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Post by Zander Burke on Feb 7, 2013 18:58:40 GMT -5
It was pretty much for certain that as soon as he had gotten up, his brain had tried to tell him NO. But of course it doesn't get to his limbs fast enough to keep him from colliding into Silas, which sent the three of them onto the floor. Zander, was so used to falling, that he wasn't surprised that his head caught some of his fall, Silas had probably cushioned most of it. Now it was the time for his head to scream at him, spinning uncontrollably. He managed to roll off Silas onto his back arms over his head. "Fuckingchrist" he stated muscles tensing in an attempt to get the earth to stop spinning.
But still being drunk, he snickered at Silas' 'I hate you guys comment'. "What-fucking-ever, Ssiilas." he slurred, still pretty tense since he was afraid to move. The spinning was nauseating and he was sure that if he didn't move at all, he will be okay. Which means this is normally the time when Zander passes out at home, before he could comprehend what the spinning room could mean. Its been awhile since he drank that much that quickly, and he wasn't at home... plus he was on Silas' floor which made it difficult to want to pass out right here.
Mattie on the other hand was babbling nonsense while on top of Silas. And it was pretty much then, that he decided that Mattie's story about going home with Silas and a ... friend -- pretty much meant what Zander thought it had meant. Friends didn't act the way they did, well men didn't. If these guys were just friends, then they were very in touch with their feminine side.
"Matthias... go wash your fucking face the--" he stated when he felt it was safe enough to speak, but this didn't stop Mattie from wiping blood all over his shirt. There was a moment where his eyes sort of widened and his face went super pale. Zander can handle blood, meaning he doesn't pass out when he sees it... but that doesn't stop it from being completely fucking gross when someone else's was smeared on you. Sober non nauseaus Zander could brush it off, and just swear at the other guy in disgust. But drunk, room spinning nauseous Zander could not at all.
This was the element that tipped the scale.
"Shit." he muttered as he scrambled to his feet, and realized fast that he wasn't going to make it across the living room, through Silas' room... and then into the bathroom. So he dove for the next best thing, which happened to be the kitchen sink. As soon as he got there, the contents of his stomach completely emptied. His hand fumbled for the tap as he washed it down the drain. To his surprise, the Chinese food he had ate was not apart of anything. So it was all liquid. He didn't even bother turning the water off, he just leaned against the sink, letting his forehead rest on the cool stainless steel.
"You win. I'll buy." he groaned, cupping some of the water and splashing it over his face.
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Post by Zephyr on Feb 8, 2013 16:58:23 GMT -5
Under Matthias or Zander for that matter isn’t the worst place Silas can imagine being. In fact, it’s one of the better. Unfortunately, sobriety does come along with that and he’s really calculating the chance of him being vomited on at the moment. “You both fucking reek.” Silas whines halfheartedly, wiggling under Matthias and judging his chance of escaping from beneath the heap of drunk manchild draped over him.
Until Matthias fucking just settles there on his chest, and Silas finds his resolve melting away like ice. “Lucky for you I am a doctor, you shit.” He snorts lightly, lifting a hand to run fingers through Matthias’ hair affectionately, hand still resting lightly on the small of his back. “You’d probably be dead if I weren’t.” That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Sure, he’s treated Matthias since the kid’s come to Boston, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any doctors almost equally as qualified as he.
He snorts at Matthias’ whining, quelling his desire to do something about the blood in favor of twisting his head around to look at Zander. “You okay, asshole?” Silas snorts with a half smile, dropping his hand from Matthias’ head to inspect Zander, but the guy doesn’t give him much of a chance because in the next instant he’s up and rushing to the kitchen sink and while Silas is thankful that the idiot actually has the presence of mind to make it to the sink before he throws up, but the sound of retching and the scent of it – thanks a lot fucking enhanced sense of smell – causes him to wrinkle his nose in disgust.
Immediately after, he glances to Matthias, hoping to hell that the brat isn’t a sympathy vomiter. Just in case, he rubs his hand in circles over the man’s back, eyes wide. He forces his movements and words to be soothing, then if there’s an underlying urgency there. “You feelin’ okay kid?” Discreetly, he tries to wiggle out from under Matthias, hoping that he isn’t clinging to tightly for Silas to make a hasty retreat…but their current positions isn’t really agreeable for any kind of escape. “Need me to hold your hair for you or something?”
He quirks an amused grin at Matthias, ignoring the flipping of his stomach. As much as he loves the brat, he really, really doesn’t not want to get puked on.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Feb 8, 2013 21:06:26 GMT -5
“Your face would be fucking dead,” is Mattie’s half-sulky response to Silas’s bitching, and the minor detail that it actually does not make sense is allowed to peacefully sail over his head. He runs his tongue around the inside of his own mouth, and, yeah, no. Tastes like beer, maybe, but reeking is kind of a strong word for that. On the other hand, Mattie is inclined to forgive Silas his melodramatic exaggerations when the doctor’s fingers card through his hair; the warm steadiness of his hand and the weight of his palm against Mattie’s back, the points of contact between them, serve as the axis points, the counterbalance to the way his head spins, the words blurry in his ears.
He misses the way Zander goes absolutely pale. He does not miss the way Zander fucking bolts across the room and starts retching into the sink.
“Uh?” he says; the nausea in the pit of his stomach sharpens with the sound of someone else throwing up and Mattie pulls a face, cannot quite enjoy his victory when the loser is emptying the contents of his stomach in the next room. (That it is actually his fault that Zander is vomiting does not exactly register—blood is a non-issue for him, his or a friend’s or a stranger’s, and while sober he might have put two and two together, it simply isn’t happening right now.)
The sound of running water is better than the sound of gagging, even if it does pretty well in reminding Mattie that he just really needs to pee. He closes his eyes again, decides that getting up is not an actual option, and folds himself over to bury his face into the crease where Silas’s arm met ribs, effectively bleeding onto him, too. “Of course I won,” muffled but emphatic, every word laced with the bitter metallic taste of blood now, “I told you that before, you shoulda just listened then, we didn’t even need a judge. This one’s grumpy anyway.”
Grumpy and warm. The palm on his back earns a sound of heartfelt approval, and Mattie deigns to lift his head again, swiping his tongue over his lower lip to collect the congealing blood, at Silas’s question, pinning him with a sharp look, “Of course I’m fine, I won. And fuck you, puppy, ’m not gonna—hey.” Silas’s squirming goes ignored; with steadfast determination Mattie pushes himself up to straddle Silas instead, points an accusing finger at him, “Wherefore with thee came not all hell broke loose, shouldn’t you be, uh,” for all that the poetry comes easily Mattie resorts to a vague wave of one hand, settles, “Bitching more? I mean, yeah, doctor and puke, well done, sorry Zander but it was inevitable, but you. You are, you know, surprisingly not furious.” [/blockquote]
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Post by Zander Burke on Feb 9, 2013 0:14:28 GMT -5
Deep breathing was all that Zander was focusing on at the moment -- while gagging as his gag reflex was on over drive at the moment. You totally forget how much you drink, until your stomach decides to evict it. The taste of beer coming up wasn't nearly as nice as it was going down. What he was thinking besides not dry heaving into the sink, when did his stomach completely betray him? He had a fucking stomach of steel, and he rarely puked while drinking. So he was currently convinced that it was all Mattie's fault (even though he caused the fall). There was a thump as he just dropped his head back onto the sink. His stomach was settling, mainly because he was trying to keep all thoughts from puking more... and Matthias' blood on his fucking shirt.
Well there was only one solution to that problem. Slowly standing straighter, making sure his stomach doesn't lurch anymore -- Zander took a careful look at his shirt... and was pleased to see that Matthias' blood just blended into his already red shirt... so he didn't have to toss it. Just forget about it. The spins were disappearing, but he was still drunk as fuck. Back to the sink he rinsed the shit out of his mouth before finally turning off the tap, Just in time to hear Matthias rambling again. "When the fuck did you say that, I remember you clearing saying, Silas was going to be the fucking judge." he snipped, turning his face towards Mattie and Silas briefly before continuing to hover around the sink. Not that this conversation was super serious... his voice wasn't even angry. While drunk on beer, anger was never the first emotion he feels. Instead he was just incredulous.
"I may be the first one puking, but at least I can fucking walk." ignoring the fact that he had already admitted to defeat. Also ignoring the fact that Mattie was now straddled on Silas, completely sure about the whole threesome story. Zander leaned a little unsteadily against the sink -- his expression was amused, and tired... but still very amused. The adrenaline from puking faded, and nausea returned... but not enough to cause him to puke again. He was sure it was just his fucking head, and his clear refusal to leave the sink.
"Silas... where d'you keep your drugs?" and by drugs he meant Gravol, or something... drugs was just easier to say. Also in the haze of his drunk, he pulled his keys out of his pocket -- fumbling them awkwardly for a moment judging how well he could co-ordinate. There was a large part of his head that said no fucking idiot... and that part of his head that all drunks listen to the 'OH YOU'LL BE FINE'. Of course Zander being Zander, voices his thoughts. "Should I'even attempt?" he slurred, not really wanting to force his company on Silas... since he had done the same thing last weekend.
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Post by Zephyr on Feb 9, 2013 16:30:07 GMT -5
Matthias effectively snuggling against him is not helping Silas’ resolve any. In lieu of anything meaningful to do or say, the surgeon keeps his hand rubbing over the man’s back, a little shell shocked at all the affection he’s being given. He isn’t sure what to say in regards to their bet. All the disapproval and bitching in the world won’t take away the fact that Silas’d be the world’s biggest fucking hypocrite for arguing about it at all.
Silas lifts and eyebrow, face curving into a warm smile of amusement when Matthias looks at him. He’s spared having to actually come up with a response when Matthias suddenly sits up…still on top of him. This wouldn’t be so bad normally, because while Silas is really fucking bad at controlling himself around Matthias, he isn’t about to proposition the guy while he’s drunk as shit. Unfortunately, that’s when the brat starts to spout poetry off at him and Silas lets out a groan as certain parts of his body become extremely interested in the current happenings.
It’s becoming increasingly difficult for Silas to focus on the words that Matthias is saying, past the poetry. He licks his lips and attempts to arch his back to get his hips away from Matthias’, but it isn’t working quite how he’d planned and just ends up wiggling his hips against the other man’s. Godfuckingdammit.
“I’m just…” He starts, trying to ignore his own feelings long enough to get words out. “I’ll kill you later for fucking up my apartment when you’re sober enough to understand why I’m doing it, you little shit.” Silas mutters, the last word all but groans. The hand that’s on Matthias’ back curls into the fabric of his hoodie and the surgeon tries not to focus on him for a second, instead answering Zander’s question…which he realizes is being asked a little late.
“They’re in the bathroom!” He growls, looking past Matthias long enough to see Zander fumbling with his keys. That distracts him from the interest of his hips long enough for him to bark out a snarled warning. “Put the fucking keys down before I get up and flush them down the goddamn toilet, you bitch!” Of course getting up to get the keys into the toilet is going to be an issue, since Matthias is still sitting on him and still causing parts of his body to react to his presence, and why the hell does the brat have to be smashed? But, if he has any say in things, both of these idiots will be spending the night, though, with Matthias, that brings up a whole other thread of thought that he's desperately trying to stamp down.
Silas whines.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Feb 9, 2013 18:51:26 GMT -5
“Silas is an awful judge, I made an exec—uh, I decided to be the new judge,” Matthias informs Zander, arching an eyebrow in the direction of the kitchen in lieu of actually getting up and trying to walk over to him because, okay, he isn’t sure he can. Still, it isn’t something he feels like owning up to because Zander’s accusation sounds a lot like—like not surrendering, “I can walk,” it comes out more like a child’s petulant complaint than remotely convincing, and Mattie opens his mouth to repeat it, as if the repetition will make it that much more convincing, and finds himself suitably distracted by Silas.
Who is squirming.
Whose fingers are knitted tight into his hoodie, which is good thing since he is effectively keeping Matthias upright, but—
Blue eyes focus on the doctor’s face, mouth falling half-open in a wide-eyed laugh, and Silas’s growling goes ignored because hello, this is not what he had been going for at all but sure, okay. Mattie looks up, trying and failing to smother his wide grin, and squints at Zander’s appearance, and, ignoring the fact that Silas has already answered him, says with utmost gravity, “He’s a doctor not a drug dealer, why do you have keys, you don’t have to—he doesn’t lock up the drugs, y’know, you can just—” He let go of Silas long enough to mime opening an imaginary medicine cabinet, sways dramatically for his efforts, and nearly falls back onto Silas.
Catching himself on the werewolf’s shoulders, blue eyes flicker, and his lips quirk into a slanted grin, “Hey, Doc, Silas, hey, ’s that a scalpel in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” The words come out shaking on the edge of a laugh, the wide grin splitting open his lip again; the bitter taste of blood does not stop him from leaning down over Silas, licking away the sting and salt, “You can’t be that mad at us, you,” where the sentence is going Mattie has no idea, and he closes his eyes for a moment to slow the spinning in his head, and at least Zander’s stopped throwing up, Jesus.
“You,” he repeats, and waits for the rest of the sentence to automatically fill in, but the ease of sarcastic quips and follow-ups fail him. Instead he makes a small, indignant sound in the back of his throat, eyebrows furrowing together in annoyance, and shakes his head, says instead, “—though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run—” The frown dissolves into a grin, and blue eyes brighten, “For, lady, you deserve this state—”
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Post by Zander Burke on Feb 9, 2013 19:22:48 GMT -5
Zander sighed at Silas' answer, he was hoping it would be in this kitchen. But no instead he has to leave the safety of the sink, to walk all the way to that bathroom. As nice as the bathroom was, he felt safer here. Eyes flicker back to Mattie as Silas squirmed beneath him, there was a moment of jealousy... and if he was drinking anything else he would have acted on it. But Zander brushed it off with a roll of his eyes at Mattie's late comment. Zander just quirked a crooked smile, "Drug dealer... doctor." he weighed his hands, keys still hooked around one finger. "Same fucking thing." he snickered with a shrug.
Of course Silas fucking flips out, and of course all Zander could do is smile and jangle the keys... dropping them back into his pocket. He wasn't going to drive... well maybe. Depends on how his trip to the bathroom goes. "You seem to be pretty fucking busy there, doc, to do fuck all." he slurred chuckling. With a glanced towards Silas' room he resigns himself to actually trying to make it there without jogging his stomach too much. Slowly, and carefully he walked through the kitchen, entering Silas' room. Brown eyes would eye the bed, thinking about just flopping there, but the nausea in his stomach causes him to seek an immediate remedy.
As soon as he got to the bathroom, his eyes look for this medicine cabinet that Mattie failed at describing properly. Instead he found something slightly similar. Fumbling with the door, eyes tried to focus on what was in there. Until eyes landed on the familiar pink box, filled with the best drug known to.. well anyone. After a couple of minutes he managed to pop out two, hesitating on a third... and popping it out anyway. His stomach lurched and he stumbled into the wall. Once again focusing on breathing properly, until the vomiting feeling subsided somewhat. Once he was safely off his feet he will be just fine. Zander popped the three pills into his mouth and swallowed.
The werewolf, stumbled out of the bathroom... but this time he wasn't able to resist the comfy lure of the bed. He gingerly sat down, waited for his head to stop spinning, and for his stomach to settle before he pushed himself further on the bed, head hitting the pillow. The room just swam, and he had to close his eyes to prevent himself from having to dive for the toilet. When drunk, gravol didn't take very long to take effect -- plus over top of him already wanting to pass out. In all honesty he just wanted to rest here until his stomach settled. But the pull of his already alcohol addled brain, and with gravol in his system... it didn't take very long at all.
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Post by Zephyr on Feb 9, 2013 21:02:31 GMT -5
Just throwing Matthias off of him isn’t something that’s occurred to Silas. Mostly because he doesn’t want the sudden movement to cause the other man to throw up all over Silas’ floor…however much a chance there really is of that. He knows Matthias has a pretty strong stomach…and if he’s enjoying having Matthias on top of him? That’s something he can keep to himself.
It is not, as it turns out, something Silas’ body feels like keeping to itself. It makes its interest in the other man blatantly obvious, and no amount of squirming against the ground can keep Matthias from noticing it, apparently. Silas’ eyes go wide and his face flushes bright red all at once and he’s momentarily at a loss for words. “You fucking asshole.” Not that his fierce words relieve his not so little problem any, and he just settles for moving as little as possible so he isn’t…stimulated…any more than he already is. “I’m going to kill you if you don g…”
Fuck.
Matthias keeps spouting off poetry, and there’s nothing in the world that can stop his interest in that…not when the man’s face is so close to his and his brain is currently located somewhere in his hips. Fingers still knotted in Matthias’ hoodie, Silas stares up at him until the man finishes speaking, his face tinted read at the implications that are presented to him. He isn’t a goddamn woman!
Of course being angry about being called a lady and expressing that anger are two different things. Expressing that anger is not, even in Silas’ mind, to let out a rumbling, angry growl and close the distance between he and Matthias’ lips with crushing pressure, the taste of bourbon, beer and blood on his tongue.
Obviously making sure Zander isn’t puking all over his bed has priority…he just needs to get Matthias off of him without also upsetting his stomach first.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Feb 9, 2013 22:32:02 GMT -5
“You’re a drug dealer, not a murderer,” Mattie reminds Silas, unperturbed, and wrinkles his nose. “Wait, no, that’s wrong. Doctor. You’re a doctor.” The lights still burn through his eyelashes and even with Silas’s hands holding him up, he sways dangerously, blinks until the floor stops spinning beneath them; Zander’s departure is noted with a vague attempt at a wave—aborted by the fact that holding himself up on knees and only one hand is not actually possible. He spreads his fingers over the floor over Silas’s shoulders, focuses determinedly on slowing the sound of his heartbeat and the way the planet tilts wildly on its axis under his palms.
His eyes have just closed when Silas snarls out a frustrated growl, leans up, and kisses him, and Mattie makes a startled mmph sound, opens his mouth to the heat of Silas’s lips and tongue. With the pressure behind his eyes, the way Silas centers him, stabilizes the disoriented dizziness and molds him into something upright and more alive, he shifts sinuously against Silas, clumsy fingers fumbling to curl into Silas’s shirt and pull. Silas tastes like clean air instead of beer and rice, and Matthias keeps his eyes closed; the kiss is sloppy with inebriation. What he lacks in grace, he makes up for with enthusiasm, dragging his mouth over Silas’s jaw, pushing tighter against him.
Except.
Except Cesan, except he needs to—
He needs to—
“Silas,” he breathes, eyes still closed, the excuses, the reasons all tripping and quivering in the back of his throat and fading, fingers clutching tight in Silas’s shirt. The warmth still burns from lips to stomach, the taste of the beer still slick in his mouth, and moving away from Silas’s heat, his stability, has never seemed like more impossible. But he still can’t, “Silas,” he repeats, and tips his head back, the light burning yellow and orange behind his eyelids. The planet leaps from its axis, spins, shivers; unfocused, pliant, Matthias sways and leans into Silas again, “I’m,” it isn’t funny, this isn’t funny, he needs to, Christ, “Silas, I’m so fuckin’ drunk, I can’t—”
The laugh comes with the sharp taste of blood on his tongue and lips, and Mattie drops his head against Silas’s, blinks his eyes open, chases the heat of Silas’s mouth without touching, “—even get it up,” the spontaneous laugh is silent, pressed against the soft skin at Silas’s pulse, “God. This is not normal drunk. This is—wow. This is not—like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head. Are you gonna fuck me?” [/blockquote]
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Post by Zephyr on Feb 9, 2013 23:56:51 GMT -5
The kiss isn’t perfect. It’s sloppy and messy and tastes of blood and booze and Silas knows it’s wrong, but with Matthias pulling himself tighter against Silas and his mouth moving over Silas’ skin, he cannot find an excuse to pull away, not even Zander in the other room is enough to get through to Silas’ lust addled brain, and that is a thought that has guilt settling heavily in his stomach, and he isn’t even sure why.
Matthias saying his name causes him to open his eyes, blinking blearily up at Matthias. He moves to suck at Matthias’ throat when the man tilts his head back, not hard enough to leave a mark, though. His stomach flips when Matthias speaks and that kills the surgeon’s hard-on right then and there.
Mostly.
It takes a lot to make Silas not want Matthias.
It’s enough though, even with Matthias lips against his throat, to allow Silas to pull away as much as being flat on the floor allows him. His lips are swollen and red and he sits up, wrapping his arms around Matthias as he tips the other man back. “No.” He growls at last, fighting to keep the regret and sadness from rising in his words. There’s always something. “I’m not gonna fuck ya.” He sighs lightly, leaning forward to press his lips against Matthis’ temple and just holding the other man against him for a moment, fingers white like he’s afraid if he lets go he’ll lose him for good.
He kind of is.
“C’mon, darlin’. You need to sleep this shit off.” He pulls away to look down at Matthias. “We can talk tomorrow, if you want…anything you want.”Silas sighs, getting up, and upon realizing that Matthias probably isn’t able to walk by himself, picks the kid up and starts to carry him to the couch, face contorting at the sight of his coffee table and floor littered with bottles and take out containers and beer. “You guys are such assholes.” Silas sighs, resigned, and veers his path to walk into the bedroom.
He freezes upon seeing Zander passed out in his bed, his face half quirked into a grin as he carries Matthias over and drops him lightly into the open space on the bed. He leans over to kiss Matthias on the forehead, then half leans over him to shake Zander lightly. “Hey shitface? You aren’t dead, are you? Because I have to say that’d ruin my night if you were.” It’s probably the closest to concern that Silas’ll get at the moment. After Zander affirms the fact that he isn’t dead, Silas’ll get up, intent on cleaning up the mess that Matthias and Zander made before he has every intention of passing out on his couch.
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Post by Matthias Walker on Feb 12, 2013 19:35:14 GMT -5
The world shifts, and his head spins again, the loosening grip on Silas’s suit turning white-knuckled again. When Silas speaks, Mattie has almost forgotten the question; the doctor’s reiteration earns a disappointed sound, but he is pliant as Silas pulls him closer, head dropping forward against Silas’s, eyes falling shut again against the blinding burn of the lights. The disappointment is only a brief one; even sans kiss Silas is the one stable point on a planet swaying off of its axis, swinging wild and scattering his thoughts through space. Matthias murmurs a soft, automatic assent at Silas’s words, uncomprehending, “Asshole yourself, whatever you say.”
There is, with Silas, no panic, no instinctive mistrust or desperation for regaining control, even when the doctor—fucking werewolf—literally lifts him up, and the obligatory complaint that he is not a damsel in distress gets tangled between brain and tongue and goes unspoken in the end. Mattie settles for smothering his scowl into Silas’s suit, tugging at the wrinkles in his jacket and threading the silk of his tie through clumsy fingers. There are places he needs to be—one place, at least—and things he needs to do, scrawled-on newspapers he needs to read through and library books to be methodically perused, or at least, at least, a phone call he should make.
But Silas drops him onto the bed, and it isn’t quite the same bed he’s accustomed to anymore, larger and with the telltale dip of somebody else’s weight, but Matthias cannot find it in himself to complain, “Remind me to—do shit,” he says, blinks his eyes open at the brush of lips against his forehead. Stubbornly he turns his head to watch Silas shake Zander awake, keeps his fingers knotted in Silas’s suit and yanks when the doctor moves to pull away: “No.”
The vehemence of the statement half-startles him, and for a moment Mattie just stares at Silas, defiant and expectant. Then, pulling harder until Silas flails and falls back across the bed, mutinous, “No. I want you to—c’mon, stay, where else’re you gonna go anyway, fucking—shush. Sleeping.”
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