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  • #465

    Al was discussing with Sam on the phone.
    He was reminded of the good advices Tina had told him to try before Hari Amgic: a treatment based on organic sulfur for his hair loss…
    All he could get at the time was frizzy blond hair that would fall like red leaves in autumn…

    But now all was for the best for his hair, he had maintained his hair at a manageable and sustainable growth rate, but somehow this seemed to have been sent back on his nails which were now growing alarmingly fast…

    At least he had a perfect excuse since no shoe would be stretchable enough, to wander barefoot as he liked to do, though Tina was finding that a bit yucky.

    This had been seen in the past apparently, as Al was searching in the World’s Archives…


    Inspired by the courageous example of Finn, Quintin was thinking of changing his name too.

    There were too many Quintins out there, and he needed to find something more suitable. Michaela had mistaken him again for another Quintin, and of course, Quintin had heard Elias laugh in the background.
    Yann’s battery of his new phone was charged at 33%, so that was probably a confirmation too.

    Why not something like Yurick
    Looking for a confirmation, Quintin found this.

    YORICK: Altered form of JORCK. This name was used by Shakespeare for a court jester in his play ‘Hamlet’. :yahoo_skull:
    JORCK: Danish form of GEORGE

    So that was it… Having recently read some poems from George Gordon Byron, Quintin thought that it was in perfect sync.
    Yurick was henceforth adopted.

    Interestingly, Yurick noticed that it was the 303 rd comment posted. So it was obviously another confirmation. Perhaps that with his new name, now Yurick wouldn’t need 3 confirmations in a row…


    — Peeeeerrrry! Peerrrry!

    Yann was recalling Quintin’s mother… she was calling the cat playing in the garden, obviously more fascinated with the mice he was chasing than with the non-living food Scooter had just put on his plate…

    Scooter… he smiled at the affectionnate nickname he had given her. She was always going somewhere, doing something, never staying calm and quiet.

    The phone rang…


    Tina thought of a great gift for her friend Becky.

    She purchased her a gift voucher for an hour’s consultation with Hari Amgic. Hari had helped Al considerably when he was facing similar hair loss issues. Mostly Hari worked on identifying core underlying beliefs, particularly in relation to hair follicles, which was his area of speciality. Also a bit of energy work was involved and advanced visualisation skill training, or something. Tina was hazy on the details. Al had explained it of course, at some length. The main thing was though, that his hair looked great now and Tina felt optimistic for Becky.

    Let’s hope it grows back before Sean gets here thought Tina, chuckling merrily and shaking her fine head of thick glossy curls. It’s 2033, anything is possible!

    Her advanced psychic skills told her something was up between Sean and Becky, although Becky had not said anything directly to her. Perhaps she was not aware herself yet.

    She actually had found a message on her phone from Sean the other day, but it was so slurred that she could not make out what he was saying. Probably asking after Becky. How cute!

    Dear Becky, about time she got herself another lover. She hoped Sean could cook though, not everyone enjoyed Becky’s rather creative, albeit nutritional, culinery offerings.


    Becky yawned and blinked. What a dream she’d had, full of babies! :yahoo_surprise: And they had all been squalling and crying at once, making her head spin and deafening her :yahoo_not_listening:

    Well, only a dream she said, and went to make coffee. :yahoo_coffee: Whilst eating her breakfast a little later that afternoon (she had overslept well past noon), she perused the Reality Times newspaper. :news: There was a big advertisement for the forthcoming opening of the new T.R.A.P. Amusement Park and it reminded her that Sean would be arriving soon from Dublin. :bounce:

    Unaware of any association with her thoughts about Sean, Becky picked up her telephone and booked an appointment for a haircut. :yahoo_on_the_phone:


    Dublin, November 2057

    Hallowe’en had always been associated with fond memories with Sean. After all, back in 2033, it was the inauguration date of the first T.R.A.P. entertainment park, where he and Becky had been falling madly in love with each other.

    There had been lots of things for Sean to put aside, especially considering how quick it all had been for them, especially considering the death of his wife, and this too short period of grieving by all standards, but well, bugger off the others.
    He had not wanted to give any explanation, and Becky and him were sure of what they did.
    And all had changed that year, even Becky had suddenly wished for lots of children. And they’ve had got children…

    2035, the triplets: Oliver, Léan and Illana
    2037 the quintuplets: Flora, Finn, Frank, Fanny and Fergie
    and finally, in 2038, quadruplets: Vivian, Eve, Kevin and Mavie

    He was thinking of his father, and how they had almost ceased to communicate. The children now, were almost all grown-ups and this would be the first Christmas they would have together with Becky without the children. Sean was feeling a bit nostalgic.
    Perhaps he should phone his father, the upright Lord Hilarion Wrick


    Funny, Finn replied to a text from a friend.

    When she looked at her phone though, she saw it did not say “funny” at all, instead it read the word finn

    weirdo she thought :yahoo_surprise:


    If Tina hadn’t hung up the phone so fast, Becky mumbled to herself, I could have told her I was with Sam, and she could say hello to him herself. And I could have asked her to come over and help me try to get some rice water down him.

    So far he’d refused, asking instead for flowers and sweets. Delirious, Becky suspected, and running a fever. And still scribbling all that jibberish!


    Tina had a wonderful night of dreams. In fact it was the first time in ages that her dreams had been happy. Usually in her dreams she did not feel any emotion much.

    The phone rang. It was Becky, although for a moment she thought it was her friend Docky, their voices sounded so similar.

    I am fine she told Becky, I am so sorry to hear Sam is sick, give him my love when you see him

    Tina chuckled to herself, remembering how last time she was sick Becky had bought over this big pot of nettle soup for her…

    Really though, she was so grateful for her friends. Al seemed a bit worried about her at the moment, but then he was such a worry wort, she thought fondly.


    Sam was quite pleased actually to be so unwell, it was giving him an excuse not to go out in the newly flooded city… it was quite unusual and sudden, and he was also quite pleased that the flood was just stopping at the first floor ;))

    Well he had news from Becky who wanted to come here and bring him some flowers and sweets. And he realized that he himself hadn’t their phone numbers… he’ll have to ask his friends.

    The bell!!! :-O


    Becky was already here!? He was still in pajamas, Foo’kin gondolas, so much faster than the cabs…


    Becky waited patiently at the doorstep on the third floor of her apartment building, trying to hail a gondola cab. The canvas bag over her shoulder was heavy. In it she had a thermos flask of rice water and poppy heads for her friend Sam, who had telephoned her with the news that he was unwell.

    While she waited, she wondered about Tina and Al. They hadn’t said anything, but Becky sensed there were some issues bubbling under the surface. Tina’s strange behaviour when she answered the phone; Al’s uncharacteristically rude discounting of the outing she’d planned for them all….well! They will soon bounce back, Becky thought, If there’s anything I can do, I’m sure they’ll ask. Meanwhile, Becky chanted the mantra, It Matter’s Not; Everything Is Perfect…..


    As Sean pushed open the door of the Dunloughpadraisobahairiedunkennyloughaire Arms, the swirling dampness of the Dublin street was transformed into a scene of noisy smoky conviviality. He pushed his way slowly through the crowd towards the bar, glancing up at Oscar the pub parrot, who was singing the refrain from The Irish Rover.

    The usual, Padraig, Sean said to the barman, and a packet of cheese and onion crisps.

    He found a stool to sit on next to a sticky ringed round table surrounded by plump gossiping matrons and wiry cloth capped men with bulbous red veined noses. Sean exchanged a few pleasantries with them about the weather, mainly about how unpleasant the weather always was, and then lapsed into reverie.

    The Big Apple…..that’s what they used to call the famous city, before they renamed it New Venice. Sean was curious to see the changes, not least the bright yellow gondolas that had replaced the taxi-cabs in the watery streets.

    On impulse, Sean fished his mobile telephone out of his pocket and dialed Tina’s number, but the line was engaged. He finished his pint of Guinness and called to Padraig to pull him another one. He tried Tina’s number again; this time a recorded message informed him that Tina had switched her telephone off.

    An hour and a half and seven pints later, Sean gave up trying to phone Tina and lurched home to bed.


    Hi Torsten, said Tina, giving her old friend a hug. Thanks for calling and saying you had some time to chat, hope I didn’t sound odd when I answered the phone, Becky was there, and I didn’t want to tell her. I am trying to pretend I am normal you see, she laughed wryly.

    I really need someone who isn’t involved with the play to talk to though, I feel like I am going a bit weirdo, bottling everything up. And it is affecting the play and my relationship with the others.

    I can’t find my place in the play the others are writing. See it is the play “the others are writing”. I feel as though I am drifting through it, trying to find my way amidst the structure, if you can call it structure, they give it. And that is the way I am feeling about life, I can’t find my place in it

    At the moment I claim to believe in magic, and that I create my own reality, but I certainly don’t feel it the last few days. She thought for a moment. Well other days recently have been golden, it is all magic. I find it everywhere. Yes, I have had days like that, but the last week or so I can’t find it.

    What changed?

    I felt as though I couldn’t create what I wanted to.

    What if you could?

    All of it? It would be a miracle though. My rational mind tells me it is not possible. And in that lies the source of this pain.

    So you don’t believe what you claim to believe

    Tina thought for a moment. I keep feeling the eyes of that Blue Mule character I told you we created on me. That’s not his name, but I keep getting stuck on the spelling . Well actually I didn’t create him. The others keep creating new characters, every time someone does a typo, it is “hey! new character!” Anyway this was ages ago. And in the play there was a picture that one of the characters, Quintin, did, and whenever I say “I can’t”, then I feel these eyes of Blue Mule challenging me, and it’s like he’s saying, “ well what DO you believe then?” and it is like a real challenge in these eyes.


    …’s just that it does sound rather simplistic, I mean ……Tina frowned at the script.

    Well, it depends doesn’t it, Becky replied. As it’s a fictional recreational piece of performance art, certainly it wants a few complications, a few twists, a few riddles…..

    The phone rang, interrupting Becky’s rambling. Tina rather rudely snatched the phone just as Becky was about to answer it, suddenly seeming to be a bit breathless and pink in the cheeks.

    Just then a garbage truck came to a grindingly noisy halt outside and Becky was unable to eavesdrop on Tina’s oddly furtive conversation.


    The thing is, Dory, George was speaking gently, but was looking pointedly into her eyes as he spoke, the thing is that nobody ever needs any help, as you are accustomed to think of it.

    Do you like that line, Tina? Becky asked in a bemused way.

    Tina reflected. Well I like the fact that he speaks in a gentle voice like me. Her voice trailed off. However, it’s just that it does sound rather simplistic, I mean …..

    Oh thank god, the phone is ringing, I have created help so I won’t have to finish what I started to say.


    New York, October, 4 th 2033

    Albert had opened the newspaper, scanning distractedly through the various pages of text that would read aloud automatically when he was running his fingers through it. He was about to close it, when he noticed that article in the Life Focus section.

    (click for article)


    Dublin, October 5 th 2033

    Sean Doran Wrick had received tons of phone calls, emails and voice mails of condolences since the past few weeks, but he had not found the strength to answer any of them. Especially those coming from his father.

    That morning, he had received some letters that he would have left on top of the others, had he not recognized the round and cheerful calligraphy of Becky on one of them.

    He had known Becky when they had traveled together in Syria, and had enjoyed so much the lively young woman that they had kept in touch during all those years.

    He was pleased to read from her, and wanted to enjoy it fully.

    So he took his time to put to bed Guinevere and Peregrine before. Guinevere was the eldest, very mature for her barely 11 year old. She took great care of her younger brother, who was more dreamy and foolish. Peregrine would turn 10 next March… but he was hardly as responsible as his sister when she was his age…

    Dear Sean, Becky was writing

    I would have liked to finally take the time to write to you in better conditions, but I could not delay any longer. I saw the obituary in the newspaper, and wanted you to know that I share your grief and loss, and extend much love and support to you and to your dear little ones.

    I know you’re not the kind of person to be satisfied with banalities, so I will not dwell on this tragedy, and will remember the best moments we shared together.

    I still continue my studies and practices on dramatherapy, and till now it has proved very beneficial, in many ways. I have learned so many things. It’s quite rewarding. We are a close-knit group of fools (or drôles as Al loves to say, as some of his ancestors come from the bayous!), and that is very much enjoyable when things that tragic come to one’s reality.

    In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.




    Orkney Islands, October 4 th, 2057

    This year again, Sean Doran had not answered his father’s calls.

    This September 23 th was the twenty fourth anniversary of the disengagement of Lord Wrick’s daughter-in-law, and this was always a very somber period for the family.

    Hopefully, the twins were here to enliven the old mansion, for as long as their parents, Lord Wrick’s grand-children, would be traveling. And of course, there had been the unexpected return of the books, which had been comforting too.

    Nonetheless, Hilarion Wrick was sad, and Bill the painter was uneasy as to how he could not quite put right the portrait of the old dragon…


    A few days after Sam and Becky’s conversation on the phone, they were having a rehearsal.

    Just at the moment when they felt stuck again, despite Sam’s moves, Al and Tina, a couple of friends came crashing into the small theater room, and were greeted by an icy cold silence. “Icy” is an exaggeration of course, said Tina, “it just meant I had to put a jacket on again today”.

    Sorry for being late! said Al a bit uneasy.
    — Oh you and your uneasiness! said Tina. And I’m sure we’re arriving at the perfect time.
    — Oh, well, I’m not sure of anything today, said Becky. I’m sick of being force-fed coleslaw, and rigging down holes for myself.

    A silence was on the scene.


    At the same time, somewhere on the deck of his ship, Bådul was remembered of the landscapes of his land. He had not really appreciated them before, but now, he was finding them dear to him. They were for the most part a mixture of sandy dunes, from which at times peaks of icy rocky mountains would stick out. Lately he had felt like one of these peaks sticking out of the sands. The sands were shifting.


    Somewhere in Malvina’s cave.

    Malvina had been polishing the last dry eggs that she had found and that would not hatch. One of them had some interesting perfect round shape, and a very transparent shell, and it gave her an idea.

    She asked Leörmn to come.


    Quintin’s bedroom.

    [1:01] The clock was saying. Quintin had just awoken from a dream about an elderly woman who was showing him some drawings. These were not actually drawings, but in fact, they were called by the lady “glassart”. It was made, she said, of coloured sands, and would be vitrified by some flame. Quintin in that dream had thought the designs rather crude, but had found the idea interesting, and with great potential.


    Leörmn came almost instantly, appearing in a puff of teal smoke.

    Oh, I see… he said, reading Malvina’s mind. And I think I have the perfect sands to go with it.


    — Why hasn’t that pirate, Badass…
    Badul, corected Al
    — Whatever, Becky pursued imperturbably, that pirate Baddock used traveling portals to go and look for the eggs? Why the seas? Sounds a bit complicated and with lots of dangers too.
    — Good question, answered Al. Well, don’t want to answer for everyone, but in my perception…
    — Oh, get lost with your “in my perception” thing, that’s becoming tiring… sighed Tina
    — OK. So, for me, they have forgotten much about magic in his land.
    — Makes sense… added Sam dreamily… In fact, I’m not sure after all that Badul is only after gold. I think he has found some old desert dragon egg in a cave lost in his country and hopes to revive it, with the help of the people who still know about magic.
    — Which would explain the quest… said Al
    — Yeah, and he would have hidden that to the rest of the crew, probably… said Tina


    Leörmn had now finished assembling the magical artifact.

    — That’s one of our most beautiful magical artifact I’d say, Malvina gleamed
    — Oh yes it is. And how would you call it?
    — Let’s see…


    sabulmantium !

    Everyone cracked up at the word that Al had just blurted out. They had decided to have some distraction to alleviate the stress on the play, and they had a fun improvisation game, saying stupid things that went through their minds.

    — Hey! Don’t laugh like that, it’s something very serious actually, said Al tongue-in-cheek. Let me see…
    — Hahahaha, the others continued
    — Well, it’s a divination device, or a sort of compass in a way. I see it as a globe made of glass, with coloured sands in it, and when you focus on it, the sands take all sorts of three dimensional shapes, and become alive…
    — Wow! Tina couldn’t help but say.


    Leörmn, as Malvina had been telling him (or vice versa), had put the sabulmantium in one of the tunnels, to a place where he knew Arona would find it, and probably put it to good use for her future adventures.


    Becky and Sam were chatting on the phone. I want a day off from shifting, Becky sighed.
    I was saying that yesterday, Sam said, bugger off the shift.

    Becky was reading the rough notes for the new dimensional reality play they were working on with some friends from the create-your-own-drama group

    “You eat with me? Come on, sit down and tell me how you got there?” who is saying this, Georges or Dory? Becky asked Sam. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was finding the plot increasingly hard to follow.

    Dory, Sam replied, and then added, In my perception.

    Becky sighed, and then giggled, making a mental note to review the criteria for Day Off Shifting Day… It could be an awful lot of fun, too, this shifting, maybe Focus on Fun Day instead…

    … She needs to be like a host, Sam was saying. Becky hadn’t been listening properly and wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

    Ok, so pretend I am Dory right now and I say: How did you get here Georges?

    Hahahahh I won’t spoil you! Sam laughed, and Dory harumphed a bit to herself, wondering how to deal with the unexpected appearance of Georges. Not that she wasn’t delighted at the surprise visit, and quite charmed by him.

    ‘Enchanté’ he’d said, and she giggled again.

    To Sam she said Oh I thought that would be an easy help. Then she had an idea.

    I will write Georges smiled a big toothy grin, and said ‘I won’t spoil you’


    When Dorothy Mc Leane, the imperviously impetuous and buoyant archaeologist, temporarily reduced to dust shawls in a small antique boutique of the coast of Madagascar, had been finally coming to her mind, she had felt so out of place.

    She had been in many places at once, and these have hardly been vacations at all. Well, all she had wanted at first was to follow that funny lemur winking on a placard, which was hinting at a funny expedition in a cave.

    But that may just have been phoney gooey advertisement, as she was now stranded in that shoppe with a stupid parrot. No-name parrot…

    That’d make Fiona laugh for sure… she thought; she would say that she wasn’t doing things in halves. Can’t even think if I can find a postcard big enough to tell her everything, she had laughed.

    Well, you don’t have a name by chance? she suddenly asked the bright bird.

    Archibaaaaald howled the parrot joyfully.

    Bugger this, I knew that… Dory couldn’t help but thinking.


    Oh!, she had started to feel exasperated. Archibald would take care of the key anyway, no need to stay here any much longer.

    And right after the parrot had flown through the window, as she was leaving the shoppe and heading to the mini-van where the distraught guide had been obviously looking for her since hours, she couldn’t help but wonder at the number of noisy Italian tourists who had just seemed to pop in, crowding the tiny shawl shoppe…

    Wow… She could have bet they could have been as many as fifty seven…


    This morning, Fiona and Quintin had a small impromptu chat —or rather, prompted by the story they were all weaving, that Archie, the puppet black panther, had been telling them last week-end that it was a magic connection between all of them…

    Quintin: Your story was great!

    Fiona: Thank you :) So was yours.

    Have you written any more since I last looked at the story?

    Quintin: no, I’m not that much inspired… I even considered to wrap in up in a way, but seeing you were all drawing so much from it, I think I will leave it open ever after…

    Fiona: no, wrap it up if you feel.

    I have drawn what I wanted. I will go and blow up the cave if we don’t finish it :)

    Quintin: Ahahaha! Don’t restrict yourself ;)

    Fiona: When you started the Malvina story, did you have an idea where it would go, or did you pick that one because you had no idea?

    Quintin: This one nagged me because there were many people I felt behind it and I did not know how to get them to show up and make their presences known. And I felt that it was loose enough too, to allow people to jump into it; and there was your initial interest in the picture ;)

    Fiona: The endearing dragons…

    Quintin: Yeah…

    But I had strictly no idea about the rest. It was just a bet, on luck…

    That’s funny, because I had a strange impression of a little girl yesterday, in a futuristic city, named something like Janice , and it was like she knew now what she wanted to do, and it was something similar to that, something like creating worlds for other people, in which they could have fun, or heal, or explore things…

    Fiona: And did she have any impression of what form that could take? Like books, or games or what…

    Quintin: No, it was much more “real” in fact…

    Fiona: you know like the card-captor game which I suppose is interactive, so real

    Quintin: Yeah, perhaps a bit like that, yes; or like creating a ball of energy in which people can be drawn and experience as they will. It’s only a translation, but that’s the idea… in a way, that’s very similar to a game or a book, but only that it just feels totally “real”

    Fiona: So a little bit like I have done with the story, to resolve something

    Quintin: yeah, exactly, or with your paintings

    Fiona: It can be really useful to take on other personas to do that, even like in drama type situations, being someone else…

    Quintin: Yeah, people can unleash their imagination.

    And I think there are still lots of things that we can expand in this universe in fact, not only related to the cave…

    Fiona: such as? eggsamples?

    Quintin: You said it! The eggs and relationships with dragons, all the magical artifacts or creatures. Didn’t you want a baby dragon?

    Fiona: Yeah, I told you I did, but you just said some riddle!

    Quintin: Did I? That’s not like me ;)

    Fiona: Ahahhaha! It is you to the core

    Quintin: LOL, damn me!

    Fiona: Well, that is a bit strong, but …

    Quintin: Ahahahahah. I said you would have to earn his trust? (or hers, for that matter)

    Fiona: I can’t remember the eggsact wording, I think I had to work for it though, like you weren’t just handing out dragons on a plate

    Quintin: It could bound with you very strongly and help you unravel your unknown magical powers. It’s not just a creature, it’s a complex personality, you cannot just take it like a puppy. There is a sharing between the two…

    Fiona: So are you going to allocate baby dragons to people or what? Or shall I just go and find an egg that no one knew was there :)

    Quintin: Ahahah, no, they will not be allocated, they will choose their own partners

    Fiona: Ahahaha, one minute you say it is my story! And now you are back in control

    Quintin: Ahahaha, the story has a willing of its own too…

    Try to do what you want, it’s not a matter of control ; it’s just you’ll know what clicks and what does not…

    Quintin: And actually, I don’t think everyone will be interested in dragons…

    Fiona: How does a dragon help one learn magic powers?

    Quintin: It’s just because there is an openness between the two; let me find something for you, that Elias (you know, Michaela’s partner), has told to me and Yann, when we had them on the phone last month.

    Elias : I would express to you that, as you focus your energies with each other, and you allow yourselves to merge and feel into each others’ energies, you may in actuality each discover some obstacles that the other may not necessarily be aware of yet, and you can share that with each other, and therefore facilitate your interactions even further.

    Fiona: And how having a baby dragon could help unleash our magic powers then?

    Quintin: It helps because it reinforces your trust in your own abilities to connect. It’s not directing, it’s a sharing and exploration for both of them; that’s why they are picky. As you would be picky too, knowing you would share together all the darkest corners…

    Fiona: I am not sure if i have dark corners ;)

    Quintin: it was a metaphor :D

    Fiona: ahahahhahahahahahah

    Fiona: I know, so was mine :D

    Quintin: ahahahahah

    Fiona: I was thinking I feel really accepting of myself

    Quintin: Yeah, that’s the point in the little adventure before you meet it.

    You have shown your trust in yourself and in your abilities, and your self-centeredness, which is essential, for the dragon doesn’t want a frail personality. Because he drops his defenses too when he shares and bonds.

    Fiona: Well I think it sounds scarey now, what if no dragon picked me…

    Quintin: There will be instant recognition. And you don’t “need” a dragon actually, that’s what is important: it’s a catalyst, nothing more, nothing less…

    Fiona: True.

    Quintin: Like Arona managed to sneak into the cave without giving the answer to the riddle (egg-sitingly) because it mattered not to her, whatever the outcome, she was directing of herself.

    Fiona: I felt like I have pictures now to assist me. I link strongly to pictures as a quick reference when I start to feel something like a negative emotion, for instance I may start to worry about how I am going to have enough money, or whatever, and I could quickly link to the spider picture

    Quintin: you mean, you create an imagery, right? That is something which I like in your stories and emails; even though it is not necessary to create imagery, it’s always so entertaining, like having these funny creatures pop in the cave!

    Fiona: Ahahahaha yes

    Quintin: And also, in creating imagery, it helps you seeing it in a more neutral way

    Fiona: I suppose it is just a quick trigger for the desired belief. I can link in quickly with the child, when I start to feel left out, for example.

    Quintin: yeah, beliefs as an alphabet or a palette, neutral, but that can create words and sentences or images. And the imagery of the child was very similar for me, to that of the playfulness picture

    Fiona: Yeah, I know… That’s what I said to you with the playfulness picture

    Quintin: Of course, you know :)

    Fiona: That I related most to the figure of blue hat… and big feet

    Quintin: Ahahaha, stomping on the poor key-fish

    Fiona: Nearly…

    Quintin: Have to go now, thank you for this enjoyable conversation

    Fiona: See you! :)

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