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05-10-2014, 10:07 AM
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Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun
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[P] i'm not scared of monsters anymore
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[P] i'm not scared of monsters anymore
the Rift
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[PRIVATE] i'm not scared of monsters anymore
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05-10-2014, 01:10 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
Once, many years ago, he'd descended from the fire-ruined Edge to swim into the ocean and the sunset, to witness the glory of the God who had ruined his home.
He couldn't recall swimming since. He'd played in the shallows with Loudmouth and Moron, tackling the latter so he fell on his ass, but that had been a long time too. He hadn't seen them since the darkness, since before Diego took ill and he left Helovia again. Were they fine? He'd promised himself to protect Loudmouth, and look what a good job he'd done out of that! He didn't even know where she was, or if she was still alive, and last time he'd seen her she'd been quite.. well, he didn't know what word to use. Devastated? Not really. Exhausted, drawn? Maybe. Who wouldn't be, after spending time up on the shadowy surface, with all those rotting bodies snapping after you? He didn't make it to the ocean before sunset. Darkness claimed the world, lit by a round silver moon. It bled the colors from the land, illuminated his skin, and made it harder to judge distance. But, it was still beautiful, the sterling ripples upon the ocean's sway, and the solid edges of his moon-shadow. His blaze glowed, the thin stripe a faint veil of light between him and the world. It wasn't exactly pleasant. But the moon lit more than just Mauja. A figure stood by the beach, her pale body silhouetted against the navy star-studded sky; wings hung loosely by her side, and not even the Moon could steal the gold from her dappled coat. Half a year or so had passed since their last meeting—he knew her by the gold, by the markings on her cheek, by, well, memory. And it wasn't an entirely pleasant memory. It had almost been like talking to a younger, less deranged Delinne—had she grown up into a witch, turned sour by the ways of life, or had she become saner? He didn't know which he'd prefer. Someone to take out his helpless, frustrated anger on, or someone who could help him hold his fragile mind together? With his owls in their customary order on his back—Irma, still bigger than Diego, sitting on his withers, and Diego further down his spine—he kept on his path. It led straight to the sea, not straight to her, but close by enough. He watcher her as he went, ambling along, frosted hooves leaving a trail of shimmering blue before it sank into the dark sand—the very same sand that clung to her side, the fine particles picked out by the moon's precise, sharp light. "Kill," he said, when he was close enough. His cryptic eyes were made silver by the monochromatic light. "Aurelia. I thought you were aquaphobic?" And yet, it seemed that she had been swimming tonight. Maybe she'd scored all the victories Mauja had never been able to. Maybe, as with everything, she was actually the stronger of the two. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
05-11-2014, 06:02 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
[ Aurelia scores A+ in "How to get Mauja really riled up 101". Warning for some strong language. ]
The next couple of minutes could be summed up with two words: fuck life. She came awake to the sound of his rambled greeting, to the sight of his moon-silvered eyes and pale body, the cold glint of his horn and the polite, forward flick of his black-rimmed ears. Mauja, in all his insecure, curious glory, with a thin skin of ice behind which everything lay, hidden and safe. Never quite revealing just how much on the edge he was these days. "The mind is a mystery." She sounded colder than he remembered, and his faint hope that tonight would somehow be different was dashed, cruelly, to pieces. His white ears flicked back, eyes hardening, jaws grinding together. It was turning out to be just like every other damn thing—had everyone lost their minds? Did his presence somehow inspire others to lose it? "And most people can change. It's a little dark, do you not agree?" His jaws parted, but no sound came out. She was on the attack, wasn't she? Verbally hammering on him, what did she want, for him to leave? But he didn't have the time to form some kind of reply, or say what the hell is wrong with you? because of all the things she could conjure, it was fire. Flame flickered along her hide, sprouted from her withers like another set of wings, engulfing her. Mauja flinched and danced back a step, nostrils widened, and his owls scattering to the stars. Fuck fire, too. His head was up, the blaze reflecting in the bared whites of his eyes, painting the wild mess of his forelock in shades of red; his heart was pounding, hammering, adrenaline choking him and nearly blackening his vision. Fire. Fire, fire, fire and flame, damn it, he knew what that felt like, for your entire body to burn and how it roared in your ears and slid down your throat, cracked your skin and made it smell of charred meat— "Perhaps this is why I do not like water?" Her voice was barely audible above his pulse and the crack of flames, the sharp tang of burning in his nose. "STOP IT!" he roared at her, heedless of that she was talking, ears flat and eyes wild with anger, and a line of fear along the rim. She'd caught him by surprise, but he would not run, not anymore; "Fire isn't compatible with anything, but you've already figured that out, now haven't you?" He still wasn't listening, not really, his harsh breath pounding out in clouds, the ground rattling with inch-tall ice nubs. She'd better put the damn thing out before he ran her through. Then, as suddenly as it had sprung up, it died, disappeared, and left them mired in an even deeper darkness. Mauja blinked rapidly, dragged in a heavy, ragged breath. What the hell had she done that for? Blinded by the glare still stuck on his retina he only saw dimly that she began to move away, followed by the sound of her voice. "So go on Mauja, kill me. It won't bother you, after all.. you are the Stone Clad." Kill her? She swept into the air on long, moonlit wings, like some sort of angel gliding towards the distant stars. "What?! YOU'RE ALL FUCKING INSANE!" he yelled after her, still wild from her spontaneous combustion; the adrenaline was slowly leaving his body, limbs trembling. He felt light-headed and dazed, but still angry. Angry, and weak. She dropped into the water, said some more about killing, but Mauja stood on the shore, all four feet firmly planted in the swiftly cooling sand and his ears flat against his neck, head high. His eyes were narrowed, and flat, as cold and unyielding as the ice. "I didn't mean kill, kill you, I meant kill as in the damn marking on your cheek! It was the first thing that came to mind when I saw you, you fucking moron," he snarled at her, hoping his voice would carry above the lull of the ocean out to where she swam. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
05-11-2014, 10:07 AM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
His breath was still ragged, sides swelling as his starved lungs dragged the air in deep: cool, cold, blessed night air, free of the heat of fire and the smell of its clean-burning smoke. And at least some of his yelling had turned off her tirade about him killing her—she stood in the water, its silver-lit surface swelling along her flanks before receding to the rhythmic push-and-pull of the tide. Mauja remained on the beach, a pale beast with his horn shearing the heavens, and the stars glittering behind his white head. Even in the aftermath of his anger, there was something powerful to him; and even in the loss of his own heart and strength, there was something graceful to him—elegance, in his pale, blue-eyed sorrow.
Her voice carried all the fire she had swallowed, all the fire that raged beneath her golden skin. Her name was kill? He'd always thought it'd come from aureate, golden, a theme that fit with the sun-flecks on her sides—but what did he know? What did he know of the meanings of things and names? He was Mauja, simply Mauja, a name like any other name, just like Sarazheha bore nothing but a name. Meanings were not important, when the name didn't shape the soul. "What a pity I'm disinclined to follow the commands of others," he replied icily. He wouldn't kill her just because some idiot somewhere else had said it was a good idea—if he was going to kill her, it had to be because he wanted to. Whether he needed an actual reason or not, he didn't particularly care in that moment, but unless she tried to torch him, too, he thought it was quite unlikely she'd annoy him enough to actually make him want to kill her. Death was so final. "Maybe I am 'fucking insane', but why should that bother you?" He tilted his head in the blackness, his stark shadow mirroring the movement flawlessly across the silver sand. Did it bother him? It had, mostly, just been a frustrated, yelled observation, frustration at the fact that what he'd actually thought could turn into some kind of normal conversation had swiftly gone to hell. Why couldn't things just be nice and full of sunshine for once? Some stability, predictability? He stared at her across the distance, but she seemed to give up on him ever answering her, and asked another quite relevant question before walking out of the water. Mauja sighed. Fuck the world. "Because maybe I'm hoping against hope that you'll prove me wrong?" he answered tiredly, the surprise of her fire and her behavior having run itself dry and into the ground. He just felt cold, and tired, and lonely—infinitely lonely. His blue eyes trailed her movements, until she stood looking directly at him. Only his head moved, but his body remained still in the moonlight. The occasional cold, wet breeze made him shiver from within, bones cold and marrow aching. "I'm too tired to be angry for long with you tonight," he said bluntly after a moment. "But if you are going to be pissed off..." He shrugged. "That's on you." Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
05-14-2014, 05:56 PM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
05-31-2014, 04:30 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
So baby if you love me just let me know, 'cause every time we touch, touch it's turning cold...
It was hopeless, wasn't it? Could the broken ever fix the broken? What hope in hell did he have of finding salvation on a moonlit beach with a young mare just as shattered as he? The gold along her sides seemed to grow paler in the silver light, shattered cracks along her fine body, like.. scars; like the scars left by fire. Had she burned, too? Was that why she had tamed fire, to make it hers, to own that which had hurt her so? The anger had gone out of him, swept away by the salty night breeze and the monochromatic world, swirling away like so much silver sand. Instead, he just felt empty—because that was all he was these days. Empty, and angry, frustration rising into bitter fury to mask the yawning void where his heart and soul had been. He hid his exhaustion behind a curtain of angry words and starless blackness, hid his pain behind his healed scars. "So, I'll get to live another day running around getting people angry, making more enemies?" A humorless smirk found itself on his lips. Welcome to the world, Aurelia. He didn't know any other way to live. His gaze followed hers, north, under wheeling stars to a distant horizon hiding the contours of a land he knew intimately: a land where he could, vaguely, recall feeling alive, and worth something. A time and a place before the fire came to start the slow decline, the first crack running up along the ice pillar supporting his world; it all lay in shambles, now. Purpose gone, heart a mess, and everything slowly but surely falling apart to the distant, thunderous groan of the glaciers breaking and falling into the frigid sea. And he recognized the bitterness in her voice. And I am Failure, shameful and guilty, unable to break out of these old ruts and rise above the bloodied, painful mess of my past. He didn't know what to say. What to tell her. Because what could he say? How could he somehow help her with the problem he couldn't even solve for himself? And still, somewhere deep inside, it wrenched at him to see her like this—she was so young still, she ought to be golden and joyous and laughing, radiant like the sun, like Kahlua, not.. not like this. "I'm the World's Edge Seer, now, but now I feel more invisible then ever." It was what power did to you. The name, the role, obliterated the self; when they looked at her, they would not see Aurelia. They would see the Seer. When they looked at him, they had never seen Mauja: he'd only ever been King. So, quietly, wordlessly, with only the whispered shift of sand as his hooves turned it over, he moved, towards her; the tip of his horn glinted in the cold light, and the silver moon stole every ounce of warmth from his colors. The distance seemed endless, but suddenly he was there, close enough to be burned—and his head reached out across the darkness, shadow falling over sand and into hers, as the soft, black tip of his muzzle stretched out to touch her neck. [ Tagging you once @[Aurelia] because I took forever to respond. ] Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-01-2014, 04:27 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
[ Who will ever know what Mau is intending... xD ]
Sometimes, he's not at all sure what he's doing. He didn't know what had possessed him, what had made him put one hoof in front of the other and bridge the distance between them, reach out and touch the neck of some young girl who had, not even a year past, made moves against him. If he stopped to question his motives, he probably meant well—to show her that she was real, and that while he couldn't possibly claim to see her (because she was dancing around like the flicker of flames, hiding behind a veil of smoke, not letting him see) he could touch her.. anchor her in reality. Her neck was warm under his touch—the golden dapples didn't feel like scars under his sensitive nose, the skin as smooth and the hairs as velvet as the rest of her. He breathed in her scent for a moment, unsurprised by its blend. The smell of the Edge was still strong in his memory, hairline cracks appearing in his heart as it he felt it embedded deeply into her skin. Ironic, that as time ever moved forward, Mauja strove backwards, to an era gone by, wishing only to return to it and stop time, seal himself into it, and disappear. Let the world remember a mighty, ambitious King, radiant with the light striking his pale coat, rising slowly with the sun into the dawn of something new: let them remember that, and not all that came after. "Mauja..." What was he doing? His black nose still pressed against her neck, his heart slowly doing its regular rounds; one black-rimmed ear twitched, playing with the fancy that if he listened hard enough he could hear her pulse.. would it be thundering, given hope by his thoughtless action? Had his touch slowly ignited the fires he'd done his best to put out? Guilt pricked him. He hadn't thought of all the things it might mean to her, not until it was too late, as usual.. nothing he did ever came out right, did it? But one thing was clear: she needed this. And whether she needed it because it was so long since anyone had shown her some sort of kindness, or because she wanted more, he didn't know, but he didn't find it in him to pull back and leave her alone in the cold darkness anymore. The least he could do was to keep his own head cool, and discourage her with his calm; worried, more than he wanted to, by what she might think he meant. Worried, that she might try to make him go somewhere he doesn't want to go. (Worried, that he still won't be strong enough to say no.) Her neck wove around the angle of their bodies, shifting his point of touch from muzzle to the flat of his cheek. Her warm breath contrasted with the chilly, damp night breeze, hesitantly beating against his neck each time her sides fell. It very nearly sent a chill down his spine, so reminiscent of that time with Faelene... That time, when he'd given in to the play of contrast between hot and cold, to the sound of her voice changing rhythm to his touch—entranced, by the moonlight along her slick, black sides. Subtly, he ground his teeth together, felt the tickling trail of her whiskers as her nose moved up, to rest against the top of his neck. He let her. He didn't know why, but he let her touch him, let her come close, knowing that for every second he lingered it would hurt the more when he would, eventually, pull away. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-02-2014, 04:56 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
If he could fix her—would he? Unbidden, his mind reels back through the years, to another meeting in spring, a day two years ago, when the sun was shimmering on the blanket of snow.. such a breath-taking view he had not seen in forever, and how history seemed to repeat itself. Leyra, confessing her love. Leyra, falling into the snow, and begging for him to kill her. Leyra, crying and pleading for a child.
His eyes closed, blocking out the sight of Aurelia's pale coat up close, one of his breaths coming out longer, heavier. Her hounding and pleading had broken his thin resolve that time, the guilt forcing him to his knees and making him give in to her demands.. because it had seemed the only way to make her stay, make her not take her life, and if it had had a chance to fix her... Or he simply could've put a child into a miserable, smothering life, and just made everything worse. As it was, he didn't know whether her hunch that a child would've fixed her had been right or not. He'd told her, another time, and then she'd been driven from the Basin by Zar'roc and someone else (Elizabeth, maybe?) and when she'd returned, calloused and heart-dead, she'd never mentioned it. Hadn't she died since then, or something? Aurelia's pale muzzle came to rest by the side of his neck instead, the rhythmic pulse of her breath not disappearing into the cool night but rather beating against his skin, tickling and.. disturbing, because of the way it made his veins shudder and contract, and thrum with things beyond his control. Maybe Kri and Illynx had been right all along. "Oh, Mauja..." He sighed again, and opened his eyes—pulled back, just an inch. It seemed cruel that fate would always do this to him, and others; make them want what they thought he could be, and for him to have to deny them that. "Don't," he said gently, but his tired voice said many more things, stop, don't say any more, I'm sorry, it can never be. Still, he didn't pull back more than he already had, breaking their fragile contact. Just because he, for once, had enough sense to break away before he led them both to something he did not want, it didn't mean that he would have to shove her away, out into the cold night beyond. "I'm sorry. I did not think of what it might mean to you." His voice was low, strangely genuine, and his gaze went beyond the top of her pale neck and onto the distant stars. Surely She was up there, somewhere among those constellations, laughing and twirling.. or she wasn't even bothering to look what her puny, grovelling, pathetic mortals were up to. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
06-02-2014, 12:47 PM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-02-2014, 01:49 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
And it's there—that cold wedge of darkness between them, an entire glacier spanning nothing more than an inch of cold, night air. He could practically feel it between them, crawling in to claim the warm space he'd abandoned, pushing them apart. And it was his fault. It was his fault, because he'd moved in the first place, pity and empathy only driving the dagger deeper into her heart. His fault, because he'd touched, his fault, because now he pulled back. White fell like a veil before his eyes. Could he ever do anything right?
"No one ever does." Idiot. He glanced down from the sky at her, eyes downcast, trailing figures in the sand. Pretentious bastard. There were many things he wanted to call himself, but none quite fit the bill of how hard he felt like kicking himself. "At least not as much as we like to think we do," he managed to say, a faint, self-deprecating smile curving his dark lips. She saved herself from having to listen to more of his rambling, about how you could only ever know what you meant but not foresee how it would be taken, though, by speaking; "You don't realize the effect you have on me, Mauja." I'm beginning to have a hunch. Still, his eyes remained kind, and soft, reflecting the distant stars. Honesty was better than disturbing advances, because words he could counter with words; actions, what could he do? Kick her away? Fortunately, she recalled how badly it'd gone, because she remained where she was, isolated on her plot of sand as the invisible ice walls rose between them. It hurt him, to see her like that, to know that he'd hurt her, too—to know that he would keep hurting her, simply by virtue of his existence. He couldn't change for her. He couldn't change for anyone. He'd go around like this, forever, breaking hearts because he never knew to think deeply enough before doing, or opening his mouth. "You are who I want. I like you how you are." There was too much honesty in this.. in the desolation of her voice, and the crestfallen look she bore. Another humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Even when I'm thoughtless and insensitive?" he asked, because what else could he say? He'd been through this before.. and rejection would always hurt, wouldn't it? He sighed again, but didn't take his eyes off her this time, but kept watching—trying to read the nuances of her face, gaze. Wanting to know just how deeply it ran, and how much it hurt. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, heaviness in his voice. It was the only thing he knew how to say, and it was completely useless. Just like me. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
06-02-2014, 09:04 PM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-03-2014, 06:39 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
"I'm sorry, too."
Was this what would always come of one-sided love? Regret, pain, confessions under moonlight, heat swept away by the cold ocean breeze? He had—was—what she wanted. What did she expect him to do? What did she honestly expect him to do? She knew nothing of him, didn't know that one secret, the one thing he hadn't told anyone.. as he gazed at her for that short moment before her words tumbled out, he felt his mind form what he had told Leyra: it's not about you. Because it wasn't. It was all about him—his heart, his dreams, his feelings.. and there was nothing she could do about that. There was never any conscious choice involved. Either it was, or it wasn't, and in this case, like so many others, it simply wasn't. Nor did he think it could be. It didn't make him feel any better, though. Sure, he could.. pretend? But not even the tiniest part of him was drawn to the idea. If Aurelia had any sense at all, she'd want him to want her.. not want for him to pretend, just for the sake of her feelings. Then she would have nothing but a half-life, and he would always be just out of reach, and he couldn't imagine anyone—least of all himself—living happily in such a way. "I'm sorry that I am simply to average for the likes of you." "What?" he blurted out, incredulous, but then shut up and just listened in disbelief and dismay. Why did everyone seem to assume he had some sort of say in who he was attracted to, or not? Why did everyone immediately assume it was their fault there was no mutual spark? Silently he gazed at her, but her eyes were downcast. What could he possibly say, to try and make her understand that it wasn't about her? Some day, someone would come along and love her, love Aurelia, the hot-headed, unbound, free-spirited and easily hurt Aurelia. But that day was not today, and that someone was not Mauja. "Aurelia..." But how could he explain, without sounding exasperated, as if trying to teach a child of how the "adult world" works? He closed his eyes, sighed, and tried again. "It's not about you. You are perfect the way you are. And someday, someone will love you for that." The gentle stars reflected in his gaze, mirrored by the softness of his voice. "But I cannot choose whom I want, or love. Despite what you may think, I am a creature of emotion, and that my feelings are not for you has less to do with you, and more to do with.. me." And the one they are for. A small, wry smile curved his dark lips. "And there's no guarantee I won't be getting my heart broken, either," he added in a soft voice. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
06-03-2014, 10:25 PM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-04-2014, 04:11 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
He got the feeling that she wasn't really listening, that she couldn't take in what he was trying to tell her. Maybe it was her youth? He didn't know if he'd been dramatic and gushing about heartbreak when he was her age, he just knew that he was older now—and that love was no absolute truth, that life actually went on after something like this. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't truly understand her, because he had a heart of ice and could steel himself against such pain as rejection.
Or at least, so he thought. He didn't know yet. Maybe, some day in the future, he'd be the one not wanting to listen to reason as his hopes and dreams crumbled into dust. "Someday, I will die alone, Mauja. You will see. Any horse that has met me does not like me. Go ask anyone." Despite the fact that all he wanted to do was grab her by the poll and shake her vigorously from side to side, he found himself wanting to contest her statement—he couldn't grow old with her, but he had a hard time believing no one liked her. Because.. he didn't dislike her. Not really. Not in the way that he disliked horses; when he disliked them, it meant he did his best to stab them through the chest with an ice spike. Aurelia was just a bit different, a bit raw and passionate, sort of like an insecure kitten who set herself aflame—bit, before she was bitten. Truly, like dancing with fire on loose ground, and he wasn't yet graceful enough to make it through a conversation with her without upsetting her. He wasn't sure he'd ever be. Wasn't sure she'd give him the opportunity to try again. Hadn't someone back home once complained that those you thought were friends left you, when they realized you didn't return their feelings? Because for some reason or another, they couldn't stand being in your presence anymore? "Go ask me," he dared her, there under the moonlight. There was a vast, vast space between love and hate; because he didn't feel one of them, didn't mean he felt the other. But he wasn't sure she'd understand that, either. [ I got incredibly distracted about halfway through this ><; ] Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
06-05-2014, 10:23 AM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-07-2014, 03:53 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
Well, maybe they were approaching the point where Mauja would like to stab her.
"You can lie, Mauja," she was saying, eyes flashing as she looked up at him. And you can pretend to know the truth he wanted to spit back at her as his eyes gave in to dark anger, and his ears slicked back. Was she so hell-bent on living up to her self-made prophecy that she would do her best to buck off anyone who even attempted to be nice to her? She didn't have to make things as hard for herself as she was doing. You always had a choice, and she was choosing to go the hard way. He couldn't respect her self-pity when she did that. "I've been told differences make us strong, Mauja." It almost felt like a threat—was she saying she was stronger, because her fire could melt his ice? Mauja's flashing eyes narrowed, cold welling up from the depths of his impatience. He'd spent all of tonight trying, but it had come to naught. Fallen apart like a sand castle dried in the sun. Like everything. "And you can lie to yourself and warp the world to fit your picture of the lonely, unwanted, unloved Aurelia!" he snapped at her, tail lashing once against his hocks. He wished it were storming, that the gale was roaring and the wind there to whip into his soul and whistle through his bones—to match the festering, simmering fury rising under his cold, stoic skin. "Are you so set on being some sort of dramatic story of desolate heartache and heartbreak that you can't accept anything that's proving the opposite? Because then you're just doing all of this to yourself, and you've only got yourself to blame." His crisp voice cut through the still night air too easily, a lick of a frost-edged silver blade. "You'll be a lot happier if you just cut the damn bo ho I'm so alone and unliked crap, and open your eyes to the fucking truth." That there's at least one idiot in this world who is trying to help you. But it's hard to help someone when you need help yourself, too. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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