(2019-01-19) Is That The Going Rate?
Claire & Warren stalk August to Maude's Diner & conversation ensues.
Players:
claire..warren..august..

Maude's 24/7 Diner

Chrome trim, red vinyl, and black-and-white checkered floors; the aesthetic of Maude's is classic, All-American and very 1950's. The walls are covered in a scattered mess of Hollywood memorabilia and vintage ads. One advertises 5 cent 'malts', and there's a few classic Coca-Cola signs. A polished dining counter makes up the left half of the well-lit eatery, lined with shiny swiveling stools, while the other portion is all booths. In the back, near the bathroom hallway, is an old school jukebox, looking like it's really from the 50's or 60's. And that's Maude's for you: While the look of the place is pretty traditional and gimmicky, it's also completely genuine: This burger joint has been standing since the 1950's. A Calaveras classic!

It's a hard decision between the counter and a booth, but - ultimately - the booth wins out. Claire had a whole logic about it that Warren had to sit through, something about being able to see out the window and also she likes the little carousels with the packets of jelly. So now, midafternoon-ish, the two of them are parked at one of the booths, eating bad-for-them food and keeping themselves entertained while Claire divides her attention between those pulling up in the parking lot and those coming in the door. "…could just go back over where she works, I guess, but then I feel bad. Loitering. At least here, there are French fries." She's taken to sticking toothpicks into a pair of them and making them do a can-can dance on the edge of her plate. "And milkshakes."

It was sort of weird, dating a professional stalker. And yet here Warren was, doing the dutiful boyfriend thing. At least he got milkshakes out of the deal, banana-chocolate, which he was using to dip his french fries in while Claire makes her potatoes dance. "You should've been a private dick, you know," he says off-handedly, a remark that only occurs to him as off-color when it's finally out of his mouth. He clarifies: "You know, like a private-eye. Like Dick Tracey, they even have those cool watches now. What does this girl even look like?" he leans into Claire to look around the restaurant, squinting to try and determine if he can figure it out. "Is it her?" He points vaguely off to some blonde haired, blue eyed chick wearing a sweater vest and smart skirt. "She sort of looks like an 'August'. Or maybe a Summer."

A tall woman comes out of the bathroom some moments later, clad all in dark colors. August Lexington wears a pair of five inch stilettos, which take her long legs from hello to yikes, skinny jeans accentuating her height. She wears a form fitting sweater, which barely reaches the low-rise waistline of her jeans, an inch or two of belly, back, and her sides visible often, flesh fair and tattooed. It's a deep V neck, too, which leaves a good portion of a bejeweled chest tattoo, all fine-line black and grey, visible for the looking at, and her waist-length hair is dyed in a grey ombre, worn down. At least the sweater has 3/4 length sleeves. It's obvious from the ink showing at her arms that she has sleeves. It really is hard to mistake her as anyone other than a tattoo artist. She was in the bathroom a while, but doesn't seem to be dying. She stops by the counter to pick up a cold mug of what was once a piping hot cocoa, all the whipped cream melted. "Thanks, babe." She says this to the girl behind the counter, crams a couple wrinkled bills in the tip jar, and takes a lean there to sip her sweet drink. Her pale grey gaze sweeps the establishment slowly, taking in the faces of those present.

"A private what-now?" Claire's fries stop dancing, mid-kick, and she leans back a second, looking below the table - specifically at Warren's lap-area - then ooohhhhs. "No, I think there's a lot more oversight for a private eye. You have to get a license and things. I much prefer - uhm, no. I think that's her." She catches Warren's chin in one hand, physically redirecting his attention from Maybe Summer to turn his head toward who just walked out of the bathroom. "Hello, excuse me!" she calls a moment later, releasing Warren's chin and waving her hand in the air over their table in an effort to drag August's eyes over yonder, a heartbeat away from actually calling out 'yoohoo' at the woman.

"You mean Dick Tracey had to have a license? That makes him seem way less cool," Warren replies with a small frown, before his chin was stolen in an attempt to force him to look in the direction of August. Though, he had to tilt his chin /up/ to look at her more fully, blinking once or twice. "That's her?" he sounds almost skeptical, but Claire's sudden outburst for August's attention prevents him from staring too long at the illustrated woman. He subtly slumps in his booth, but at least doesn't disappear under the table, plastering a 'this is totally normal' smile on his face.

Aug considers her cocoa for a few sips, then pulls more bills out of her back pocket, "Know, what, can I just get a strawberry shake, extra thick, and some fries, extra crispy?" She slides the cocoa over the counter, pointed fingernails clinking softly against the rim of that white porcelain mug. Her nails are varnished a glossy black, of course, in fitting with the whole ensemble. The cash is handed over without further comment, and she's ready to loiter and wait for her order. Her lips are a deep matte plum, so at least she has heard of color at some point in her life. Her hand has just come to rest at her hip when she's hello'd. Grey eyes turn to Claire. She looks at the blonde for a beat before her dark brows go up. And then she looks to Warren, seated with her. She's nothing if not used to dealing with people in her shop, she she wanders table-wards, so nobody has to call across a restaurant. "$600 an hour," she says a perfectly straight face, one hand lifted to wiggle her finger between Claire and Warren.

Claire has decided that's her, yes, with the unfailing certainty of someone that's bugged the shit out of way too many people to worry if she's wrong. The waving hand seems to have worked, so she at least stops doing that, and instead drums up her very best pleasant smile, all warm and sunshiney - though it slips for a second at August's opening line. "For what?" with a confused blink, following the wiggled finger to shift her eyes between herself and Warren, herself and Warren. "Oh! No no, we don't - we're not trying to - I'm sorry. I've come at this all wrong. Hello, I'm Claire Reed. This is Warren." She pats him on the forearm, so everyone knows who's who. "Are you August Lexington?"

Warren was still internally debating whether or not this was her, but it was too late to turn back now. Even when things get weird. His brows fall into a furrow at August's opener, following her wiggling finger to glance from himself to Claire, Claire to himself. "For tattoos?" he asks with a blank stare. It takes another second (and Claire's sudden scrambling) for him to realize what was being insinuated - and then his eyes flare open a little wider. "Oh, uh, yeah. No. Definitely no. Is that really the going price?" And then he mumbles something under his breath about whether so-and-so charges that much. Either way, he's introduced, and he also offers up: "We know Kate, Kate Stone?"

August ticks her way over there on those sharp heels, red soles suggesting she paid probably far too much for them. She slides into the opposite side of the booth from the couple. "I don't usually either, but he looks like a cowboy and you look like dessert." Aug slips long, long legs crossed under the table, sorry, lovies, if anyone catches the toe of her shoe glancing off their shin. She's a tall woman and all. If that happens, she winces a little sorry, but carries on. "If Jasper sent you to hunt me down for couples ink later, it's $300 an hour, but if you're from the Jacksonville, no." Just no. "If you're askin' for any other reason, I might be, so why don't you tell me what it is you're after me for. And then I'll let you know." There's a little Southern something in her accent, but a healthy dose of something else that's regionally linked to, you guessed it, Florida. It's not unfriendly, her reply, just a little on the chatty side of reluctant to own up to anything until she knows exactly who is asking her. She lifts a hand to get the waitstaff's attention, then makes a high sign and points down to this table. Hopefully her food will be delivered here. The tattooer props her elbow on the table, fist loosely closed, chin propped atop her knuckles, and gazes between Claire and Warren, then back to Claire, who seems to be the talker. But she does aside to Warren. "Kitty sets the prices." She doesn't mean Kate.

August mms and nods. "Katie's a friend of mine." Katherine Stone is a friend to just about anyone who isn't an utter dick, though, so that's not exactly telling. Maybe the nickname is.

Claire's answering mumble after the so-and-so bit has the words 'kept man' and 'told you so' in it, and she brightens up promptly afterward, like being called dessert is not only perfectly normal but somehow complimentary. "Thank you. And he is a cowboy," she adds enthusiastically, managing to do little more than rub her knee under the table when she's the one that gets heeled, saying nary a word about it. "But I don't know Jasper, sorry. Or Kitty. But yes. We know Kate." She nods brightly at Warren's contribution, then sticks her hand out across the table at August, expecting a handshake. "I'm going to come on her show, the one you're also going to be on. So I thought it might be a good idea to at least introduce myself. And Warren." All this gets delivered with a sort of relentless, earnest pleasantness, just goshdarn determined to make a new friend or die trying! "He's not invited to be on the same show, but he's going to be on the morning one."

"Well, you're not wrong," Warren says of Claire looking like dessert, casting an adoring glance at the blonde to his side. He's got that smitten look about him, and if this were a cartoon, he'd probably have heart balloons floating in his eyes or something. "Kinda like strawberry shortcake with a lot of whipped cream. But like any good dessert? I don't share. Sorry," and he's actually polite about it, chuckling warmly as he flashes a grin back at August. At least he's not the one that gets kicked! He's happy to let Claire explain the reasoning behind hunting August down, while he dips another fry into his milkshake. "I might go on the morning show. I guess it depends. Haven't heard anything from that Nolan fellow," he shrugs.

When Claire says something about the show, August's demeanor shifts slightly. She smirks faintly and reaches across the table to take Claire's hand in her own. Her hands are soft, grip firm. The tips of her acrylic nails are pointed but lightly blunted, so when they flick over Claire's wrist, they're merely a little cold rather than injurious. "Cowboy's on the morning show? She glances briefly at Warren, the smile on her lips now is a bit more open to them both, less smirky. Less, not totally smirk-free. This is August, after all! "Nobody could pay me enough to get up that early." If she's negatively affected by Claire's earnest, sunshiny pleasantness, it's not obvious by her reply. Of Claire, she asks, "What did Katie suggest our topics of conversation might be?" Small talk. August makes it. She glances up when her milkshake arrives, a plate of extra crispy, salty fries on the heels of it. "Thank you, babe." This to the waitress. She picks up a hot fry and jams it right into her strawberry shake, scooping up a bite before she pops it into her mouth. "I'm in a monogamous thing too, babe. No worries." This babe is for Warren. "Mine has a temper." She gestures with another fry. "So I'm trying to be good. Looksies, no touchies." She mms and looks back to Claire, dipping another fry.

Not that anyone can see it, but Claire's feet wiggle happily when she gets called strawberry shortcake, so that's what the little sound is under the table, if anyone's paying attention. She tacks on, "Aww, thanks. I would have put my money on an eclair joke, though. I think you missed an opportunity," and leans against Warren for a second. Because they're dorks for each other. Her handshake is a precise thing, she's used it a lot, and then she takes her hand back and resumes playing with toothpicks idly for a while. As for the topics of conversation: "I think you may have stumbled right into it? Relationships seem to be the underlying theme. At least, that's what we talked about when I went to the studio." The bit about a temper has her brows creasing for a second, but she presses on, "Perhaps other things, too, though. I hope. Liiiiike - you're a tattoo artist? Do you own that shop?"

"Dammit, you're right. It's too bad I'm not claire-voyant, else I would've seen that missed opportunity coming and made the joke first," Warren's eyes light up humourously as he gives Claire's shoulder a nudge, laughing under his breath. Nerds gonna nerd, yo. But at least he got Claire wiggling her feet, obvious by the heel-clicking thing that he totally hears happening under the table. "Didn't Kate mention something about getting married in Vegas as one of the topics? Or was that just one of the suggested things?" he asks to Claire, brows hiking in question. They stay arched at August's mention of a temper, but he forges ahead! "I imagine you get to see a lot of interesting folks, doing the whole tattooing thing. You been in Calaveras long, August?"

August laughs. "No, I don't own the Mad Tatter. It's super 2005 Hot Topic for my tastes, but I do work there." She picks up her spoon and gives her thick shake a stir. "Relationships broadly. I was wondering if the pitch has been different for each voice or different." She scoops up a bite of shake, eating it like sweet soup. She drops the spoon in shortly after, though. "I expect sex is going to come up more often than not. Food, alcohol, things women don't tell their partners." Her brows go up slightly, but she doesn't look at Warren this time. It's implied. She scoops up another salty fry and eats this one plain. "Are you two newly coupled?" She wiggles a fry between Warren and Claire. "Because the puns are pretty special." She mms around another bite of fry. "Yeah, or what happens in Vegas never ever staying in Vegas." She shakes her head, now turning her gaze to Warren. "I do meet quite a cross section. It's not unlike bartending, but people don't hurl quite as much in my bathroom. Less sex too, if you can believe it." There's a thoughtful beat. "Unless you count the staff." And then she moves on to say, "No, not long. A couple months. I came in as a guest at the shop, then decided to rent a chair when Ben split."

Claire repeats '2005 Hot Topic' under her breath, head tilted, frown thoughtful, very obviously struggling to place the comment contextually. (Guys, she was nine in 2005. JUST SO EVERYONE CAN FEEL OLD FOR A MINUTE.) "That's going to be a bit awkward, though, isn't it? If we're talking about things we don't tell our partners, who could very well just watch the show?" She eyes Warren a second before adding, "Are you going to watch this show? After you finish Dawson's Creek, of course." She folds her lips and does not grin or anything, just makes the angelic wide-eyes at him. Though the giggles are brewing under the surface - claire-voyant, hahahahah - and she has to wipe her fingers over her mouth for a second to maintain the laughless dignity of this conversation, tuning back in to August's explanation of her career. "Do the staff throw up in the bathroom? Is it because of all the needles?" Oh. Wait. "You meant the staff…" Her fingers tap the air, connecting the dots. "Well, I guess it helps pass the time on a slow day?"

Claire leaves it to Warrern to answer for the tenure of their being 'pretty special' together. She's had enough dialogue in this pose.

Warren looks perplexed about the whole '2005 Hot Topic' thing. It seems the only thing he knows about that store is: "Like, do they just play Marilyn Manson twenty-four seven?" It's a rhetorical question, he doesn't expect an answer. Instead, he looks aside at Claire, lips curving into a smirk. "Watch it? I'm gonna record every episode you're on!" He probably has already dusted off his video cassette player and everything, 'cause he's so old. "And don't make fun of Dawson's Creek when you're the one who put it on in the first place! It's not like I'm actually interested in it, I'm only watching it 'cause I wanna make sure Pacey and Joey finally get together. They belong together, fuck that Dawson kid," he mutters something under his breath about 'that blonde asshole' as he dips another fry in his milkshake. "We've been together awhile," he says to August with a shrug. "Bartending sounds a lot like the rodeo. At least with the throwing up. And the sex, I think bull riding is a natural aphrodisiac."

August wasn't that old in '05 either, but she remembers the thing she remembers. She was probably dreaming of Hot Topic in her teenage-y bedroom, all gothed out with nowhere else to go for her studded bracelets and D-ring chokers. If she wore them then. She looks like maybe she could have. "Obviously your partner would find out after the show, if they're brave enough to watch it." She smirks again at that, some fleeting through careening through her brain. One she doesn't say. "Sex. I meant sex." She seems to have no trouble clarifying. "Mostly sex. You really never know, but the rule is whatever you do back there, you clean up after yourself. We're a tidy, professional, health-inspected, permitted shop." She's super clear on that point, then finishes off her fries. Her full attention returns to the shake, which has now gone a bit runny. Which means she can use the straw. "Yeah, see, he knows." She nods to Warren. "She wasn't kidding about Dawson's Creek?" Hmmm. Is she judging? Is she? Mayyyybe. "Seriously, though, fuck Dawson. Although, he gets better by the time he's playing serial killers." There's August again, playing to type. She's quiet for a moment before she asks, "Riding a bull? Doesn't that do a scratch and dent on the tender parts?"

Claire, under her breath but not really, "Only because you finished Gossip Girl in, like, three days." She nods along when August says 'sex' all those times in rapid succession, laughing to answer, "I got it. You all have sex with each other." Beat. "Or they all do? Because you have the boyfriend with the temper. I had no idea tattoo parlors were so sordid." There's a brief glance cast to Warren's tender parts, with a quick shake of her head - apparently, no scratches and dents - then she leans her elbow on the table and her chin on the heel of her hand and looks at him expectantly. "Is it?" An aphrodisiac (thx for spell-checking). "Do tell."

"We. We finished Gossip Girl in three days," Warren mumbles back to Claire, before he smirks over to August. "It was either Dawson's Creek or Friends again and they were on a break dammit," he puffs air into his cheeks and blows it out in a quick exhale. Don't even get him started! It's a good thing that August's asking about his junk - it's a great distraction from 90s nostalgia TV. "Oh, uh, only if you do it wrong? I mean people are idiots, but you're way more likely to take a horn straight through your chin than fuck your junk up too badly," he makes that image a little more gory by shoving too fingers up against his chin and then pushing them out over his lip, as though to indicate the horn going up through the chin and out his mouth. He looks aside to Claire after, and waggles his brows at her: "There's just something about near death experiences that gets some people going."

"I try not to think about what Jasper does, but he's a little bit easy, if you know what I mean. Not slut shaming, just saying." August lifts her hands, then sits back and takes her shake glass with her. "I mean who hasn't been a little easy a couple dozen times in their life." Siiiip. Mmm. Strawberry shakes are so good. "It's a quiet temper most of the time, but I do like it." She quirks a bit of a smile at that, pale eyes clearly amused. "Tattoo parlors follow on after the people who work there, but we do tend to be less inhibited than most other spaces, welcoming an' open to people who are a little different. Everybody has their kink. We help make it visible." Permanently, with color, or not, as the case may be. All her tattoos, delicate and numerous as they are, are black and grey. "Netflix, huh?" She siiiips her shake again, infusing sugar into her bloodstream. This is supposed to be lunch break. Looks like it's sugar break. "Horn through the chin. Now there's an image? That happen often?" She thinks on this a couple beats then says, "I have never been to the rodeo. I feel like I should remedy this. Y'all have any big events coming up?" When in Colorado. She mms, and nods. "Yeah, he is right. Little darkness around the edges makes everything bright a little brighter." She glances between them. "I see why you two work." That's a bit fond. Warm, even.

"Mhm," says Claire agreeably about all that 'we' stuff, but her eyes pass over August's briefly, and the hand not holding her chin up aims a point at Warren as the guilty party there. The same hand, same finger, even, lifts briefly as if to identify herself as the one person on the planet that's never been a little easy, but she just curls that finger back into her palm, gesture unfinished. "What people does it get going?" she asks Warren, amiably attentive, one of those questions that's never going to get let go so he may as well just answer it~. Even if she's immediately on to, "Oh, you should!" Re: the rodeo. "It's. Well. It's like Halloween for eye-candy." Hence the fella she's got trapped in the booth next to her. "But also very exciting. And different, it's not like football or hockey or what-have-you. It's got a lot of, mm, a sort of brutal finesse." And she warms to August's comment, an authentic smile the extent of her agreement.

Warren doesn't look the least bit guilty, because he's already framed Claire as the troublemaker part. He manages to miss the finger pointed his way, mostly because he's muttering to August: "She got me hook, line and sinker with the Netflix and chill thing. I mean I read those memes! I thought I knew what they meant!" He heaves a sigh, a really heavy sigh in Claire's direction, but though he was trying his damndest to look put-out? The expression fails instantly upon looking at the blonde beside him. Really, he's got hearts in his eyes, guys. "I dunno if I would say often," re: horns to the chin, "But I've been doing this awhile and seen it a handful of times. People are stupid." Then, to Claire, a wider grin. "I mean, now that my foot's better, maybe you should come out to the stadium and I'll put myself on a bull and we'll see what happens after?" he smirks, shaking his head as he flicks a glance back to August. "Rodeo starts in February. I'm not riding in it this year, but we'll put on a good show up at Jackfield. I'll send some tickets up to you and your beau if you want, I can send 'em over to the Mad Tatter."

Auggie watches Claire point to Warren, obviously amused by their interaction. She sips pretty steadily from her milkshake, straw tucked into the corner of her mouth. "I flirted with a large, tattooed farrier for a little bit, which is as close as I ever got to the rodeo." Her gaze wanders for a moment, probably thinking back on that. Hmmm. "It sounds intriguing." It sounds like she just might check it out next time there's a major event. "I do like eye candy." As they've discussed, she's free to look at whatever she likes. Maybe the occasional groping by the devil in her eyes.

February? "Soon then." When Warren offers to send some tickets, Aug laughs. "Yes, please do. You can get them to me at work or via Katie. I live in the Garage Suite at the B&B. I'd love to see it. It does sound intriguing."

Claire, with the feet under the table again and the 'omg she thinks Warren is the dreamiest thing ever' beam at him, "Well, now I know what we're doing tomo~orrow." In a happy little sing-songy voice, swaying with her own cheery tune there. But stop, Claire, and pay attention. She clears her throat and everything, repeating, "Farrier? Horse… shoer?" As if she's not completely sure she's heard that right. Or maybe just doesn't actually know what the word means and only thinks she does? Anyway, "Katya's in the rodeo, too. And she's going to be on the show. So, really, you can just tell your boyfriend that you're doing research for Kate's show." She lowers her voice to add conspiratorily, "He doesn't have to know about all the very pretty boys in the cowboy hats, shhhh."

There's definitely a crafty little grin that brings a wicked gleam to Warren's eyes at Claire's sing-songy promise, a deep chuckle rumbling out of him. "Remind me to call Shorty when we're on our way outta here," he says to her, slinking an arm about her waist as he leans back into the booth. "I can't say much to the eye candy part of it, but if you like guys in chaps and cowboy hats bouncin' around on broncs and bulls, it's definitely the place to be," he grins, "I'm gonna have to make sure to look extra pretty in my cowboy hat since I'm not riding, so all them other rodeo boys don't steal you away," he says that last part to Claire, his smile wider just for her. The brightness fades just a bit when August mentions staying at the garage suite, and he nods his head a little. "The garage suite? Well all right then, I'll make sure the tickets come."

"Mm, yes, that's a farrier. If you meet one with a fuckload of tattoos, that's the one I'm talking about. Donnie is a hot piece of ass, so if half the rodeo wears a pair of jeans like he does, I'm sure it'll be worth the price of admission." Which will be free, since August isn't paying for her tickets. She says all of this fondly, of course, like she's talking about a friend rather than objectifying a poor man's booty. "Katya from the show? She's sweet." Auggie must have liked her when they met then. "She's cute too." Very good-looking town, this. "Oh, I'm happy to both bring my baby and tell him exactly what's on my mind." She chuckles, finishing off her shake with a hearty slurrrrp of the bottom of the cup. She sets that aside. "Tony and I have similar taste in half the jeans-clad population." Maybe more than that, though. Hm. She hasn't ever asked. August makes a mental note to do so, though it'd take a pretty astute eye to figure out what she's thinking about right there. "Y'all, thanks for the company. I gotta head on back to the shop." She leans in a bit. "I think we'll get on on set just fine, don't you?" This is to Claire, of course. "You wanna go for lunch again sometime, you let me know." She slides a little capped pen out of her back pocket, and writes her number in red on a napkin, sliding it over to Claire. To Warren, she says, "Can't go wrong with a pair of chaps, now can you?" Well, you can, but this is rodeo. She looks at Warren for a moment. No, she does not miss the change in his smile. Hmm. Her nails tick the tabletop briefly. She stands just the same.

There is no way on god's green earth that Claire is going to forget to remind Warren to make that phone call. Like, a piano could fall on her head, and she'd still be like 'OMG CALL SHORTY' from amid the rubble. But she says gravely, "Yes, you should definitely make sure you look extra pretty. I think that's very important." And then answers his grin in kind, kissing him on a dimpled cheek before she slaps her palm down on that napkin once she realizes it's got a number on it. Looking goddamn triumphant, she drags it over and immediately makes with the transferring of it from paper-to-phone, agreeing cheerily, "I do!" Think they'll get along, she means. Genuinely, "Thank you for stopping to talk with us, August. I'm very happy to meet you, and I definitely won't send you ten thousand kitten memes between now and the time I see you on that show." (Yes, she will.)

<TXT> From Claire to August - Hi! It's Claire Reed. Now you have my number, too! https://i.imgur.com/GvnSBhi.jpg

"Don't you worry, I'll be the prettiest damn cowboy you've ever seen," Warren makes this promise to Claire as he bends down to get the kiss on his cheek, a bemused expression briefly on his features as the phone number is passed and Claire smacks it off the table. "You've done it now. Beware the kitten memes," he says in an ominous tone to August, before he tips an imaginary hat her way. "It was nice meeting you, August. Have a good night."

"Girl, you send me as many kitten memes as you like," August replies, a grin quirking her lips. "I just forward those babies on where appropriate." And she does, too. Let the kitten war begin. "It was my pleasure, Claire." She pulls her hair over her shoulder. Before she can even take a couple steps to grab her coat, and say, "Warren," to acknowledge him too, her phone's buzzing in her back pocket. She pulls it out, then laughs, and pulls her coat down from a hook. "Shoot you were not kiddin'." She shakes her head, still smiling softly. "Night, y'all." Then she's shrugging into her coat and heading off into the night, the sharp report of her stilettos telegraphing every step to the door.

<TXT> To Claire - Saved in my contacts. Talk soon! https://i.chzbgr.com/full/9182108928/h388416B5/

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