Talking Shop [Gale, please]

In which Corwynn pays an innocuous visit to a budding gunsmith.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
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Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Tue Oct 30, 2018 3:03 pm

2nd of Yaris, 2718
SAUNDER'S FORGE | EARLY AFTERNOON
​​Corwynn couldn't help but grin at the younger smith. Gale was uncomfortable and yet the blond galdor was in his element, turning knobs and pushing buttons, keeping things in the air so to speak, just like a clocking airship. He gracefully walked through chaos like he knew what he was doing, like he expected things to always fall in his favor no matter what hand of cards he was dealt. The risks were delicious and he found his nourishment in both the losses and the gains,

"Toft, eh? Probably a little. Boemo." The Bad Brother all but snorted, crystalline blue gaze coming into focus on the metal sheet placed on top of the powder. He didn't brace himself or even jump at the force of his blow or what followed, obviously curious and engaged by whatever was happening. If he was perhaps also amused by a human giving him science lessons, well, he kept his pretty mouth clocking shut. Just this once.

Why was this other gunsmith sharing?

Corwynn studied her and her explanations, his smile fading into something much more serious—the closest expression to genuine interest he ever could wear—and he followed where she pointed. It was obvious he thought through her words, the steam-powered gears in his mind churning while he processed discoveries and refined them into fine, mechanical details, filing them into references for future experimentation in the privacy of his own workshop later.

"Capsulated. A self-contained, improved bullet instead of just a metal shot. Came up with this all by yourself, did you?" The calloused thumb of his less-whole, four fingered hand rubbed his nose with his words, which sounded far more smug and conceited than he meant them to, but the motion made it obvious that he'd once been right handed, that his trigger finger was missing for a very good reason, "The ingenuity of those who work in secret never ceases to amaze me. Were we all so inclined to sweat for freedom in the same way, where could this clocking Kingdom be? I'd tell you to patent that shit, but, well, those aren't the times we live in, are they?"

His chrove-toothed grin again, though it was almost apologetic. Would he change things if he could? Did he give two shits if everyone was equal and free? No, not so long as the coins and drugs flowed along the Vein and the underworld flourished under whatever clocking government three very different species could ever come up with had they the balls and the brains to ever work together. Fat clocking chance, that, and he knew his views different from his King's, Hawke staunchly against the Resistance and their government-toppling, economy-threatening ideals.

Gale was examining his weapon, the finely crafted steel alloy of his barrels carefully bored, possibly more by magic than simply manmade tools. He smirked at her assessment, "Perhaps I like to tone myself down—my accuracy—for the sake of my prey." He liked the chase, and his words revealed he enjoyed the suffering, too. His boast implied he was too good of a shot for his own preferences, and so he challenged himself with new designs and different options, "Birdshot. Shrapnel, really. A bunch of smaller projectiles fired at once from a short distance. Clocking painful, that, but if you're looking to change a tune? I'm a taxman, my young friend, and those that survive refusing to pay what they owe find it hard to forget the task of picking little pieces out of their flesh. I promise."

Sure, it could be fatal too, sometimes, especially when aimed at the face or the gut, but more often than not? He wasn't murdering. He was maiming. He was committing to memory his purpose in the minds of his targets.

Aware of what kind of monstrosity that made his small-framed, freckled, magical self, his salt-smoothed smile softened and he rolled his broad, well-muscled shoulders that strained the tailored lines of his suit coat,

"I wanted to see where my peers were at in this arms race, that's all—" Corwynn breathed as if he was keeping up with Viendan fashion or catching up on inter-kingdom politics, reaching for his gun and taking a moment to peer more carefully at the hairline cracks. His field seemed to coalesce into something even more tangible as if he gathered it for a spell, and he breathed a few words of Monite that appeared to do nothing, the Quantitative spell only filling his thoughts with calculations instead of making anything visibly happen. He scowled, tucking the weapon away against his ribs and under his coat,

"—if we're going to casually talk some more shop, sure, I'll pick your impressive brain. Maybe you've decided I don't have much to clocking contribute to where you're going, but feel free to do the same. I bet you can't answer this, but how much of that is in distribution?" The Bad Brother cleared his throat and leaned his palms on the worktable surface, remaining index finger tracing restlessly over divots and grooves, "Have you experimented with anything else inside these ... capsules?"
Last edited by Corwynn on Thu Nov 08, 2018 11:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Gale
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Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
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Race: Human
Occupation: Metalsmith | Resistance Gunsmith
: Artful Gunner
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Wed Oct 31, 2018 5:47 am

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saunders' forge | early afternoon
2 YARIS 2718
Gale’s palm did not lift as she regarded him. Beneath the furrowed brow she watched the intense look simmer into consideration, the mind clicking together the pieces she had told him. He knew the language she was speaking, scientifically at least, and that in turn held its own appeal. It still left her tired however, and the human averted their gaze back down to the counter, “Aye. It took time mind. Slow work.” She shrugged, “We wouldn’t be here like this if we all sweated for freedom. Depends really on how we all did it, too many options, too many var-i-ables for the final result. But, that is then and this is now. Life ain’t that kind of fair.”

Life was not indeed. Still, she had shared now a basic fundamental piece, a small snap shot into what she knew how to make. Everything else would remain under wraps – safe and where it belonged. She shuddered at the thought of what would happen if the Bad Brothers got hold of her other invention.

His smugness washed past her, she was becoming more adapt at simply ignoring it now; instead she picked out the important bits that confirmed her thoughts. Maim over kill, short distance – twenty, thirty feet of accurate range? Of course, it would have to be seen in practice for a more accurate assessment. The amount of powder needed too would have to be increased, and while the Galdori whistled his tune to impress. Or threaten. Gale was not too sure at this point.

“I’m not your friend, buddy,” she muttered, shoulders hunched in, hands brought still against the counter top. She watched him put his gun away, something clearly bothering him about it. But there was no point in pursuing, little could be gained beyond a growing list of her compliance and giving of favours. The smith remained still, eyes flickering briefly to the hands that looked to dominate, to the scaring around the knuckle and the missing digit.

“I don’t gamble. Least not with statistics I don’t know,” they refused to lift the gaze to meet his, resisting the urge to all but recoil away from him and the oppressive field he wore, “It’s a recent, but they are far from hard to make. Unskilled could make them, but would they? Though, I suppose the counter to that is why are you interested?” The orbs flickered up to him then, holding as they cooled. It was rhetorical, she knew exactly why he was interested – or at least she held her hunches.

Fear, want, use, replication – something like this changes the warfare of firearms, rips the entire balance apart and begins the tipping over of society. She could have answered him, she knew by now she had created over a hundred of these individual caps, all in the name of testing and refining; reliability was important and something she could not let her fellows down on. She did not know a lot about the functions of the Bad Brothers, they were not hers, but she understood they had their preferences, their desires and want for the status quo. It suited them just fine.

Until the government grew bored of their antics.

“No, I have not,” at least, not that she was going to tell him. The gaze lowered down, “Y’know how it is. Work. Busy. Resources. Time.” He was being presumptive, already deciding for her what was known. But what could she ask? What was available to her to use, “Somethin’ you’d implement in yours? Scale up and make bigger. Not sure how it’d fair, I mean with the shrapnel rollin’ about. You mix that stuff in with the powder ‘fore hand? Or just ram it in and hope for the best?”

“So, where do you sit then? You don’t work with the metals directly. You shape? You build? Or you just swing ‘em around to fire at whoever you don’t like? I ain’t got a gauge of your understanding.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
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Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Thu Nov 08, 2018 11:37 pm

2nd of Yaris, 2718
SAUNDER'S FORGE | EARLY AFTERNOON
​​Was the older predator finding both amusement and nourishment in the young smith's discomfort? Was her gruff unease delicious? Indeed. His crystalline blue eyes were alight with a fiery mischief and despite Gale's best efforts to insult him, to dismiss him as just another lazy, rich, ersehole galdor, Corwynn persisted. Most likely because he was, in one way or another, both rich and an ersehole, but he wasn't lazy.

No, life wasn't fair. That was a moot clocking point, though.

The blond gunman chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders at the younger blonde's refusal of his friendship, and his hands came to rest on the counter, nine fingers restless over worn wood, "The Resistance isn't the only organization interested in superior firepower. The Bad Brothers have their own clocking issues, some of which don't even have anything to do with a bunch of disgruntled humans. To have an edge on the competition would be bordering on the decisive, in my opinion."

He had no reason to be dishonest, having given the smith his real name, having made known his real commitments, after all. The young creature before him was a skittish thing, and Corwynn moved through life like a hatcher, overconfident in his prowess and insatiably hungry. There was no toning the man down, not anymore, not after over four decades of living as he pleased,

"Oh. We're not friends? Not even acquaintances with similar interests? Damn. I'd beg you to reconsider, but, that's your choice." He purred, a threatening edge to his voice that mimicked the tones he used when extracting information from captives. Authority. Power. Support. He had those things, though all of it was overshadowed in Vienda by the real seat of command: the throne, the parliament, and the Seventen. The blond gunman cackled out a laugh, loud and unashamed,

"I like to gamble. Regardless of the odds." He caught Gale's gaze and held it, his eyes pale and sharp in their blue hue. He didn't come here to threaten, but he was well aware of how intimidating his kind could be. He didn't come here to be the taxman, the bully, the businessman, or the Bad Brother. Corwynn had been simply curious to follow rumors, whispers that had been difficult to catch a hold of to begin with.

And he'd been more than satisfied.

He wasn't willing to admit his entire truth, however, especially not about how he wasn't always as confident as his King, how he had the smoldering suspicion that a revolution would happen with or without Silas condoning it. And then the wick and his brethren would be left with some difficult choices.

The older galdor wanted to be prepared.

"Ah, you've clocking cornered me now, Gale. I'm a hobbyist, really. I found my interest in firearms first for the thrill and then for the finesse. I taught myself by taking apart old ones and putting them back together again. When Hawke bought out my family's factory, he was interested in my tinkering. I make custom pieces, tailored to their weilder. Small batch. I didn't think production was necessary because demand among my types is still low. There's lots of ways to kill an ersehole, you see. As for experimenting with projectiles—"

Corwynn shrugged, the wash of his field his response. He had the advantage of magic, of well-trained sorcery, after all,

"—it's just an idle curiosity. I'd prefer to keep the rest of my fingers as they are, though I lost this one on purpose, not by accident." Waggling his scarred hand for emphasis, the older galdor grinned, amusement creased handsomely into his salt-worn but so obviously aristocratic features, "I don't have your expertise at all. Astounding, really. It's not often I'm educated by a human this far from Old Rose Harbor, to be honest."

He sighed, bringing his five-fingered hand up to his face and rubbing his palm roughly over his stubbled face, the pale hair like sandpaper against his skin, "You've been rather forthcoming to a stranger in all the most fascinating of ways. Where I come from, that would put me in your debt."

Did the young smith want something in return other than for him to go out the same way he came in and never come back?
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Gale
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Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
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Occupation: Metalsmith | Resistance Gunsmith
: Artful Gunner
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Fri Nov 09, 2018 9:20 am

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saunders' forge | early afternoon
2 YARIS 2718
She needed to focus, to clear her head and work through the rigidness. She smooth out the thoughts, sand off the rough edges that spiked within her mind. She inhaled, eyes not lifting from the worktop as he lined her up. He was still talking, and she in return became aware of the fluctuations in his field. Was he attempting to crush her with presence alone?

An exhale, slow and steady. The mind went back through the conversation, repeating the words in her skull. An inhale. Danger, he liked the risk and gambled – he was in a position to, but one misstep could spell so much trouble. What else? He took information and she handed it over willingly. Exhale. But things went two ways, or at least that was the implication – it was all veiled threats at the end of the day. He wanted the advantage, but for what? Was something going wrong?

An inhale.

The smile and its almost too perfect teeth were ignored. It was there to rile her up, to work past the barriers that had been erected. The expression found neutrality, the quick mind catching up and formulating into something.

Exhale.

The corner of Artful’s mouth curled, the green orbs turning upwards to look at him from beneath her brow. A glamour took them, the once flat hands rising up so they balanced upon their fingertips. The slither of white, a single brow raising as the psychological gears and wheels turned, buzzing into life and picking up into a roar. Information, he had given her information – something always vital to the resistance.

“A hobbyist, really?” the voice hummed, no, purred through her teeth, “Pull the other leg Corwynn.” Where once there was a sense of timidity, it was firmly buried. The blue was met, deliberately and refused to let go, “A mere hobbyist would come to some tiny forge based purely on a rumour and words of an underling?” She tutted, “You disappoint me. You don’t learn from just dismantling.” Something swelled, “And I don’t think you’re cornered at all. I think you’re lookin’ for somethin’ and hoping to find it – have found it even.”

The smith pushed off from their fingers, the shoulders that once hunched in straightening out. The chin raised, “You’re looking to change your hand in a game of cards. Attitudes have changed where you’re from. You afraid? Your… what’s it… status quo at risk of tipping and falling?”

“Nothing lasts forever, so you’ll gamble as much as you can in pursuit of that one last fix. It’s why you’re here, you gambled when you followed the rumours and look at the result,”
the hands gestured to the forge, “You get to peacock about. Well, congratulations.” The expression did not change, the small changes in language the over complimenting – the once discomfort it sent merely smouldered against her skin, “Here we are.”

Search. Find. Follow. Grasp. What lingers beneath the surface? What can I glean?

Gamble.


“It still does,” the smith regarded him. The practiced hands shifted, picking out a tin of cigarettes. The match was struck, burning between them both before it was lit. It gave her enough time to pause, gather, and calculate. Inhaling, the smoke plumed out as it was withdrawn, “And the debt will be repaid. In a manner and time of my choosing. Because I haven’t decide what I’m going to do about you yet. And you will graciously accept, Mister Wynngate.” A mock pout escaped, tone shifting, “Be a crying shame if you did not. Be also a shame if another accident happened.”

Was it a threat? Did it matter? He seemed to respond well when the smith held some gusto – and throwing it back seemed like the most viable option right now, “I’m sure you understand, it’s just a business transaction that awaits to be settled. I give you a service, you give me something in equal exchange – unless you have a better offer?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Corwynn
Posts: 138
Joined: Fri Apr 20, 2018 10:03 am
Topics: 14
Race: Galdor
Location: Ol' Rose
: The Taxman
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Fri Nov 09, 2018 11:14 am

2nd of Yaris, 2718
SAUNDER'S FORGE | EARLY AFTERNOON
​​Tolerance was a strange trait when found within galdorkind, but Corwynn had long ago crossed beyond the boundaries of a typical sympathizer, the landscape of the underworld he'd committed his life to one that offered equality to all races willing to cut the throat or pick the pocket or sell out the life of the body next to them. The blond galdor had long ago writhed himself free of his birthright's need to hoard authority and power over the lower races to pledge his allegiance to a wick, to rub shoulders with humans, and to share responsibilities with passives. To say that he was entirely free from prejudice would have perhaps been too generous, however, for the sole heir of the Wynngate name had lived a life of luxury and power without question, weaving his way between acceptable galdori society and the teeming darkness of criminality with an uncanny ease.

He still carried inside his tanned, inked skin a sense of entitlement that had never entirely been broken.

Gale rose to the challenge of his deflection, of his coy play at innocence and shallow interest in gun manufacture, Corwynn's honesty still not full disclosure. The young human didn't believe his claim to naiveté nor his claim to how he educated himself on the manufacture and use of firearms in the first place. She had every right not to. While it was true, he'd told her how he got started in their shared craft, he'd also had the resources to research, the resources to travel and learn about metals from the Pipefitters of Mugroba, to spend leisurely time in the libraries of Hox, and to find himself a tutor in Physical conversation from the rocky halls of Gior.

He'd taken things apart, hungrily devouring the details, and he'd put them back together again, hiding his manufacturing business under the guise of his father's factory, supplying the Bad Brothers with firearms. He'd probably armed a few Resistance members, too, and here this young Saunders was in more than just direct competition—she was his superior.

Corwynn wasn't a fool: he'd lived this long recognizing when he was outmatched, "You're correct. I'm not a hobbyist, I'm a business professional—"

The older gunman snorted, laughing as the blonde creature chastised him as if she was in any position to do so, the tone of her voice horribly alluring for the predatory beast. His amused expression faded and fingers strayed over the collar of his coat, downward over buttons as if he was preening for a meeting with the King, and the blond galdor returned her the favor of a purr, enjoying the spark of defiance in the verdant green gaze that held his so steadily,

"—clever little thing, of course I've found everything I was looking for. I always do. And I have you to thank for it."

Perhaps that should have been the end of conversation. Perhaps that was where the natural conclusions should have been drawn. The Bad Brother's field tightened and his broad shoulders stiffened, brow drawing together as the smith continued, his thin lips curling into a wicked smirk at the assumptions and accusations that wove their way into her words.

How cute.

She had teeth. She squirmed when pressed.

"I know the hand I've been dealt and I'll play it through. Have I wagered too much? Time will tell, but I'm not afraid. This is exactly what I wanted to see here in the Soot District under the noses of galdorkind. This is exactly the craft I want to make sure stays in production, whether it ends up being to my benefit or my timely end." He'd accepted the retirement he knew waited for him, and it wasn't some sandy expanse surrounded by beautiful Muluku women. It was death. He'd lived already.

Gale bared her teeth behind a cloud of smoke and so many words, and under his breath came a few quickly quipped phrases of Monite, the galdor speaking with a comfort and an intimacy that he saved for old friends. It wasn't defensive. It wasn't even offensive.

It was, in all respects, little more than a simple parlor trick, meant to be something more: a reminder.

When the smoke drifted in his direction from the smith's lips, it curled away as if washing against an invisible barrier, the older galdor gathering his field like a tight wall of pure gravity, himself at the center. It was a swift enough action to wrench at the human's innards as if he had his own magnetic pull, the Physical mona in his aura so prevalent and awakened by his own willpower that it felt like the tide rushing through the body instead of just rushing over it. His sneer became a shark's grin and he leaned forward, crystalline gaze wandering over the curve of her insincere pout with a leer that was entirely and unashamedly inappropriate,

"Are you threatening me? That's quaint. I've already decided what I'm going to do about you, child."

Corwynn liked the biters.

"My better offer is that you stay in business tax-free. My better offer is that you don't suddenly find yourself in debt to the wrong King, when you're paying one already to even have a business here in our fair capital. What you've got going here would be such a clocking lovely acquisition to my personal business ventures, but I have a feeling you wouldn't do well under new management. I'll happily repay the favor of your craftsman to craftsman generosity, but I recommend that you work on your negotiation skills until then—"

The Bad Brother narrowed his eyes, swallowing back like so much heat the kinds of well-practiced threats he had at his disposal, "—because I don't have to win every game of cards to still come out on top but you do. I deal in debts, so you think about what's fair between you and I and I'll eagerly await to pay it fairly. Until then, perhaps I should let you get back to your work?"
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Gale
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: Artful Gunner
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Sat Nov 10, 2018 8:46 am

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saunders' forge | early afternoon
2 YARIS 2718
There was a particular reminder that Gale knew existed beneath the skin of his kind. That authority that hovered ever above the heads of the lesser races and looked to rule them. At the end of it all they were the same, fixed on ensuring their position in society was kept – no matter what colours they wall. The use of magic was not what surprised them, it was the particular sort. The form tugged insistently and beyond their control. A foot slammed forward, a lean as the centre of balance was shifted and momentarily lost. The hands pressed against the edge of the table, muscles contracting and relaxing.

They bit into the end of their cigarette, gripping it in place to prevent it from falling. The eyes were staring upon the grain of the wood, the hairs rising, the pulse following suit. They mind was ahead already, flickering back and forth through the information before them.

Magic. Casting. Pull. Shift of centre of balance, bend and flow, do not be rigid. Do not brute force it. Cunning. Tenacity.

“You have? How exciting.”

Weight shifted; feet sliding beneath to change the stance, the subtle bending of joints. The right shoulder lead, rolling up and dragging the rest upright. The cigarette was moved with the left, the other being shaken out. A mild discomfort, but it would pass in the next few minutes. A turn of the jaw, tongue dragging across the teeth.

They heard the hiss of his threat, heard the intended weight put there paired with his presence. But they let it slip past them.

It was nothing but empty words.

That was what it was after all. A promise that would not be fulfilled no matter how much he tried. If he really wanted to out their they was certain they would be able to find a way to disappear. Until then however, it was only just a matter of time before the scales would tip and the built empire of the Galdori would come crumbling down.

And Gale was a patient enough creature.

“And I have a distinct feeling you would not do too well under new management either,” The orbs flickered upwards, the eyebrows rising in suggestion, “But here we are, all ifs and maybes. Mere words with no certainty.”

Fear not the Galdori, their weight and their threats. For as long as you still breathe, for as long as there is strength in your bones, and your mind is your own.

“I do not deal in threats.”

Deal only in promises, things you will do your hardest to keep.

They were no longer afraid, the words of their father whispering in their ear. A distant memory that made them square their shoulders. It was replaced by something warmer, purer, and they revelled in whatever it was. At the end of it all he was just a man, another Galdori they had to circumnavigate around. One who showed his own true colours to the slightest of pushes.

Even in the face of adversity that was delicious.

Because you are the Artful Gunner.

A wolfish smile, teeth bared back to his own. They met the predatory look he wore with their own.

And you are better than them.

“But I know you will pay back one day, collector – you would be a bad example to us all otherwise. How exactly on this craftsman to craftsman generosity I do not know. You’ve not provided much for me to ask for. Besides, I thought you were a gambling man?” they snorted, “Don’t fancy the gamble of favours? Disappointing.” Sighing, the smith moved from the counter, “I shall not keep you from your duties good Sir Wynngate. The day is young and I am certain a man of your reputation has many a thing to tend to. Much more important things than little me.”

The hand waved the thought away. With a low bow, arms out almost in mockery, the smith stalked off to the furnace and turned their attention to bringing the coals to heat once more.
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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