the closest analogue is a place named France, but being that I'm not from your version of reality... [ Kim shrugs. ] I couldn't say.

Yeah, we have France. Never been, though. Or really--anywhere, outside Japan.

[He shrugs a shoulder idly, thinking more on the rest. What would it be like to be Japanese and not speak it? It seems like a lonely feeling. At least in the orphanage, he had only been one face among a sea of indistinguishable unfortuate souls. Shinjiro's always preferred to not be a nail that sticks up; before it all went to hell, he'd never held any particular ambitions for himself to begin with, never felt Akihiko's driving need to distinguish himself.

A moment of silent discomfort passes. If Kitsuragi is anything like he is, he would hate to receive anything like sympathy for his circumstances, in the absence of anything like true understanding. But he can still offer something, some information about himself where he'd clammed up earlier.]

Never met my grandparents, either. Always kind of assumed they'd long kicked it before my parents.

[...]

I dunno that we're missin' out, really. We can make our own cookies, yeah?

[Look at that, it's practically an entire joke to lighten the mood. Who is he.]

Edited 2023-08-21 20:19 (UTC)

[ Kim lets out a quiet snort. ] I can buy my own cookies, you mean. You don't want me baking for you. I've tried. It's a mess.

[ He's not great in the kitchen in general -- he's good enough at cooking to feed himself, sure enough, but nobody would ever be thrilled by what he can rustle up. He errs on the side of sustenance, not enjoyment. Baking? Not a chance.

It is not, however, an enormous surprise that Aragaki is an orphan. He would be just as surprised to hear that the kid had parents, just a couple of rotten ones. Life's not easy, though, and Aragaki has made it clear that he's used to being self-sufficient in a way so many Revacholiere youth are. It's that shared experience that has him ask, with perhaps less tact than usual: ] Your parents -- did they pass when you were young?

Heh. Fair enough.

[He debates for a moment, considering where exactly they've run into each other, and adds, casually:]

Ain't that hard, though. Just needs practice, like anything else.

[He's not offering, exactly. But, you know, if Kim ever wanted to practice. There's maybe a chance someone would do it with him. Anyway, onto the much less embarrassing depressing topic!]

...But yeah. Think I woulda been...four, when I went to the orphanage? Somethin' like that.

[ There's his answer right there. Kim nods understandingly. ] Probably still young enough to barely remember them, I imagine. In many ways that can make things easier. Can't miss what you've never had.

[ Though at least it seems that Shinji learned how to cook - and bake - for himself. That's not nothing. Certainly more than Kim has ever mustered for himself. Either Aragaki had a better orphanage than he did or, more realistically, he was just more motivated than Kim ever was. Belatedly realizing that his tone had taken something as traumatic as parental loss more in stride than perhaps he ought to, he volunteers, ] I was two when I was taken to one myself. [ He offers Aragaki a crooked smile, unburdened by sorrow; he may wonder what may have been, but he has nothing to miss either. ] So I don't remember a damn thing. Just this toy.

[ He slips it back into his pocket. ] It's why I never learned the language. I'm sure I barely had a handle on one language at the time, let alone two. [ He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. ] A common enough story, I think.

Pretty much.

[He has a few fuzzy, half-remembered images and sensations in the back of his mind -- riding on shoulders at some event or other, maybe a festival, being rocked to sleep in the quiet of night, but he's long since lost their faces and voices, let alone their names. The orphanage is what he remembers of childhood, and the closest thing to family he'd had was Aki and his sister.

But something about his story strikes a chord with Shinjiro, common and unremarkable as the other man might present it. He hadn't had any connection to his parents to hold onto -- hadn't had anything, really, and he'd never gone looking for one, either. He'd had Aki, and that had been enough. But the lack of pain in Kitsuragi's tone when he mentions the toy is genuine, the same as his own about his parents. It was really just a toy, not some kind of final tether to be cherished.]

You weren't ever curious? ...Dumb question, I guess. Not like I was, either.

[Would he have been, though, if he were a foreigner's child, or born somewhere else? He wonders.]

But it might've been different for me. I dunno.

Edited 2023-08-30 20:20 (UTC)

Of course I was curious. It's only natural. You're told a thing here and there, and you try to fill in the gaps yourself.

[ Kim had, when he was young, filled in the gaps with all sorts of fanciful things. His father, a dashing pilot, his mother, a thrilling revolutionary, fighting for what's right, for a country that didn't even accept them as their own, people who must have cherished him deeply. When he was young, he thought he perhaps remembered his mother's voice -- don't look!, just as she was executed, a last plea of love.

And then as he grew older, he found the same thing in a young adult adventure book. A nice story, taken as his own. The rest of the blanks he had managed to fill in were just as disappointing. A father whose politics had been ambitiously for empowering the common man while being petty and cruel in his personal life, too much of a taste for drink, a mother who had stayed by his side regardless, the two of them insistent on fighting a war that had already been lost, who lost their lives for a concept instead of deciding to stick around for their son. He hadn't been dumped at the orphanage like some of the other kids, but he may as well have been.

He casts his glance to the side, picking a can from off the shelf and dispensing it into his basket. ]

But I went looking for answers and found my fill. I'm too old to keep dwelling on it now. Older than they were when they died, certainly. [ If Aragaki dwells on it too, he's certain that will fade with time as well. There is the tricky question as to whether or not he's still properly alive, but whether this is another world or some afterlife, they are certainly alive here. There will be time to move on and move past it. ]

What do you mean, different for you?

[He hesitates a little, because even though they're talking about an experience they've shared to some extent, he still feels a bit like he's crossing a line somehow, going more personal than they have until now. That was likely the point of the vaults in the first place, but the unease lingers all the same.]

I mean...I didn't exactly have anything to look into, like a language or anything like that. I was just...y'know, one more mouth to feed in a sea of 'em.

[He was more or less interchangeable with his peers, is what he means. It's perhaps the first time he's really thought about it; he's never considered himself anything more than gutter trash, unlikely to amount to anything even before the Dark Hour and his Persona blew up his life -- but that's just it, isn't it? He's never had any real occasion to think about who he is or where he came from.]

I never really even met many people who weren't Japanese until I came here, let alone the orphanage.

Edited 2023-09-01 00:30 (UTC)

Ah. I see what you mean now.

[ It's a sore subject. And one that typically has Kim get his hackles up, immediately going on the defensive and denying any impact it has had on him, mentally filing others away as someone who may or may not be someone he wants around him, considering. But in Shinji's mouth, someone who at least appears Seolite like him, with no racist preconceptions, someone who has the shared experience of growing up adrift from any traditional family structure, it's so clearly meant out of curiosity's sake alone. A rare showing of curiosity, at that.

It still makes him a little uncomfortable. But that's no fault of Aragaki's; Kim is frequently uncomfortable thinking about it in only his own company. ]

I know enough about my parents' origins that I didn't have to leave their journey to Revachol to my imagination. They were Revacholiere, born and raised -- both were only half Seolite, as am I. Even if they had survived, I don't know that I would feel any greater connection to Seol than I do now.

[ He doubts it. ]

Even if they weren't necessarily seen as such, they lived like Revacholieres, and they certainly died like Revacholieres.

[ Executed, like so many others. Shot against the wall, corpses tossed into the mass grave of communards and royalists, both seen as equally untenable as citizens by the MoralIntern. Was that the last thing they saw? A blue forget-me-not, a piece of the sky...

He clears his throat. ]

Besides, looking into it wouldn't have done me any good. Revachol is as racist as any other place, [ he says bluntly. ] Anything done to further separate myself from the others wouldn't have ended well. It's why I was so surprised to see that little toy -- I threw it out when I was still very young. God only knows how they managed to get their hands on it.

[Shinjiro's understanding of racism goes about as deep as one might expect from an eighteen-year-old orphaned high school dropout who's never really had occasion to face it even personally, much less on any systemic level. But he's not an idiot; the implication becomes pretty clear when Kim explains that he threw it out a long time ago. Shinjiro had assumed that it went about as deep as being a token of parents he didn't really remember, a life that he might have had if things were a little different, but not one he desperately yearned for or anything. The context shifts it; the toy is an unpleasant reminder of something Kitsuragi's tried to get away from but never quite can, just like his own. A pointed message, perhaps, from their captors, that they know everything about their lives and insecurities.]

...Oh.

[It's not a very eloquent response, for as much as he'd opened the question. He looks uncomfortable again, suddenly, something like guilt in the set of his shoulders. He breaks off eye contact, as though abruptly really interested in the produce to Kitsuragi's left, the bottle of Persona suppressants burning a hole in his pocket as ever. He'd avoided the topic, before, but now he feels wrongfooted keeping quiet about it when he's gone and dug into the other man's business. Shinjiro sighs, suddenly.]

Ugh. These assholes leave us alone for months and then all of a sudden try to get in our heads like this. Load of bullshit.

Edited 2023-09-02 05:53 (UTC)

[ Yeah. That's about the response Kim had been expecting. He shouldn't have said anything -- in fact, he's not sure why he did. He usually doesn't. He just felt compelled to for some reason, whether that was through some odd sense of solidarity, or... something else. He decides not to dwell on it for much longer. If he starts thinking about how this place could affect even in the insides of their heads, he'll go mad, lock himself in his room and never come out. He shrugs, careless, something both humorous and self-effacing in the tilt of his mouth. Aragaki's discomfort couldn't be clearer to him. ]

It's fine. It's just not a very interesting thing to talk about. It doesn't bother me anymore, [ he lies. ] Get to my age, and fewer things will.

They're trying to get a reaction out of us. I don't intend to give them that satisfaction.

[Doesn't bother him anymore his ass. Shinjiro knows that's a lie if only because he knows what he found in his own vault. The intention is much more clear to him now, and he really hates it. But he recognizes Kitsuragi's retreat for what it is; he'd lowered his walls for a moment, and Shinjiro'd had nothing to say, so of course the walls would come back up immediately, more fortified than before. It was probably a mistake to have asked, in the first place. Shinjiro ignores the obvious deflection about his age, shaking his head.]

It's a message. That they know what hurts. They know everything about us.

[And by way of apology for digging up a wound and then just leaving it there, exposed to the air, he finally pulls the bottle out of his pocket, and extends it out for Kitsuragi to see.]

This was what I found at the bank. I...needed some shit to deal with a problem, and I was desperate enough I didn't care who I had to make deals with to sort it out. You can probably guess how it went in the end.

[Perhaps not the specific details, the part where he took a second bullet that wasn't meant for him, but he leaves that out intentionally. He has no desire to make himself look good in any part of this story, and it's not like he's lying, just .... arranging the implications in a way that likely fits assumptions Kitsuragi has already made from their interactions so far.]

They gave you drugs...?

[ They could be party drugs, but Aragaki doesn't strike him as the type. Maybe the sort to resort to drugs in order to make life bearable, like so many others have when left out on the streets on their own, but nothing for the purposes that so many people in Revachol West take it for, dancing and drinking and fucking the night away, when the morning seems like too much to handle.

These look a little more like pharmaceuticals, though these days, it's difficult to distinguish the difference between the two. He's not entirely certain why Aragaki is showing this to him, save for tit for tat (though a stupid little toy really has nothing on a confession to drug use, for whatever reason that may be), but he takes it in stride nonetheless.

Alone, poor, young, desperate. What does that add up to? ]

...were you sick?

[Mmm, that's a bit more perceptive than Shinjiro wanted. Not that it's exactly an accurate assumption, but he thought he'd left the door open for a ... less charitable interpretation than the one Kitsuragi landed upon, and he finds himself not quite so comfortable with the benefit of the doubt, especially when it's not all too terribly far from the truth, either.

He shakes his head.]

Nah, nothin' like that. I just ... I fucked up, couple years ago, got in over my head with some shit, and I had to take responsibility for what came of it.

[He lets out a breath, and for a moment he seems entirely too tired for a mere eighteen years old, the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders.]

S'like I said earlier, a reminder of shit that oughta've been dead and buried along with me.

Mm.

[ Fucked up, got in over his head. A classic tale of juvenile delinquency, and a road Kim himself may have well gone down if he were less rigidly himself. He knows that everyone discusses how the choices they made have changed their lives, but sometimes Kim can't help but think that he had no choice to be anything other than what he was now, that it's the same for most others. Some people are predisposed to such things, after all. Luck of the draw. ]

I don't know about should have been, [ he says mildly, but more or less leaves it at that. Instead, his focus is on something else entirely. ] The drugs. What are they? I can't say that I recognize them.

[ And Kim, for better or for worse, recognizes most drugs. ]

[And just like that, Shinjiro flinches, freezing up the same way he had the first time Kim asked him what he'd found in the bank. It's probably clear from his reaction--the nature of these drugs are the crux of why he hadn't initially wanted to talk about it.]

...You wouldn't. They're probably unique to my world.

[That's not an answer, is it. That Kim won't notice is likely too much to hope for, and yet he plays it off like the question wasn't asked at all.]

All right. So what are they?

[ Kim may give people the luxury of an out when he doesn't think that it's necessary for him to press, something that many lost souls here seem to flock to, freedom from justification and explanation, to simply exist as another stranger in this strange city. The unfortunate flip side of the coin is the fact that when he does mean to press, he does so plainly and directly, calm as he ever is.

In this, he'll press. Aragaki had brought this up first, after all, and this is important enough that he feels he ought to know about it. Even if Aragaki doesn't claim that it's to treat some strange sickness, his confidence that it's unique to his own world is a compelling enough hint that these are no ordinary drugs. It's something he needs to know about -- if not for Aragaki's well-being, then for everyone else's. ]

[Shit. He hadn't expected the press, but where he'd relented to telling him a small fraction of the story despite his initial dodge, this is where the wall doesn't crack. Instead, there's a clear retreat in the set of his shoulders, the way his gaze goes distant.]

Tch. There's no point explaining. They're useless to anyone who ain't from it.

[It was a dodge before, but this one's an outright refusal, as well as a warning in its own right. He's walked away from conversations with people he's known longer for less.]

[ If Kim is at all cowed by Aragaki, he certainly doesn't show it; it will take more than the ire of a teenager to crawl underneath Kim's skin. But between the clear discomfort with what little Kim shared of his own past - a thing that he rarely shares easily and, indeed, something he regrets sharing in the first place - and his paltry dodge, the end is clear. His mouth thins into a flat line. ]

I seem to recall telling you that if you don't want to tell me something, you simply have to say that you don't want to. None of those excuses.

[ And a stupid excuse at that. Useless to anyone not from his own world? Even if Kim believed that, that's not what he was asking. It's not as though he wanted it. ]

Don't let me keep you from your shopping.

[ People rarely walk away from Kim. He's good at walking away first. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ OPEN ] want to be free

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