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  • #3892

    In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

    Domba didn’t know why he’d attract those strange beings of light who tried to cajole him into following their glib tongued advice.
    Domba was no fool, he’d learnt young that nobody gets interested in Domba unless someone wants to play tricks on him.
    His life was a prison, that much he knew. The light guys could well be the jailers themselves for all he knew. He didn’t care about that, or any of their business with power. Power of knowledge, for all the good it did, didn’t seem to have guided the human race to better ends. And compassion was for foolisher than himself.

    For now, he did have fun a little with the one who called herself Dispe, for her spirit seemed benign enough, a fountain of wonderment and joy in contrast with the way he’d learnt to see the world. He couldn’t really understand all about her wild rants, but if anything, he was curious about her views, and how she sustained them, like as a child, he was endlessly amazed at the resilience and resourcefulness of ants.

    Maybe she was a queen ant, and he was just that stupid worker she was having fun with.

    The wild nature overgrown in the miles of no-man’s land around his place had so much to teach. Persistance, endurance, and a boundless love of life itself. It was as though nature’s own rhythm was overlaid and hidden by the man-made time and routines. Whereas, if you were to look under, the slow stubborn and everlasting pace of nature’s growth was vibrating underneath, encouraging whoever willing to listen to slow down to its tune, and taste its encompassing love of life.
    He often wondered how long before men would come and try to pour concrete over the land, and raise scrapers of metal and blown-sand. His only solace was to think that in his madness, man couldn’t completely obliterate nature, that it would always be waiting patiently.

    He wondered how those light beings failed to see how even them weren’t as apart from it as they thought they were. Or maybe they knew deep up.

    He’d noticed a bird coming many times too. That bird had an agenda, and too clean feathers to not be either a spy, or some heavenly messenger.

    #3590

    In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

    prUneprUne
    Participant

      Prune’s journal

      The quarantine wasn’t as long as expected, we’ll be on Mars tomorrow. The Indian guy didn’t explain much of what happened. Maybe it was just a drill.
      Anyhow, Hans has kept his promise, and the guinea pig is fine. Somehow, it seems to have grown stronger in space. Maybe the lesser gravity?
      Mater would have liked it.
      Speaking of Mater, I got that strange feeling she’s with me somehow. Funny, come to think of it, she was always the one talking about the spirit world. Was never really sure if she was well in her head when she finally opened to me about it (everything else showed that yes, she was nowhere near senility, even before death struck).
      If someone should chose to play poltergeist after all, who else than Mater. Way to go Ma!

      #3575

      In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

      EricEric
      Keymaster

        “Did you hear the noise?”
        “No I didn’t hear anything”
        “I swear I heard some squeaaa… But you know that already, don’t you” He looked at her suspiciously. “What are you hiding there?”
        “Stop that, you perv’” She was wrapping her arms around her bosom in a protective manner.
        “I’m not like that” He moved a few inches away from her, with his back to the gritty metallic wall of their small capsule.

        Prune was starting to feel bad for the other guy. “You’re Hans, right?”
        He nodded. Everybody knew their names, it was part of the contract. They also had to accept to be filmed as part of the raffle company’s advertisement plan. So, there was little they didn’t know about each other, despite not having been able to speak to each other until now.

        The suspension process the company had rented was not the high-grade version, too costly. So they had to age, unlike most of the other richer travellers. Which made it odd, as Hans had grown a huge beard and even two years of aging had made them slightly different. Almost like strangers. There was a comfort in that, knowing they each held something private, a capacity to be someone else, be worthy of being known and explored. Nothing like what mockery the TV show had made of them.

        “You won’t show me? Don’t worry I won’t tell.” His voice was light, you couldn’t have told he was more than 40.

        She unzipped her track suit’s pink jacket, to reveal a little ball of fur.

        “It’s a small piggy. They’re so fragile, I think I did something stupid. But I promised my gran to not leave it. I couldn’t break that promise.”
        “Don’t worry Prune” Hans said reassuringly “We’ll find a way to keep it safe.”

        #3563
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Aunt Idle:

          Flora arrived, hot and dusty from the travelling, in the late afternoon. A shower and a well iced gin and tonic soon revived her, and I got the girls to see to supper and the oddball in room 8, and asked Bert to keep an eye on them while Flora and I sat on the porch. It did me a power of good to sit chatting and joking with a friend, a woman of my own age and inclinations, after the endless months of nothing but the company of kids and old coots.

          She looked pretty much the same as I’d gathered from the videos and photos online, although her bum was a lot bigger than I expected considering her slender frame, but she was an attractive woman with a merry gurgle of a laugh and warm relaxing energy.

          I asked her about the video she was planning to make, but it all sounded a bit vague to me. “Frame” it was to be called, and there were various period costumes involved and a considerable amount of improvisation, from what I could gather, around the theme of “frame of reference”. What that meant exactly I really couldn’t say, but she said we were all welcome to play a role in it if we liked.

          We’d been sitting out there until well past sundown, enjoying the cool evening air and a bit of Bert’s homegrown pot, posting selfies together on Spacenook and giggling at the comments, when we heard an ear splitting scream coming from an upstairs window. Flora looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and I just cracked right up for some reason, don’t ask me why. I laughed until the tears were rolling down my cheeks, and my ribs ached. I tried to stand up and fell back in the chair, which made me laugh all the more. I was wiping my eyes with a paper hanky when Clove appeared, saying Prune had had a nightmare.

          “Oh thank goodness for that!” I exclaimed, which set me off again, and this time Flora joined in. I did wonder later when I was getting ready for bed what she must have thought about it all, me having hysterics at the sound of a screaming child. But it did me a world of good, all that laughing, and I was still tittering to myself when I lurched into bed.

          #115
          EricEric
          Keymaster

            2049. 22 years after the original settlers had landed on Mars, where they had since been followed by more and more pioneers looking for the next frontier of civilization.

            A lot had changed since they arrived, they were now a few hundred strong, and the first generation of Martian born babies were entering adulthood.

            Maia would celebrate her 50th birthday tonight. In Earth years. By Mars’ count, she was younger by half. Still, she was the eldest of the mission, and had learnt so much during these years. Her son, John had grown into a fine young man. He was named after John Carter of course. He wasn’t the first born here, but was the first to have survived. He always had the will to explore more, despite the dangers, he wanted to make the planet his own.

            She knew he was destined to greatness. She had a dream a long time ago, one dream that made her enlist into the program. She’d dreamt of Mars as a lush planet, that mankind had managed to terraform with a vaporous atmosphere, more dense than on Earth, but breathable. The light of the evening sky was misty and a pale grey-green. Maia hoped she would live to see her dream come true, that somehow they found a way to venture out and breathe the new air, having succeeded in making the best out of the immense resources of the red dust planet.

            #3485

            By the time Mirabelle and Igor had recovered from physical effects of the abrupt emotional catapult during their teleport to find Lisa, Fanella, Ivan and Sanso, they found themselves alone on the sandy beach. Bewildered, they looked around but could find no sign of the others that they had momentarily seen as they landed, before collapsing in bodily distress.
            Weakly, Mirabelle sank down onto the sand, and looked at Igor questioningly. “What do we do now? My head is spinning still and I need a drink of water. Where are we?”
            Igor, drained of energy and just as puzzled, straightened his back and tried to sound reassuring.
            “Something very peculiar has happened. See these mangrove trees? They have grown at least a meter taller since a few minutes ago when we landed. And see this log here, this wasn’t here a few moments ago. It can’t have washed up while I was having a crap behind the bushes. Something has happened to time.”
            “You mean we’ve time traveled again? I don’t think I can stand much more of this,” replied Mirabelle, starting to weep.
            “Come now Mirabelle, sitting here sniveling won’t help. On your feet, girl, we will walk until we find some kind of civilization.” Igor pulled her to her feet, scanning the surroundings. “This way,” he said firmly, setting off along the beach. “I have a feeling there is something over there,” he said, pointing towards the east.

            #3371

            Less than a month had passed since Arona had arrived at Karmalott, hoping for a nice vacation time. Apparently, it wasn’t that long before her reputation for lost causes and recovering lost precious item preceded her.

            With the kids all grown up, and her on and off relationship with Vicentius, she clearly wanted to get some focus back into her life, and she had to agree a quest would do her good. There was nothing like putting back to work all her finest skills she’d honed along many years of practice.

            “This mission is cra-zy” Mandrake objected.
            “Of course it is, that is why you want to come along.”
            “True enough, the heat isn’t doing any good, the mice are smaller and smaller and I’m growing fat and balding.”
            Arona laughed, Mandrake wasn’t near as bad as he said, but to be true, was getting greyer than he used to.

            “Any idea who…”
            “Shht” she urged, rolling her eyes in that subtle way that meant “telepathy only”.

            Any idea who might be after that girl. And who is she anyway?
            Some royalty maybe… We’ll surely find out when we get to her. Eyes on the bounty, Mandrake, eyes on the bounty.
            The cat sighed That castle is creepy, and I say that not in a nice way…
            Yep, this place is funny strange, haven’t quite figured out why, but something feels odd and off. Get people to believe stuff so you can get what you want for everyone seems nice at first, but it doesn’t look like everyone get what they want, even with their petition system. I’m pretty sure it’s rigged and controlled by the P’hope and his magi to protect their Order.
            And what about the King?
            Now the King, he doesn’t seem in control of anything, but he doesn’t look like just an unwilling puppet… He’s afraid of something.
            So, were do we start then?
            As always my dear Mandrake, as always she said mentally, showing the carefully wrapped sabulmantium.

            #3357

            When Irina, with Mr R and Greenie in tow, approached the spot where the robot had detected activity, she had a lurching sense in her stomach that something strange was about to happen.

            Some buzzing seemed to approach and leave, like a wobbling effect in the air around them, although she could see nothing.
            Mr R, with its caterpillar boots seemed to have to trouble moving ahead, but with a silent sign of her hand, had him slow the pace down and move more silently.

            A cracking sound, and she turned around.
            A woman with a shotgun pointed at her was there, and a guy with handsome features. Caught unaware, Irina froze, and closed her eyes, trying to reach some inner peace before the imminent gunshot.

            “Madam? Are you alright?” came Mr R’s soothing voice. Next to her, Greenie was drawing on her pants, with a concerned look on her face.

            She opened her eyes, confused and relieved. The odd couple of hunters seemed to have vanished. Yet, she could have sworn hearing a gunshot and the blood of a giant mosquito splatter all around.
            She could as well have dreamt all awake, as there were not a single trace around to back her vision.

            “That’s what it is then…” Irina started to realize something. “Mr R, if you will, what about those presence you detected earlier?”
            “Gone Madam, it seemed to have been a glitch.”
            “A glitch, yes…” she said pensively. “Or something else…”

            The things she’d just experience reminded Irina about some of the things she’d read in the past about the Bardo state of the Buddhists. She wasn’t a Buddhist, more a Realist ascendant Romantic. Yet, they made some interesting points about the nature of reality.
            Usually, Irina was the kind of girl who liked to work up to her goals’ achievements. Building the little place for herself, even if mostly the work of Mr R, was a good example. Give her enough time, and she would always find resources to make a better life for herself. But here, it seemed beside the point. It could well be an endless loop.

            She wanted to pierce the veil that surrounded the place, instead of erring in the fog of her own projections. She looked at Greenie and Mr R. She wasn’t sure they were real any longer, even if she had sure grown fond of them. She would see…

            Now, how to get this island to reveal its secrets… As much as she found it boring, prayer or meditation seemed to be the only solution she could come up with for now. Less fond of the first solution, she chose the second and sat cross-legged on a mossy patch of the bog, where the sound of water seemed to have the right qualities.

            #3249
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              “Tuna wars!” Jack said as the alarm clock bleeped. “Tuna wars?” asked Lisa, but got no response; Jack was still asleep.
              There had been an impromptu gathering the previous evening, various friends had unexpectedly called round, some bringing their holiday visitors with them and they had sat drinking beer and wine on the patio until well after midnight. Lisa started clearing away the ashtrays and bottles, noticing the racket the sparrows were making ~ they seemed unusually agitated this morning, darting between the overgrown foliage flapping and shrieking. When Lisa had finished clearing up the debris, she kept looking around, wondering what was missing or out of place. Something didn’t seem right. What was it, what was missing?
              The tile! That strange convoluted tile shaped rock that she’d found on the beach was gone!

              #3194
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                The ghost galleon Santa Rosa had been sailing the eight seas for many a long century, dust, wind borne particles and bird droppings, richly fertile and full of seeds, accumulating on the decks. Dried beans and grains in the crews provisions had sprouted and grown, and reseeded, and migrating birds had rested their wings many a time and replenished the fine growing compost on the galleons surfaces, depositing varieties of seeds from many a far land. The Santa Rosa was more of a floating garden than a decaying hulk, and the roots of the fruit trees wound elegantly around the skeletons of the long dead Basques in the hold (a sort of Basque bone corset for supporting whale ships flora). Birds had been the only visitors aboard the galleon, and the energy of Rose was strong, nurturing and supporting the prolific vegetation.

                #3121
                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  Queen Marie, Our Good Queen, as the little gents liked to call her, had not been as excited at the prospect of the salon since a long time.
                  She ringed the bell for the servant girl to bring more wood, as drafts of chilly air were coming from outside. Although quite modern and shiny, the palace was not as equipped for the cold season as the old castles from her mother land. Worse, with age and soft weather, she’d grown accustomed to being warm, and couldn’t bear the cold any longer.

                  The crackling sound of the pine wood inside the small chimney was comforting and brought her back to her thoughts. A salon, full of delightful witty people, with laughters and costumes, entertainment and champagne wine. She’d heard a special batch of barrels from la Maison Ruinart would be brought especially for the Royalties. Of course, she knew most of those were small favors for the King’s mistress, Reinette, but she didn’t care. Oddly enough, she didn’t mind the woman, who had been always very delicate and considerate towards her, almost affectionate. To be honest, she was a blessing, as the inextinguishable appetite of the King for the flesh and woman beauty was now too hard to bear.

                  But a party like this, ah… She reveled in the thought of seeing again monsieur de St Galle and the mysterious Comte de St Germain who always was the light of the party with his extravagant stories.

                  The servant had finished to dress her for the night, putting her new powdered wig on the parakeet shaped wig-holder. She’d bought the wig with its lacquered holder in the morning from a small shop in Paris, which was had quite an aura of mystery she’d heard. Naturally she’d wanted to see for herself.
                  The wigmaker was a gaunt and unassuming young man who notwithstanding made an impression on her. Jean-Baptiste’s wigs were simple and elegant, albeit not terribly inspired. His eyes, on the other hand, had a piercing yet soft gaze about them, and didn’t seem embarrassed to look at her, almost through her, as if she were a person, instead of the Queen surrounded by a retinue of bland people eager to please.
                  “Let me draw you some fingers” he’d said to her, changing abruptly the topic from his rambling about books he was inspired to write about symbols. He’d forgotten the traditional address of “Your Majesty”, yet wouldn’t be stopped —regardless of the shocked expressions on the people’s faces.
                  “You see, I love symbols, and when I draw people’s fingers, I can foretell events to come”.
                  So that was it, she’d thought, the reason why everyone was ranting about him. He’d better be more inspired at that than wigs, as her patience was wearing thin.
                  She’d had fortune tellers draw her cards a few times, but the fingers drawing part was curious enough to entice her into removing the glove off her eburnated fingers and letting him do his trick.
                  An eldritch feeling crept though her spine as he was uttering words for each of the fingers he drew on with a slight pull of his hand, just enough not to crack the joints.

                  In the bed warmed to a delightful temperature by the bouillotte, she began sliding into deep sleep, while a mixture of words half-forgotten or half-remembered danced around in her mind like the swirls of snowflakes dying on the warm window of her chamber: “funny moment, cold diversion, dream parade, house moustache pink, blue wonder carpets, possible king turned, green mirror travel, understand whole large parade”…

                  #3089
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    Trove wondered if she threw away all her stuff and went severely minimalist, the endless packing stuff to move dreams would stop. There was an unusual twist to this dream though: they had been living in Kove’s rambling house, presumably on the south coast of England (Kove was Dude’s ex) and when Kove came back home it became clear that it would be a good idea to move out (although there was nothing about the ex part of the actual story in the dream). Trove didn’t know whether to move back to Spain, or back to the Midlands. She wanted to see her grandfather again in the Midlands (even planned on going back there at least for a day or two to see him ~ despite that he had died years ago), but the thought of living there again was like an enormous black cloud. We have to go back down south again, we have to, she thought, and then realized painfully that she was too grown up now or too old to have anyone to move back home to, they would be “on their own” which was not without difficulty for some reason. Then, the packing started. The endless sorting out of mostly rubbish. One of the bedroom cupboards had an oven in it, a filthy blackened hole of grease and debris.

                    #3021
                    F LoveF Love
                    Participant

                      “That would be me,” said the cleaner, with a wry smile.

                      Mari Fe jumped. “Oh my, you startled me—I didn’t see you there. Hasn’t your shift finished?”

                      “Emergency clean. Some of the alphabet are jumping out of books in the library. Suicide, most likely, although I guess they could have been pushed. There are very few survivors. What a mess.”

                      Mari Fe was looking intently at the cleaner. “There is something different about you; I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

                      The cleaner ducked her head nervously as she gathered up her things. “I best get going. Duty calls.”

                      “I know what it is!” said Mari Fe triumphantly, “You’ve grown a moustache!”

                      #3014
                      AvatarJib
                      Participant

                        Ed was indulging himself in one of his little guilty pleasures. Listening to Mozart’s 21st piano concerto in a pink tutu. As the first notes flew out of the speakers, he was looking with contempt at his newly grown moustache in his starlight mirror. It was perfectly waxed and shiny.

                        #3001
                        EricEric
                        Keymaster

                          Ed Steam’s brilliant plan was simple enough. He had dreamt about it a while ago and the idea had grown on him ever since. Now, he had all he needed to make it happen. The land, the materials, and the artefacts and rotes needed to manipulate the bulk of it around.

                          It was simple, actually and yet every detail had to be perfect. There were matters of perspective and proportions that were delicate to manage.
                          And of course he had to be careful using the artefacts with finesse, to be undetected by the Surge team’s monitoring systems. He had designed most of them, so he wasn’t too concerned, although Cornella’s upgrades may be more efficient.
                          He had calculated the project would probably take him years to complete, but he was fine with it, it was a fun adventure, creating your own palace so to speak.

                          First, the grounds. That of a glorious castle, with French gardens on a large lightly sloped tumulus. His armoured bears could stay in the surrounding forest where beehives were strategically placed.
                          On top of the tumulus, instead of a castle, there was a large mill, a cross between a windmill, castle and lighthouse maybe, with walls white and round, many entrances, rooms and stairs leading to the upper levels. That was where most of the work was to be organized. The whole roof was actually like a city, with narrow streets even.
                          Except the buildings where made from entire stacks of full-sized caravans, making living units, each with its own interior and decoration.

                          He didn’t know why the stacks of caravans were so appealing to him. Frankly, said like this it could seem like a hill of rubbish dump. However, he had visited this dream place when it was full of people, a fellowship of people living in the caravans and enjoying this particular place. He’d figured, this seems so great and I have the means to create it, so if not me, who else?

                          #2988
                          EricEric
                          Keymaster

                            Ed Steam’s Rally Update:

                            Where is your Surge Team now?

                            Other recurring characters in the same timeline:

                            • Ed Steam • last seen fomenting a sinister plot in his secret hideout after faking his own demise and looting the Surge HQ artefacts warehouse (#2946)
                            • Aqua Luna • last seen at an unknown location, in a mysterious ship after a probable alien abduction in Long Poon (#2945)
                            • Belle (Bee) Endwhistle • last seen flushed out-of-body in the magic E-map, but didn’t yet reappear unlike Pearl and Mari Fe (#2902)

                            Recurring other-dimensional characters in the same timeline:

                            Other characters in the future timeline:

                            #2983
                            AvatarJib
                            Participant

                              Aqua Luna’s duster was stuck in Cornella’s keyboard. She was still struggling to free it without paying too much attention to the screen. The red symbols blinking on the maps would have confused her, she would not have understood their meaning or the significance of the buttons she inadvertently pushed in her struggle. She has grown in the countryside, at a time where there was no internet available. She barely used her Oopia telepooh her daughter offered her a few years ago. The truth was she didn’t know how to take the call, even after her son in-law, showed her. Richard, that was his name. “He got the face’s name” she thought imagining the rag was a hair in his nose.

                              “I got it!” she exulted, pushing unknowingly the key combination to lock the session again. She returned the keyboard to its former position just as Cornella arrived.
                              “Oh! Thank you Aqua, you’re such a sweetie.”
                              The cleaning lady who didn’t really understood English put on her talk-to-my-hand smile. And left the room. She would clean the other desks later, she needed a break.

                              Cornella’s voice stormed out.
                              “What the heck! There has been a breach in the artifact chamber!”
                              But Aqua Luna wasn’t paying attention, it was like French to her. She was rather wishing she could taking one of those red limo to go back to her place. The Chicks always used them to go everywhere, but Aqua had to take the public transportation system. That wasn’t fair.

                              She sneaked into the garage, not aware of the camera system or the alarm system. Tony, one of the chauffeurs was there.

                              #2818

                              In reply to: Snowflakes of Tens

                              F LoveF Love
                              Participant

                                Alfred, the clockwork Murganian, suddenly remembered he had an overdue library book.

                                He picked up the dusty book from the oven, took off his coat, rolled to the door and pulled a key from his shoe to let himself out. It was such a very long time since he had been out and he was most surprised to find that the seeds he had planted in the sky some time ago had grown to such an extent that his pathway was no longer accessible.

                                What to do? wondered Alfred. He wondered for a few minutes then realised that wondering was getting him nowhere and action was called for.

                                “Help” he shouted.

                                {link – key}

                                #2693

                                In reply to: Strings of Nines

                                EricEric
                                Keymaster

                                  Mandrake had been on Yikes’ trail for what seemed to be like ages, closely followed by Arona, the silly dragon and that demigod Arona seemed to have grown so fond of.

                                  As they were walking, flying and hopping further North, they had passed the Forest of Endless Desolation, just through the Isthmus of Ghört’s Hammer where the whaling laments of the lamanatees were luring the careless travellers in pits of dark despair, only for them to sink in cores of boiling lava if they strayed too far away from the darken wizened old sticks that once had been luxuriant trees.

                                  Mandrake would have made a meal of the dreaded lamanatees, but Arona had thought safer for them to plug their ears with candle wax and invoke their Mother guidance to help in their quest to find the lost boy. Little had she thought of the pain it would be to scrap it off his catly ears without turning wax into furballs, and his ears into a prickly mess.
                                  These minor troubles apart, they had gone through Arona’s homeland, the pretty Golfindely, which was only a soft consolation before they got to the far ends of it, where land, water and ice meld and become one. It was the threshold, the passageway to the homeland of the dragons, where only Sorcerers and their likes were known to have been and returned.

                                  It was there that the sabulmantium had hinted Yikes would been found.

                                  :fleuron:

                                  When Minky came finally back to the High Priestess of the Pendulous and Loose Otherworldly Threading —aka Messmeerah (Winky) Maymhe—, Messmeerah was taking a dip into the Rejuvenation Pool. Her last vials of bleufrüsh blood had been all drunk, and she was starting to get all sagging after mere hours out of the icy waters.

                                  She welcomed with a large smile, the sack Minky was carrying as a treasure, where Yikes was calmly waiting.
                                  “Thank you Miny” she said, throwing some ashes to the minion who, in a puff, instantaneously transformed into a large redhair rat, which disappeared behind Messmee’s luscious green hair.

                                  “There, there, there, look what we got…” she finally said ominously to the boy who was considering the naked green evil fairy in front of him with a rather interested and mildly amused glance. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she said, raising an eyebrow, maybe slightly disappointed at the lack of frightened reaction.

                                  “Oh, looks like you’re a genuine green fairy, “ he said staring at her with a smile.

                                  #2661

                                  In reply to: Strings of Nines

                                  F LoveF Love
                                  Participant

                                    “You will always be my endearingly ugly baby, Yikesy,” said Arona sternly, “however old you are. Why it was not even a year ago that you were eleven, according to that weirdo dragon anyway. And now here you are all grown up telling me you are eighteen. It doesn’t matter to me one way or another, my precious boy.”

                                    Arona sniffled emotionally.

                                    “Now keep hold of my hand while we go and see if we can find Vincentius. I hope he has that grumpy old cat with him.”

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