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Junabelle
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#1
Old 04-07-2015, 10:06 PM

Amara Golden (Hughes)
Age: 16
Height: 5'9"
Background: Amara came from a rich family. Or so she'd like to think. But all she can remember is glimpses of a man walking out on her and her life, and leaving her to the care of foster homes after foster homes with the words, "I'll return," replaying in her mind to this very day. But foster home after foster home, she had grown tired of it and it hadn't been long before she made the mistake of acting out on it. Feeling as if she didn't belong anywhere and wasn't truly wanted anywhere, she grew dark with unhappiness and contempt. Now she's put into one last foster home, given one very last chance before she's sent into a home for girls that's meant to be the last stop (a very unlucky stop) for girls like her.
Looks: Chocolate eyes always rimmed with light mascara, lips always covered in nude pink lip colors, hair short and brown with a natural curl and wave to them, and pale skin that burns easily.
Personality: Quiet, observant, wishful, daydream believer, sensitive, touchy, can be rude and mean, very closed-off, self-guarded in the highest way possible for someone like her, hopeless romantic, reader, and introvert.
Likes and Dislikes will be added later.

Last edited by Junabelle; 04-08-2015 at 02:26 AM..

Sugiza
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#2
Old 04-08-2015, 12:53 AM


Name: Malcolm Wetekam (foster surname is Hughes)
Age/Apparent Age: About 17, give or take a few months.
Appearance: Malcolm has a slender, angular face, the glasses resting on his petite nose featuring a thin silver frame with fairly thick lenses. Brown eyes peer out from under a mess of black, uncombed medium-length hair.
Build: Malcolm stands at about 6'0", though his slouched posture puts him closer to 5'11" or 5'10" at times. His build is slender and sinewy, only weighing about 145 lbs, with little muscle mass and even less fat. He often compensates for his thin frame with very bulky clothing that looks somewhat goofy on him.
Personality: Malcolm, while being a veritably social and charming, hides everything away behind a mask. He deals with emotional turmoil by joking around and teasing others, but clams up when somebody pries too deep. Ironically, this makes him a perfect listener, as he's always pressing others for their thoughts but hiding his own. In addition, he can be a bit overdramatic at times, is clingy and possessive, and tends to overinterpret every action or word towards him.

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THE SKY stretched like a tapestry over the landscape, painted in the pinks and oranges only presented when the sun was on its way past the horizon. The light of dusk painted over the sidewalks and buildings, casting shadows that seemed to reach into infinity by the naked eye. Malcolm's brown irises noted all of these as he rested his arms on the windowsills, the half-room behind him prepared in the most basest of manners; a bed, a dresser, a desk with a mirror, and a thin pearl-colored curtain separating one side from the other. In fact, Malcolm's bag hadn't even been unpacked, just his clothes set aside for the next day, a bright red shirt stacked on a pair of size-too-big jeans almost leaning over the edge of the table.

Malcolm gave a sigh as he shifted to put his tattered sneakers on the foot of his extra-long twin-sized bed as the headboard rested against the piece of wall that stretched halfway across the room, acting as a solid component to the thin sheet that separated his room from his sibling's. Truth be told, he wasn't even sure he or she was here yet. He was alone when his new foster parents gushed over his apparently saccharine smile and personality for the first time, the apparently barren couple delighted for a chance at raising a child. The notion made him sick. After a lunch at the local Olive Garden, he had retreated up to his room to 'unpack' but had no interest in doing so, rather reflecting on the circumstances that brought him here, and the future.

His palms rested against the heavy, baggy, dark blue sweatshirt that he wore almost everywhere, stenciled with faded white lettering detailing 'GRAND CANYON // AZ // 1919'. He cared not for Arizona or it's sights, but wore it because it offset his thin frame. Indeed, Malcolm bundled in layers almost every day to make himself look bigger, a trick he had learned very early at one of his old schools in California. However, his thoughtful staring was interrupted by a sound he couldn't interpret immediately, shifting his head to look out of the corner of his eye.

Junabelle
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#3
Old 04-08-2015, 02:31 AM

The social worker terrified Amara, even the parole officer behind her as they escorted her to the front door of her new foster home. She sucked in a breath, her eyes downcast upon the warm pavement and uneven stepping stones. Her hands held tight to her duffel bag that carried all of her belongings, as if for support. Her worn Converse sneakers patted against the stone as she looked down at herself, almost worried if she looked presentable to her new foster parents or not. She noted her worn, loose floral dress and her tight brown jacket as her medium-length brown hair curtained around her in a protective shield.

"Let's hope this is the last stop for you," said the parole officer behind her. Her voice had come back in a tough, low almost-groan and it made Amara sigh.

Anger bit at her as she held her breath and her tongue. Apart of her had hoped the very same, while the other part of her knew this was just another temporary home. There was no doubt this couple would want to keep her when they figure her out.

The social worker knocked on the door, which soon opened to reveal a young couple dressed in khakis and button-down shirts. So they were that kind of foster parents, she noted. But where was the foster sibling that her social worker had told her about? Her eyes trailed up and down the couple, reading them like an open book. They reeked of naivety.

"Welcome to our home!" said the woman, her new foster mother, a bit too cheerily.

Amara forced her lips into a small stretch of a smile. She wanted to be as polite as she could possibly be, but if her new foster mother will always be this peppy, there will definitely be a problem.

"Why don't I show you the room you and your foster sibling will be sharing? Then you can unpack," started the woman as she gently grabbed Amara's forearm and nearly dragged her across the threshold. She noted how the woman didn't specify if the sibling was a brother or a sister, but she assumed it was a sister being that she was sharing a room with them, "unwind, make yourself at home, and dinner should be ready by then!" Th foster mother turned to the officer and social worker, thanking them as the foster father shook hands with them and signed a few papers quickly before Amara was left on her own with the two.

Amara was led to a room that looked divided to act like a makeshift set of two rooms. Two twin-sized beds sat on opposite ends of the room and she eyed the boy near the window at the end.

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#4
Old 04-08-2015, 03:08 AM

Malcolm kept his arms folded while the heavy pine door creaked open, the hinges groaning with age, his eyes drawn away from the light outside to the figure in the doorframe. At first, he didn't recognize her; but as he took in her features from head to toe, a piece of his brain triggered. He'd seen her before, but he couldn't remember where. As he stared at her and she at him, a silence stretched across the room -- wholly uncomfortable and oppressive, like a thick wool blanket in the middle of July. After a time period that felt like an eternity of first impressions and immediate judgements, he finally spoke.

"Was kind of hoping for a brother." His deadpan face eased itself into the practiced smile he had done so many times as he swung his jean-clad legs over the edge of the bed. "Kidding. Judging by your bags, you'll be my foster sister. Am I wrong?"

He stood up and let out a tremendous yawn as he stretched, noting the clock helpfully informing him that he hadn't moved for several hours. His back and arms gave several rattling pops and creaks before he settled back down, slipping his left thumb into his pocket as he lifted his heavy green duffel bag onto his bed.

"I'm Malcolm. Used to be Wetekam once upon a time -- German, if you're curious -- now it's..." He paused as he legitimately combed his brain for a few moments. "...Hughes, I think. Or was it Norton? I've been around so often, changes every few months."

He slipped his free hand towards her for a handshake, kind of tapering off halfway and merely slipping his hands into his pockets instead as he reconsidered his options. Not wanting to offend her and not able to immediately judge how she'd react, his deep brown irises observed her carefully, standing about four feet away. A comfortable distance.

Last edited by Sugiza; 04-08-2015 at 03:10 AM.. Reason: whoops i forgot i wasn't doing second person anymore

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#5
Old 04-08-2015, 07:19 PM

Amara's hands tightened around the straps of her bag, ignoring the sting that came with the rough fabric that was now digging into her skin. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it in as her eyes rested upon his extended hand. I was hoping for a foster sister, she thought, but didn't dare speak it aloud.

At first she wanted to ignore his hand, to brush past him and busy herself with making up her new space as visibly hers as possible. She had a rolled up poster in her bag and hopefully, from the drive, it didn't get squished and bent. She thought of the little blue vase she had made at her last school. Hopefully the pens and pencils she had stashed in it hadn't tipped over in her bag at all. But in all honesty, she wanted to ignore him, to be as invisible as possible here in this house so that she could make it to 18 without ending up at that all-girls foster home. The last thing she wanted was to end up at that last stop.

But politeness was key, or so a voice in the back of her mind had urged her to think. So she tightened her hands bit more before one let go and slipped into his extended hand. She let her breath loose as her eyes landed back on his, a visibly fake smile taking place, though it more resembled a straight line.

"Amara. Just Amara," she murmured as she shook his hand and soon took it back, walking over and dropping her bag onto the foot of her bed as the Foster parents left them alone to get to know a bit about each other.

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#6
Old 04-09-2015, 12:48 AM

"Amara," He repeated to himself as he felt the cool skin of her palm against his for a fleeting moment, the curt handshake telling him a great deal of what he was interested in as she passed by him to dump her things on her bed. He watched her go with his thumbs planted in his pockets, slouching with those bulky clothes of his, thinking about what to say next. After a bit of contemplation, he decided to let things be, and stepped back to his bag to start unpacking his things as well.

Shirts, pants, jackets -- these things were about all he had in this world. Malcolm was never good with his hands and spectacularly failed each art class he took, and wasn't long for the material possessions of things. He had money in his wallet and bank from the jobs he had been working since roughly a year ago, but spent it on very little other than food, the occasional haircut and other bare necessities. The silence became too much to bear for him, as he finally spoke up, in a voice loud enough for her to hear.

"Not a talkative one, are you?"

It was a simple question, one without malice or hate, but still came off as quite nosy and prying. He noted his own apparent lack of tact with the subject and shrugged it off like water down his back. "That's alright. I'll be eighteen in just under a year. You've only gotta tolerate it until then." The sound of a dresser closing signaled that he was done putting his clothes away, and he found his mouth moving yet again without his conscious thought.

"How many homes you been in? Doesn't look like this is your first ride."

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#7
Old 04-09-2015, 04:56 AM

Amara was able to busy herself from thinking about her new foster brother as she unzipped her bag. The first things she pulled out was her small clay pot, the pens and pencils still intact, and then her poster. She unrolled it to inspect it, eyeing for any dents in the poster paper. It was a limited edition House of Night series poster with a girl on the cover among a smokey black background. She had a crescent moon at the top of her head, dainty designs following after each side of it that traveled down her temples and to her neck as she looked behind her. In the darkness was a man with black hair and a simpler crescent moon tattoo on his forehead. She found peace at looking at it before she dumped the back onto the bed. Kindle, charger, two worn pairs of straight-legged jeans (a light-wash and dark-wash pair), a few under shirts, a few tank tops, a few sweaters, a cargo jacket, and some undergarments. This was all she had to call hers in a world like this.

She hesitated when she heard his questions before she began to refold her clothes and put them in the small dresser that sat beside the nightstand. Her lips formed a thin line, contemplating what exactly she should say, regardless of what little there was to say.

"This is my eighth home," she murmured to him. She knew she shouldn't have told him that, not so quickly. And with her words came the fear that he would judge her. God, what he must think of her...

She turned to him, her eyebrows slightly risen with seriousness. A few in the past had labled it her "bitch face".

"Look. You seem really nice, Malcolm. But I really don't want to talk. Not to anyone, not anymore than I have to." She began talking with her hands, using them for emphasis. "I really want this home to be my last home and the only way I can make that happen is if I just stick to the silence. Got it?" she pushed. She honestly didn't want to get into any trouble she had gotten into in the past.

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#8
Old 04-09-2015, 05:23 AM

Malcolm couldn't help but let out a small chuckle as she mentioned that this was her eighth home. "Eight?" He started. He had given a shrug and a shake of his head, but it was invisible behind that barrier. Noting that most of the effect of speaking was lost while he was obscured, he stepped into the divide and leaned against the wall so you could see him.

"That's not so bad. This is my sixth. Sometimes, things don't work out." He gave a shrug before you turned to him, your emphatic movements quieting him down as you snapped and pushed at him. His face betrayed the slight pain he felt when you elected to shove him away, but only a for a brief moment as it fell into his neutral half-smile.

There was another long silence -- a recurring theme in this new sibling relationship, he noted -- as he decided what to do and say. He searched for any diplomatic way of handling this before settling on his age-old fallback.

"Well, if that's what you want, don't let me interfere." He shrugged and slipped his thumbs in his pockets as he pushed himself up off of the wall. "Do what you want, live how you want, none of my business. If you need a listening ear, I'm always available." He turned and headed for the door of the bedroom before pausing and looking back at you. "...try to pretend to be friendly, though. Keep up appearances. We are brother and sister after all; people will start to notice if we don't get along. It could lead to a fair amount of headache." He shrugged. "I'm heading downstairs. Dinner should be ready any time now." With that, and with nary a moment for you to formulate a response, slipped outside and closed the door.

In the brief period where he was in the hallway out of sight, he let his expression briefly change to that of anger as he performed his overanalysis of the situation. It took time, but eventually he shrugged it off and trudged downstairs.

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#9
Old 04-09-2015, 07:57 PM

Amara's eyes briefly rested on Malcolm when he came into view. Her nose flared slightly, huffing a frustrated sigh as he continued to talk on and on to her. But as he spoke, she put his words into careful consideration because after all, he did have a point, she noted. She did need to keep up appearances, and she definitely needed to be friendly with him. And while he did seem nice and was kind enough to offer up the advice. If he was honestly just how his first impression had led her to believe that maybe it would be easy for the two to get along, so long as she could allow herself to be just as friendly.

She lowered herself to the soft mattress, her eyes raking over the space. She noted how rather different it was from her last homes, that were all in different shapes and sizes, but none of them as nice as this one. She had been in tight, cramped trailer homes to tiny one-floor houses in the ghetto. She had even been in houses where the food was first-come first serve.

As her empty stomach grumbled and groaned with the need for food, she rose to her feet and followed after Malcolm and down to where she started to smell a strong whiff of cornbread and pork. She stood in the archway that lead into the dining room, seeing four place settings around a six-seated table.

She crossed her arms over her chest and watched as the foster mother came into the room with a big clear plastic bowl of salad.

"Is there anything I can help with?" she asked softly.

Sugiza
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#10
Old 04-12-2015, 04:26 AM

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Day 2, 7:41 AM.
Skyview High School.

Malcolm shoved his hands in the pockets of his oversized hoodie as he angled his body sideways a bit to squeeze past some freshman standing in front of the doors to the massive, almost imposing highschool. It was three stories tall, and had a distinct 'prison' vibe to it with double-layered windows with rings of supports around the frames to prevent them from breaking. The modern architecture stood like a great big grey block against the early morning dawn, blocking the light for hundreds of feet.

The walls in the common rooms were gray and the floor was solid concrete and did nothing to help ease the early-morning chill that clung to the students' bodies. Malcolm shivered a bit and slapped his hands against his jeans to warm them up, turning to look at his sister with his backpack slung over one of his shoulders. He looked fairly goofy standing like that, hands immediately slipping back into pockets and waiting for her briefly to catch up, bulky clothes just slightly not fitting his lean frame.

The noise level had gone from zero to two hundred as he stepped through those doors and he had to shout to be able just to communicate with you. "Home sweet home, huh?" He yelled as he checked his schedule, slipping out of the way of some sophomores running. "Where the hell is our first class?" He looked around to take stock of his surroundings -- tacky yellow full-bodied size lockers, lights that were entirely too bright that shone off the strange material the walls were made of, and people everywhere. Perhaps it was because he skipped class so often, or maybe it was because he usually lived in smaller towns, but there were so many people that he was beginning to grow slightly uncomfortable.

Junabelle
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#11
Old 04-12-2015, 06:11 PM

Amara had to take a moment to look over the new school. It looked duller than the one before, and even the one before that, which was really saying something. Had the school no imagination with creativity of colors? Her eyes stared up at the colorless building, frowning. And after she had watched her foster brother go inside, and while it had been peaceful and quiet outside, the amount of noise and rowdiness on the inside had made her jolt slightly as she followed Malcolm through the doors.

Girls were laughing loudly, doing their makeup at their lockers in groups. Boys in Letterman jackets were throwing footballs around, pushing people out of the way to catch them when they were thrown. Groups of boys and girls wearing heavily angry faces tried to push through the crowd to get to their destination. It was close to a riot in the eyes of poor Amara.

"This sucks!" she yelled over the noise at Malcolm. In her past schools, there had been more space int he hallways -- it hadn't been so overpopulated, and there had always been a friendly student assigned to show her around campus. But this place was different. From what it seemed, you were on your own, left to fend for yourself.

She looked down at her schedule, then over at his. "Hey, at least we have the same classes together!" She put her schedule up beside his, her hand accidental brushing his. She hadn't really been in physical contact with anyone in a long time, so maybe that was why she felt her skin burn and itch. But itch for what? More? She ignored it and pointed at his first class, then up at the clock sticking out of the gray brick wall section above the lockers, where no one could touch it without a ladder.

"We have three minutes left before we're late. Let's work together," she offered. She was tired and grumpy, and she had forced herself to eat foot before her system was even awake to properly digest it, so now she was feeling both sleepy with a hint of feeling sick. She pointed towards the stairs. "Since the classroom number is a few hundreds higher than the others, lets try upstairs."

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#12
Old 04-13-2015, 04:02 AM

Malcolm peered at her schedule as she held it up, his eyes scanning the page before he nodded, at first murmuring his response -- then upon realizing that he couldn't be heard over the ruckus, yelled. "Probably the standard 'transfer student' classes or somethin'!" He yelled, his accent coming out a bit more. He barely registered her hand touching his, though something in his brain ached for a brief moment. It quickly cleared away when his brown eyes noted the clock she was pointing at and the time they had left, which was almost none.

His cursing was inaudible as he closed his eyes and rubbed his head, mentally agreeing to her proposition and signaling it with a nod, his shaggy hair bouncing a bit with his enthusiasm. There were so many students in the halls, however, it was going to be difficult to push though. After but a moment, he saw an opening and immediately reached back. "Sorry!" He yelled as his hand closed around her arm and he tried to pull her through the brief break in entry hall traffic, strongarming his way forward blindly until he reached a stairwell.

When he realized the rush of students had slowed somewhat in this area his pace only increased, going faster to compensate for the lost time in the hallways. "307, right? Gotta be third floor." He muttered to himself as he began to take the stairs quickly, nearly running up them and only stopping when he reached the very top. Only then did it register that he wasn't holding her arm any more, and he looked back to make sure she was okay.

Junabelle
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#13
Old 04-13-2015, 05:51 AM

Amara felt exhausted with just being in the crowd when Malcolm had made the bold decision and had towed her with him. His hand felt secure around her arm as she tried her best to keep up with him, eying the staircase. So many students...she was starting to feel dizzy, as if there wasn't enough room to breathe.

She soon felt his hand leave her arm, and she knew he must have done it by accident as she watched him race up the stairs. She did her best to hurry up after him, only getting separated by a small group of girls talking over homework plans after school.

The floor they ended up at was less-crowded, almost as if the first floor had been the most dangerous. She stopped to the side, at the corner of the wall just before it turned to the right at the landing at the top of the staircase. She leaned against it and put a hand on her hip while her other held her messenger bag filled with her new pens, sketchbook, and notebooks. She leaned forward a bit, closing her eyes as she focused on breathing. Her heart was thudding in her chest so roughly she thought it'd break through her rib cage.

"Yeah, I'm fine...just need to breathe for a second..." she told him, waving her hand at him as if to say don't worry about me.

First day of school (a school she had hoped to be her last) and she was already dreading the rest of it.

Sugiza
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#14
Old 04-14-2015, 03:39 AM

For the briefest of moments, Malcolm's eyes filled with a bit of regret as he watched her bend over and huff. He cursed himself for not checking on her earlier and making sure she was okay, but there was little he could do at the present time other than give a reassuring, and decidedly soft, pat on her shoulder as he scanned the rooms. He spotted the one that we had just at the end of the corridor -- and the clock above it reading about a minute left.

He started to make a beeline for it, but his brain ticked for a moment. Probably best not to go alone, he thought, and he stepped back to wait for her to catch her breath. Only once she was okay did he hoist his backpack up, do some last minute checking of his outfit, and headed towards his first class of the day. "It's here, we made it." He paused as he looked slightly behind him at her. "...you know, it just occurred to me that the teachers probably won't get upset if we're late on the first day." He gave a shrug and stepped through the open door.

Since Malcolm and Amara were cutting it close to the bell, there were very few open seats, only two at the very front. They weren't together, unfortunately -- one seat between two preppy looking girls, and one seat between a quiet, clean-cut boy and a wall. Malcolm looked back at you for a moment before slipping into the seat between the girls, figuring he'd let you have the one closer to the wall. Correct or not, he assumed you'd like the one with less people near it.

He took a look around at his homeroom class. A few emos, one punk, a few grungy quiet kids that Malcolm instantly pegged as either loners or stoners, but mostly preppy kids and clean-cut, well mannered guys. Mostly -- there was one guy with a straight-billed baseball cap that made Malcolm almost frown in disgust. Overall; could be better, could be worse. At the teacher's voice, his back straightened and he looked up with attention, letting his backpack rest down between his legs.

Gonna be a long day.

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#15
Old 04-14-2015, 05:00 PM

Amara had to take a few more seconds for her breath to return to her before she straightened. Her back groaned, begging her to lay down somewhere from the stress she had just gone through as her thighs burned. She was a girl out of shape. Clearly out of shape. And although gym was never much of a problem to her, she found herself dreading it. She knew she had it before lunch and she kicked herself for not checking if Malcolm did too or not.

Her eyes landed on him again and she saw the impatience in his eyes. She didn't blame him. She followed where he mentioned the door was, seeing it just in reach. She nodded her head and pushed off of the wall, walking fast over to him, and then following him to the door as her ankle boots clicked off of the old stone flooring and her messenger bag began slipping down her shoulder. She straightened it just as Malcolm opened the door and she stood there, looking at the two empty seats.

"Some of the teachers I've had in the past don't care if it's your first day or not," Amara stressed to him just as he walked over to choose a seat.

She huffed a big breath, almost like a sigh, as she took the seat near the clean-cut boy next to the wall. She slipped her messenger bag off and placed it down on the desk top before she sat down crossing her legs immediately as her dark wash skinny jeans tightened against the movement. She messed with a button on her worn denim jacket and she stared ahead at the board that read last week's assignment, her eyes landing on the teacher and ready to read him like an open book.

He looked old enough to be her grandfather with bright white hair, lines all over his face, a beard, and dressing as if it were the 60s. But nonetheless, the fire in his eyes told her that he was well capable of handling high school students. This man had plenty of his spirits still intact.

"Hey, you're new right?" asked the boy next to her. She froze for a moment, and then turned her head. The boy had dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and wore a button-up shirt over a tee shirt. Clean cut alright, with a bit of fashion class to show off he wasn't some dorky pussy.

"Yeah," Amara said reluctantly.

The bell rang and the boy smiled at her. "Welcome to Dover High." It was a pleasant smile. He had straight white teeth with a slight off-balance of the way his lips curled up. One side curled up more than the other and in a way, it was cute.

"Thanks."

The teacher began talking about how there were two new students in the class and Amara looked over at Malcolm.

 


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