Oh, absolutely not, the sooner he gets rid of it the better. I think he means to send that sword off, too. Asmodeus sounds blatantly intrigued about that one. Holy Avengers aren't something he has to worry about, of course, but the power they hold in any other context is considerable.
Meanwhile, Zerxus finally finishes the second letter and starts the third and final one. Or, well, he writes his son's name and then stares at the blank page, quill hovering just above it.
The willingness to walk into Gotham without the sword was that reason. The willingness to send it back is a bigger one. Even if it's denied, there's something... fundamental cracked, Bruce thinks. There has to be. The pieces don't fit, otherwise.
Meanwhile the writing stalling out has him wondering, and not at all realizing he's having any sort of personal response to the evidence of a more normal parental type bond. He is, but is oblivious to it.
Just puzzling out pieces and noting that he - they - have his son's name now. Or at least can likely puzzle it out.
As if to demonstrate that very thing, Zerxus actually closes his eyes for a moment. He does have his mount right next to him with eyes wide open, but it says something that he's comfortable enough to do it.
Then, finally, he starts writing in earnest. I love you, and I'm sorry. This is the longest I'm going to be away.
He explains more to Elias than either of the others why he's staying; he thinks the people here really need someone like him, and he doubts there will be another opportunity. He wants to learn everything he can about the Prince of Hell, who still cares so fiercely for a mortal city.
He tells him to let their family and community protect him, even though Zerxus knows how brave he is and how strong he's becoming; he tells him to take care of Tempus, to keep up his lessons, to be a good example for the younger ones. In letters like this, he always adds a new spell to learn or sword form to practice, or snippets of stories or songs or poems they'd never heard. This time he does all three.
After he signs his name and begins to fold the letter, "I'd like to make an adjustment to this deal."
It says he's an arrogant idiot, is what Bruce is pretty sure it says.
He waits out the letter writing with seemingly endless patience, and in truth that's not too far off the mark. He's sharp and spoiled and can be incredibly reactive, but he is capable of still for far, far longer than his general demeanor would imply.
Particularly when his father is an... active presence.
He doesn't turn until he's put both letters safely in their satchel. For the first time, there's the faintest edge of anxiety to his gaze.
"I don't know what this will cost." The way he says that, though, he'll be willing to pay it regardless. "I doubt I can afford safety for our entire community. But one person - "
Asmodeus only commands devils and his own worshippers; it won't be a guarantee that nothing will hurt Elias in his absence. But that still deflects a lot of brutal violence.
Inside Bruce's head, his father's laughter is slyly delighted. What do you suppose that's worth?
"You are an idiot." Yes, he would have used the son and his safety as... a point of bargaining for what he wanted. Yes, his safety for the time his father was gone could be more secure with this, but you don't just hand a devil that sort of opportunity with such clear willingness to give anything for it.
...he should not have said that aloud, and he realizes it only after the flare of temper and second the words are out of his mouth.
"...It has been said." His voice is wry, but his expression has softened.
If you offered to make it permanent, the fool would offer his soul in a heartbeat. Asmodeus sounds - well, as snide as you would expect, confronted with selflessness. Which you really ought to be happier about.
He could make thinks horribly unpleasant for both of them so, so quickly.
But all he says is, For now...well, this should have been part of the deal to start with: he must obey you, for the length of the year.
And fair is fair: he can't attack any devils, through this year or the next.
Yes, but then I'd have a permanent arrangement with, and soul of, what is apparently a blithering idiot.
His tone is not quite his father's snideness, but more something caught between disgust and confusion, as he watches that man's expression soften in response to very real anger.
"You attack no devils for two years. You attack no one at all in Gotham for the time you are here, though you are free to defend yourself. You obey me for the duration of that year." His verbal tone is more flat, but not quite recognizable as mostly recitation. Mostly because 'don't attack people in Gotham' is... likely unnecessary but also wholly his requirement.
And he's just still looking... pissy and confused. "You can start with sending your armor and sword back." The sword he already knew was going, but he doesn't need to admit he knew that and, well, he should reasonably want it gone.
You don't need to keep him chained at your side for eternity, Bruce.
Blissfully unaware that this possibility is being pictured, Zerxus is absorbing the more immediate implications. Really, he'd have needed to toe the line with Gotham's prince regardless,
The thorniest consequence will be that second year, but - well, he can delegate. He'll have to endure some tough conversations, but the most important people will understand.
"I can agree to those terms. I was going to send the sword back anyway, but..." The armour, really?
Well, it's not worth arguing about, so Zerxus just shrugs and starts removing the mismatched pieces. Some are finer than others, but all show a great deal of wear and tear.
Especially when combined with his obsessive nature. And the fact that he'd want to. And probably find that hot. He does not need that pressure and fully intends to resist doing that, at least until and unless he's either pushed or this idiot figures out how to be, if not more intelligent, better at navigating these things.
...That year should be a good chance to try to teach him a thing or two regardless of any ultimate goals.
"You stand out in it and look as though you expect to be attacked. I'll find something more suitable. Since you'll be staying."
Edited (WORKING IN THE JOKE OK) 2024-11-22 01:49 (UTC)
I sometimes forget that you weren't born to it. He absolutely does not, but it's always been an easy lie; the soothing ones usually are.
"Good point. ...It's strange, seeing so many adults without armour at all." Piece by piece, Zerxus reveals a gambeson that's clearly the oldest thing so far. It's been stitched and patched so often it's clearly leagues away from its original appearance - save for the carefully preserved crest over his breastbone. It isn't an emblem Bruce would recognise, though the script that circles it reads City of Thrones.
Asmodeus, of course, is a different story. CathmoÃra. It's half a purr and half a growl, half proud and half - wistful, almost. Domunas.
Now that's a name Bruce definitely knows. Early in the war the continent of Domunas was wrecked, scoured, shattered.
Bruce doesn't forget, and he doesn't for one moment believe that Asmodeus forgets.
That particular assumed lie Bruce reads as a sign that he is behaving in a way that is ... less than desirable, but is not so far out of line as to warrant it being addressed in a stronger way.
At least for the time being, and with other more interesting things to hold his attention. They are also holding Bruce's attention. More so with that low, vibrato quality of his father's voice and the... wistful? tone.
The state of his gambeson and where it came from tells a story. It's a fairly large piece of the puzzle as to why Zerxus is here.
"How old are you?" That is... absolutely out of nowhere and after having been silent for likely entirely too long to fit within the flow of conversation. It can't be anything but a response to seeing the insignia.
Cathmoira was a city.
yes, he's asking Zerxus a question while very much not asking one of Asmodeus.
A far better one than its sister, if I recall - Avalir was one of those floating bastions of magical hubris.
Zerxus is confused, for a second, before his gaze settles on the crest. Then his hands still, and his expression dims. Without looking up, and with barely maintained nonchalance, "Forty...three? Something like that." It's not always easy to keep track; calendars haven't exactly been their priority.
Ah. I imagine he was one of his city's...defenders.
Bruce refocuses more on Zerxus than his father temporarily, head cocking over at his response. This man is going to give him a literal pain in the neck (if that were possible) at this rate.
Yes, and that certainly explains some things about his presence here..
"How long is this going to take you?" He sounds impatient. He isn't, really, it's just a means of prodding Zerxus out of a... revealing reaction, for reasons he can't quite explain. He just knows he's uncomfortable with it.
"Have you ever taken off a full set of armour? It isn't quick." He's grasping for indignation, and just about manages it but mostly he just sounds wearily grateful.
Interesting. Knowledge is in your grasp, and yet. There's a warning note, in that soft voice.
Zerxus can't hear him, of course, so he just focuses on getting the rest of his armor off and spreading it across various satchels. (Well, his outer armour; the gambeson has stayed.)
Please just keep focusing on getting out of your armor and ignore Bruce's not all that subtle (by his standards) response to being clearly warned. There's that brief freeze again, and some subtle tension.
That particularly silky tone is... clear.
He doesn't even have justification beyond failing at impulse control, which makes it worse.
"How long has your son's other parent been dead?"
That's an assumption but it isn't a hard one to make and it is both... sadistically pointed and (he hopes) enough of a course correction.
He'd be less blindsided by this if Bruce hadn't given him a reprieve first. Was that just to make it hit harder? Or did he forget himself, and this was his way of making up for it?
(He can't know that Asmodeus's response is silent but palpable, a surge of darkly amused approval.)
He snaps the final button on the last satchel, taking a steadying breath. When he meets Bruce's gaze his expression is a mask of gentle placidity, and his voice echoes it.
"I was thirty, when my husband died. Elias was six."
There is a moment or two there where he has a combination of his father's amusement and approval, his own relief and just barely there and quickly buried deeper... not guilt, exactly, but discomfort at Zerxus response, and (very basic) going on in his head.
That does not tell him why Zerxus is here now? That answer is one he very much wants. He probably isn't going to get it in the next fifteen minutes. He's...is not (much) backing off due to discomfort this time. There's no immediate leverage there, and he has time.
"As long as it wasn't day before yesterday." Dry, and not at all sympathetic. "I need to show you where you'll be staying and provide you with a wardrobe when you're finished with this."
He takes his time patting Tempus down, straightening the saddle and doublechecking all the straps. Definitely testing his boundaries here, in a way that...probably says a lot about the months to come.
Oh, you're going to have fun with this one. It's half delighted assurance and half subtle command.
"Aren't you?" asks the king of hell's son. Truthfully, his impression of most mortal parents is... conflicted. He has strongly ingrained ideas, but he also has occasional evidence, and that doesn't matter right now. "If you say so. Now finish."
'Fun'.
He actually might, but it's going to be a long year. Especially if he can't get Asmodeus reassured that his son isn't too interested or invested.
The order rings in his ears, and suddenly it feels like there's nothing he'd rather do.
He could resist that, he thinks, at least for a moment - but this is no time to try it out. His movements become swiftly efficient; even when he leans down to press his forehead against his griffon's, his message to Tempus is brief.
Watch over them. Give Elias my shield. I'll see you in a year.
The griffon's wings flare again, furling around his knight's shoulders in a last gesture of loyal protectiveness. Then he backs up, turns, and runs - faster and faster before he leaps into the sky, and soars in a direction that his home is very much not in. (That was always the plan; they'd already planned route with random twists and turns, he just assumed he'd be taking it too.)
Finally, he turns back towards Bruce and crosses his arms. Even beneath the leather and wool of his gambeson he feels keenly vulnerable. "Lead the way, then."
Bruce... walks. Could he move more quickly via other means? Of course. He doesn't want to. He likes this city and making the man walk so he can navigate the city more easily is only practical.
(He'll find his way to the Manor, either way. It looms to such a degree it very nearly has it's own gravitational field. ...Or a magnetic one, set to repel. Either way, it is very difficult to miss).
Zerxus keeps his arms crossed, at first, but the further they go and the more he focuses on taking in the city, the more relaxed they become until finally they fall back so his sides.
"I ate rations a few hours ago." He had plenty left for the trip back, but he sent those home with Tempus. "Lunch in the air isn't as romantic as it sounds."
"It frankly sounds nauseating." Might have something to do with the Griffin, it might not, but either way it didn't sound romantic to him to start with.
He also is gradually relaxing. Not completely but not having an additional participant in this conversation makes that easier. Though he has not one. single. doubt. that it is being observed.
Maybe not so much, later, or if things are truly boring enough, but this new? Nope. That is a level of fire he will not be discounting as near certain rather than even probable. (It's always possible).
"I'll feed you after we've worked out what we'll be dressing you in, though I'm leaning heavily toward red." It'd be nice contrast to how strongly Bruce prefers things to be primarily black. "Then make some sort of arrangement so you can feed yourself while you're here."
He's a devil. It's not high on his priority list, usually. Care and keeping of a mortal skills are on par with 'feed it and clothe it so it doesn't die'. Good luck on things like 'where to shower'.
"I didn't know devils had delicate stomachs." Wry, sharp, but not a real barb. If he's still feeling wounded he isn't showing it through blatant hostility.
"If I told you I'm more of a 'blues and greys' sort of person..." There's not a lot of optimism in his voice. It's not like he hates red, at least. "But I'm not picky about food."
It's pretty damn hard to be in a world-spanning divine war, granted, but it was true even in the life he used to have, the one that increasingly feels like it belonged to someone else.
"And I can make my own. ...Does anyone else live there, besides you?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Meanwhile, Zerxus finally finishes the second letter and starts the third and final one. Or, well, he writes his son's name and then stares at the blank page, quill hovering just above it.
Then he writes I love you, and stops again.
no subject
The willingness to walk into Gotham without the sword was that reason. The willingness to send it back is a bigger one. Even if it's denied, there's something... fundamental cracked, Bruce thinks. There has to be. The pieces don't fit, otherwise.
Meanwhile the writing stalling out has him wondering, and not at all realizing he's having any sort of personal response to the evidence of a more normal parental type bond. He is, but is oblivious to it.
Just puzzling out pieces and noting that he - they - have his son's name now. Or at least can likely puzzle it out.
no subject
Then, finally, he starts writing in earnest. I love you, and I'm sorry. This is the longest I'm going to be away.
He explains more to Elias than either of the others why he's staying; he thinks the people here really need someone like him, and he doubts there will be another opportunity. He wants to learn everything he can about the Prince of Hell, who still cares so fiercely for a mortal city.
He tells him to let their family and community protect him, even though Zerxus knows how brave he is and how strong he's becoming; he tells him to take care of Tempus, to keep up his lessons, to be a good example for the younger ones. In letters like this, he always adds a new spell to learn or sword form to practice, or snippets of stories or songs or poems they'd never heard. This time he does all three.
After he signs his name and begins to fold the letter, "I'd like to make an adjustment to this deal."
Oh, this should be interesting.
no subject
He waits out the letter writing with seemingly endless patience, and in truth that's not too far off the mark. He's sharp and spoiled and can be incredibly reactive, but he is capable of still for far, far longer than his general demeanor would imply.
Particularly when his father is an... active presence.
"Tell me."
no subject
"I don't know what this will cost." The way he says that, though, he'll be willing to pay it regardless. "I doubt I can afford safety for our entire community. But one person - "
Asmodeus only commands devils and his own worshippers; it won't be a guarantee that nothing will hurt Elias in his absence. But that still deflects a lot of brutal violence.
Inside Bruce's head, his father's laughter is slyly delighted. What do you suppose that's worth?
no subject
Bruce is appalled and angry.
"You are an idiot." Yes, he would have used the son and his safety as... a point of bargaining for what he wanted. Yes, his safety for the time his father was gone could be more secure with this, but you don't just hand a devil that sort of opportunity with such clear willingness to give anything for it.
...he should not have said that aloud, and he realizes it only after the flare of temper and second the words are out of his mouth.
Anything you want.
no subject
If you offered to make it permanent, the fool would offer his soul in a heartbeat. Asmodeus sounds - well, as snide as you would expect, confronted with selflessness. Which you really ought to be happier about.
He could make thinks horribly unpleasant for both of them so, so quickly.
But all he says is, For now...well, this should have been part of the deal to start with: he must obey you, for the length of the year.
And fair is fair: he can't attack any devils, through this year or the next.
no subject
His tone is not quite his father's snideness, but more something caught between disgust and confusion, as he watches that man's expression soften in response to very real anger.
"You attack no devils for two years. You attack no one at all in Gotham for the time you are here, though you are free to defend yourself. You obey me for the duration of that year." His verbal tone is more flat, but not quite recognizable as mostly recitation. Mostly because 'don't attack people in Gotham' is... likely unnecessary but also wholly his requirement.
And he's just still looking... pissy and confused. "You can start with sending your armor and sword back." The sword he already knew was going, but he doesn't need to admit he knew that and, well, he should reasonably want it gone.
no subject
Blissfully unaware that this possibility is being pictured, Zerxus is absorbing the more immediate implications. Really, he'd have needed to toe the line with Gotham's prince regardless,
The thorniest consequence will be that second year, but - well, he can delegate. He'll have to endure some tough conversations, but the most important people will understand.
"I can agree to those terms. I was going to send the sword back anyway, but..." The armour, really?
Well, it's not worth arguing about, so Zerxus just shrugs and starts removing the mismatched pieces. Some are finer than others, but all show a great deal of wear and tear.
no subject
Especially when combined with his obsessive nature. And the fact that he'd want to. And probably find that hot. He does not need that pressure and fully intends to resist doing that, at least until and unless he's either pushed or this idiot figures out how to be, if not more intelligent, better at navigating these things.
...That year should be a good chance to try to teach him a thing or two regardless of any ultimate goals.
"You stand out in it and look as though you expect to be attacked. I'll find something more suitable. Since you'll be staying."
no subject
"Good point. ...It's strange, seeing so many adults without armour at all." Piece by piece, Zerxus reveals a gambeson that's clearly the oldest thing so far. It's been stitched and patched so often it's clearly leagues away from its original appearance - save for the carefully preserved crest over his breastbone. It isn't an emblem Bruce would recognise, though the script that circles it reads City of Thrones.
Asmodeus, of course, is a different story. CathmoÃra. It's half a purr and half a growl, half proud and half - wistful, almost. Domunas.
Now that's a name Bruce definitely knows. Early in the war the continent of Domunas was wrecked, scoured, shattered.
no subject
That particular assumed lie Bruce reads as a sign that he is behaving in a way that is ... less than desirable, but is not so far out of line as to warrant it being addressed in a stronger way.
At least for the time being, and with other more interesting things to hold his attention. They are also holding Bruce's attention. More so with that low, vibrato quality of his father's voice and the... wistful? tone.
The state of his gambeson and where it came from tells a story. It's a fairly large piece of the puzzle as to why Zerxus is here.
"How old are you?" That is... absolutely out of nowhere and after having been silent for likely entirely too long to fit within the flow of conversation. It can't be anything but a response to seeing the insignia.
Cathmoira was a city.
yes, he's asking Zerxus a question while very much not asking one of Asmodeus.
no subject
Zerxus is confused, for a second, before his gaze settles on the crest. Then his hands still, and his expression dims. Without looking up, and with barely maintained nonchalance, "Forty...three? Something like that." It's not always easy to keep track; calendars haven't exactly been their priority.
Ah. I imagine he was one of his city's...defenders.
no subject
Yes, and that certainly explains some things about his presence here..
"How long is this going to take you?" He sounds impatient. He isn't, really, it's just a means of prodding Zerxus out of a... revealing reaction, for reasons he can't quite explain. He just knows he's uncomfortable with it.
no subject
Interesting. Knowledge is in your grasp, and yet. There's a warning note, in that soft voice.
Zerxus can't hear him, of course, so he just focuses on getting the rest of his armor off and spreading it across various satchels. (Well, his outer armour; the gambeson has stayed.)
no subject
That particularly silky tone is... clear.
He doesn't even have justification beyond failing at impulse control, which makes it worse.
"How long has your son's other parent been dead?"
That's an assumption but it isn't a hard one to make and it is both... sadistically pointed and (he hopes) enough of a course correction.
no subject
He'd be less blindsided by this if Bruce hadn't given him a reprieve first. Was that just to make it hit harder? Or did he forget himself, and this was his way of making up for it?
(He can't know that Asmodeus's response is silent but palpable, a surge of darkly amused approval.)
He snaps the final button on the last satchel, taking a steadying breath. When he meets Bruce's gaze his expression is a mask of gentle placidity, and his voice echoes it.
"I was thirty, when my husband died. Elias was six."
no subject
That does not tell him why Zerxus is here now? That answer is one he very much wants. He probably isn't going to get it in the next fifteen minutes. He's...is not (much) backing off due to discomfort this time. There's no immediate leverage there, and he has time.
"As long as it wasn't day before yesterday." Dry, and not at all sympathetic. "I need to show you where you'll be staying and provide you with a wardrobe when you're finished with this."
no subject
He takes his time patting Tempus down, straightening the saddle and doublechecking all the straps. Definitely testing his boundaries here, in a way that...probably says a lot about the months to come.
Oh, you're going to have fun with this one. It's half delighted assurance and half subtle command.
no subject
'Fun'.
He actually might, but it's going to be a long year. Especially if he can't get Asmodeus reassured that his son isn't too interested or invested.
no subject
He could resist that, he thinks, at least for a moment - but this is no time to try it out. His movements become swiftly efficient; even when he leans down to press his forehead against his griffon's, his message to Tempus is brief.
Watch over them. Give Elias my shield. I'll see you in a year.
The griffon's wings flare again, furling around his knight's shoulders in a last gesture of loyal protectiveness. Then he backs up, turns, and runs - faster and faster before he leaps into the sky, and soars in a direction that his home is very much not in. (That was always the plan; they'd already planned route with random twists and turns, he just assumed he'd be taking it too.)
Finally, he turns back towards Bruce and crosses his arms. Even beneath the leather and wool of his gambeson he feels keenly vulnerable. "Lead the way, then."
no subject
(He'll find his way to the Manor, either way. It looms to such a degree it very nearly has it's own gravitational field. ...Or a magnetic one, set to repel. Either way, it is very difficult to miss).
"How long has it been since you've eaten?"
no subject
"I ate rations a few hours ago." He had plenty left for the trip back, but he sent those home with Tempus. "Lunch in the air isn't as romantic as it sounds."
(It used to be. He isn't thinking about it.)
no subject
He also is gradually relaxing. Not completely but not having an additional participant in this conversation makes that easier. Though he has not one. single. doubt. that it is being observed.
Maybe not so much, later, or if things are truly boring enough, but this new? Nope. That is a level of fire he will not be discounting as near certain rather than even probable. (It's always possible).
"I'll feed you after we've worked out what we'll be dressing you in, though I'm leaning heavily toward red." It'd be nice contrast to how strongly Bruce prefers things to be primarily black. "Then make some sort of arrangement so you can feed yourself while you're here."
He's a devil. It's not high on his priority list, usually. Care and keeping of a mortal skills are on par with 'feed it and clothe it so it doesn't die'. Good luck on things like 'where to shower'.
no subject
"If I told you I'm more of a 'blues and greys' sort of person..." There's not a lot of optimism in his voice. It's not like he hates red, at least. "But I'm not picky about food."
It's pretty damn hard to be in a world-spanning divine war, granted, but it was true even in the life he used to have, the one that increasingly feels like it belonged to someone else.
"And I can make my own. ...Does anyone else live there, besides you?"
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...