Logs:Night Before the Hatching
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| RL Date: 11 August, 2011 |
| Who: Emmeline, Rhaelyn, Riorde, Sibella, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's the night before the hatching and all throughout the day, everyone was nervous and thus Iolene pukes. Really. Emmeline learns a secret. Rhaelyn smells. Riorde gets all mama beary. Sibella tries to mother. Just another night in the barracks while the eggs have started to tremble and stuff. |
| Where: Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 6, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
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| It's the 21st. It's late night. The curfew for candidates has been instated and enforced and any stragglers are being given a hard time at the barracks entrance with questions of /Don't you want to Impress? How can you Impress if you're too tired to stay awake on the sands?/ and /What time is it missy?/ by assistant headwomen who probably would rather be sleeping themselves. It's not like, in the end, they won't let them in and the whole thing becomes a little more messy when exiles are involved. Exiles still living in the barracks. Exiles who are maybe candidates but really are not on any official document yet. After being harassed at the doorway, Iolene stalks into the room, all lanky legs and angles. To no one in particular, and yet the entire portion of the room her cot is located in if they're awake (or even if they're not not), she remarks, "I don't know what they're so afraid of. It's not like any of /them/ will be sleeping tonight anyway." When Emme gets all nervous, she tidies up. Or she reads. But since reading has created a mess of notes scattered everywhere and unrolled hides in disarray... she has been straightening over and over and over again for an hour now. "On the bright side, they have not forced us to put all the glows out. Can you imagine all of us in the dark, not being able to do *anything* except stare at the ceiling?" Fidget. A corner of one hide is moved slightly to the left. "I'm nervous now. I haven't been. I shouldn't be. Who cares, right? Ioleeeeeeeene. I think I might be losing what's left of my sanity. Help." When some of the older exiles were relocated and before the candidates started to arrive, Riorde relocated too, claiming a cot towards the back where she thought she might have more privacy. But the barracks are all buzzing now, and even off in her little corner of things, Riorde can hear it all too well. The creases in her forehead and the turn of her frown confess greater irritability than her usual. Her head snaps up when Iolene enters; it's almost as if she's been waiting. Ri slides off her bunk and makes for the other girl. "Where've you been?" Emmeline's nervous chatter gains her attention too, but although she means for her smile to look sympathetic, mostly it's preoccupied. Once, Iolene used to be a great eater. She'd probably eat anything as long as it didn't have mold on it and even then... And while others indulged and paid for their indulgence on mainland food, the eater of sea slugs restrained herself for months and months and months. But nothing like nerves and stress to bring out old habits and when Io turns around to first spy out Emme and Riorde, there's some sort of white cake crumbs lodged in the corners of her mouth and a large plate in her hand. It's mid-bite that she offers the plate to Emmeline with a mumbled, "Want some? It helps. It's good." And a look for Riorde. A /look/ and then a plate lift. Eating, duh. "/Cake/." Emme spots it, and she's not averse to picking a little piece off of the offered plate. "Hey, Ri." she adds mildly, before stuffing a nicely-loaded-with-frosting portion into her mouth. "Can't believe they'd give you a hard time over going to get food from the living caverns. It's not like you're trying to leave the weyr." she mumbles. Cake? Riorde's irritability momentarily slides off, and surprise takes its place. "You're eating," she states the obvious, dumbly. Trying to recover, she continues, "That's good. Hi Emme." She moves to look at all the hides and things that the harper-exile-candidate has, reaching out to pick up something near. "You've got a lot," she says, looking at the hide rather than at the other girl until what Emmeline says makes her start to smile a jaundiced smile. "Maybe they wouldn't mind if we were. Have us out of the way." It's a delectably frosted, three layer white cake with some sort of maple cheesy frosting. The large bite she got caught chewing just seconds before is swallowed down with an audible gulp and after licking her lips clean, Iolene gives the headwomen allowances, "I think they forget... that we live here too. I think... a lot of the normal people don't remember we're supposed to be different now." There's a twitch about her brows and her fork dives in for another large bite, but before she eats there's a distinct undercurrent of a wail in her quiet words, "I can't help it. Grams said if I was born as nervous as my mother, I'd probably be really fat. Said it was lucky I wasn't. What if you /Impress/?" The latter question is suddenly turned upon Emmeline, though dark eyes linger just seconds too long on Riorde at the start of that question. "You won't be... you won't be..." "I.. yeah, sorry. Trying to clean it up. Just keeping up with lessons." Emme explains, looking a bit sheepish... with a few crumbs now falling at the side of her mouth. And then she concentrates on chewing for a moment, until Iolene's question hits her. "I... won't be what?" she wonders, sucking the frosting off of her thumb. "I mean, that's assuming I even impress. "I'll still be *me*." Pause. "Won't I? I'll still be me, right? What are you nervous about, Io?" "Can I?" Riorde doesn't wait for an answer, expecting Iolene to share or (more likely) willing to take her chances of getting stabbed with a fork. She goes for the cake with her fingers, and lets go of Emmeline's hide: cake is a two-handed business. "Sure you'd be you." Riorde sounds a little too brusque in this opinion. She starts off addressing Emmeline, but towards the end, Ri's looking at Iolene with a certain intensity. "Just with a dragon too. And you'd have to live in the other barracks for awhile, but after that you'd be free." "With us anymore." As if by Impressing, Emmeline will suddenly become a mainlander. "You'll belong here for real." Realizing this for real versus just understanding the theories of dragonriding suddenly hit Iolene so she can pretend obliviousness to Emmeline's latter question and sits heavily on the other girl's cot, possibly on some of those hides. Riorde's cake theft is unremarked on. "Wow. You might really become a dragonrider. You might be able to fly free of here if you wanted to. Later. I'm happy for you." She smiles, but there's a minute bit of sadness in those wobbly eyes that shine up at Emmeline. The big forkful of cake is momentarily forgotten, but as her gaze slips from Emme down to her lap, she finds the larger chunk and the fork as well and into her mouth it goes robbing her of speech. "Iolene, you don't think I'd just forget about everyone do you?" Emme wonders, after listening to what she says. Riorde's words sink in, sure, but the whole sad thing... and shiny eyes. Well, the harper just plunks down on her cot with a frown. "I mean, there's that time in the barracks. But once that's done, I'd fly any of you anywhere." she promises. "I may not even impress. We shouldn't be worrying about this. Really." Her glance is cast between the other two. "It won't be like that, Io." Riorde tries to eat delicately, in as much as one can do with a handful of cake. Her fingers break off bits, scattering crumbs and gathering icing under her fingernails in the process. "We'll always be us." She joins the other two on the cot, on the other side of Iolene. She leans back and peers around the girl in between to address Emmeline on the subject of worry. "How can you not? It's anytime. Isn't it? Anyway -- you're smart. Of course they'll want you." At Emmeline's offer and promise, Iolene smiles, the thin lips spreading wide along her face. The plate of cake is set on the cot somewhere closer to the center of all the gathered girls. "I have a secret to tell you. Promise not to tell?" She's /seventeen/. Keeping her own secrets are like expecting a sieve to hold water. A glance darts to Riorde, lashes thrown, a silent promise contained in the sudden press of her lips and the glitter of her eyes. "Exactly!" Emme exclaims, as Riorde says what she's trying to say, but does it much more succinctly. "It just seems so silly to worry. I mean, if they want me they'll pick me, and if they don't..." Wait, what? A secret? Someone actually wants to tell her a secret? "Of course! You can tell me anything." she promises. Because secrets used to be her stock'n'trade back on the island, right? At a certain point, Riorde brings her cupped hand to her mouth and practically stuffs the rest of the cake inside. Delicacy flies out the window. "Iolene," she starts to say around her mouthful as the younger girl owns up to a secret, eyes going wide. She gives her head a sharp shake, strands of her hair sharp as a whip. She swallows and tries again, clearer now as she repeats, "Iolene. /Don't./" "Well, that was stupid," says Iolene, a hint of her island pragmatism returning as she gives Riorde a funny look. "Now she'll wonder and then get hurt when she finds out anyway. It's /Emme/. She won't tell anyone and it's not like she won't find out anyway. I'm going to Stand," is shared simply, the blonde girl turning to look to Emmeline. A non-fork holding hand reaches out to try and clasp one of the harper girl's, except it is a little sticky with frosting. "I asked and they said it was ok," is added a bit more vaguely. "Here, have more cake. I don't want it anymore." Here comes Rhae-clause, Here comes Rhae-clause...Rhae-Rhae all the way. The exile girl bounces along, humming something horribly off tune, and loud enough to share with everyone. Who says she' snot a giver! Sun-kissed and wind-swept, she has the smell of those runner-beasts about her. The breeches and tunic she wears is a sure give away, if the nifty little crop she's swinging around doesn't clue people in. Yes, she just has to show it all off. A few more la-la-la's surely must drown out whatever's going on with those she passes. However, for all the warmth the sun left on her nose and cheeks, it's missing from her icy gaze that flickers around at exiles and candidates alike. "Well, damage already partially done." Emme replies, when Iolene points out that Riorde may not have just said the smartest thing. She does, in fact, shoot a hurt look at Riorde before turning her attention fuly to Iolene. And of course, at the news, her eyes brighten and she bites on her lower lip to hold back a /squee/. "That's so awesome. We can stand on the sands together." she whispers, quieting when Rhaelyn comes in. Though she is sure to give the other a cheerful wave. Cause, otherwise... suspicious! "Stupid of you to bring it up," Riorde answers fiercely, voice little more than a hiss. "It's the /barracks./ Shut up." Glancing beyond Iolene, her expression briefly softens towards an apology, although it remains unvoiced. "You can't talk about it here. And you can't tell." This last to Emmeline, with all Riorde's fierceness returned -- and made slightly ludicrous when she starts to lick frosting from her fingers. "Really? But we can't tell, cause if we do... Tiriana might get ups-," but Iolene's words catch in her throat when Riorde gets hissy and the younger girl's face crumples, though it might not all be just what Riorde says cause there's a distinct greenness about her jaw. "I think I'm gonna be sick." Stupid cake. Rhaelyn's arrival, as jaunty and show offy as it is, goes unnoticed, but when you're trying to keep cake in your stomach versus noticing acquaintances, the former just has to win. Rhaelyn swishes the crop through the air with a satisfying whistle as the thin leather rips across the vacant air. She smiles as she drops her hand, and the 'singing'. "Hello Emme." Happy? Maybe, though as her arm drops to her side, she notices Ri's hiss-whispering, and Io's greenness and zero's in on that. The tongue of the crop pat-pats at her thigh as she detects.... Something. "Ri. Io." The smile that follows may well belong to one of those hunting felines she's been hearing about. "How are you all doing?" Rather then say anything at this point, Emmeline just nods and squeeze Iolene's frosting-laced hand. Which, when she notices, just makes her giggle and lift her now re-smudged fingers up to her lips. "Shhhh. Don't worry, Io. It'll all be awesomely fine. You'll see." she assures, stil smiling at Rhae the whole way through. "We are eating cake while Io and Ri and I discuss the upcoming hatching and how we are all stuck here! Even though half the room isn't even candidates. They're being pretty strict with the whole curfew thing." And, cake. Emme takes some more, stuffs it in her mouth. See? Riorde's snappy from her own nerves. Although she hasn't confessed in the way that Iolene has, her knowing the secret and touchiness about it, not to mention Io's slip with the 'we,' easily paints her as culpable too. "Iolene?" Her annoyance gives way, glare turning into concern. "You want to go to the latrines?" she asks anxiously, giving Rhaelyn and her arrival no more than a quick glance. "They'd let us out for that." A few successives swallows brings Iolene's cheeks back to some semblance of normal, though slightly ruddy for the effort. "M'fine. I don't know why I even wanted to eat that except some kids were eating it earlier and I figured if kids can eat it, I can too." Another eye-squinting swallow later has her finally easing her frame back up from the slight curl of keeping puke down and up in time to find Rhaelyn approaching. "Hi," is her weak smile, complete with a fork wave. "Want some?" She'll even pass the fork on to Rhaelyn with her many pretty things. Rhaelyn 's foot gives a little stamp. Sharp and hard but just once. "You mean I'm stuck here now?" She flails the crop accusingly towards the door that she just walked right through, "I could have stayed out there." And a sharp look back at the others, "But...But.... that's so unfair." A little huffy growl, "I guess we'll just have to make the most of it then hhmm?" First she watches the others, particularly the ill looking Iolene and she reoils slightly with her body, head shaking to refuse the fork, "No thank you. I think I'll pass. It /looks/ great." But if it's making them sick? Pass. "Maybe I'll just move the cake." Emme suggests, holding out her hand towards Iolene for the fork and then kind o shifting the mass of sugar and fat somewhere a bit more out of sight. "You want me to make someone get you some tea to settle your stomach?" She seems quite sympathetic to the nausea cause, waiting first to see if Iolene wants to make a break for the latrines with Riorde. "Yeah, sorry Rhaelyn. Apparently they want to be -extra sure-. But whatever. You know how they are lately." "Try a fruit-thing next time." A pie, she means. "Those are usually okay for me." Riorde doesn't try to take any more of the cake beyond the handful she's already eaten, taking a lesson from Iolene. She moves to put the flat of her slightly cakey palm on Iolene's back, a gesture meant to contain solicitude as well as the apology she still hasn't voiced. "Make the most of it?" she echoes Rhaelyn, looking up. "I'm gonna be sick," says Iolene again suddenly. Extra sure surely doesn't mean they'll stop a hurtling rocket of blonde hair and bare feet from running past them to the latrines. Being extra sure about that would mean they'd get all sorts of greebly stuff all over their pretty shoes and somehow knowing this, the assistant headwoman in charge of the candidates lets the girl pass. She's gone for a while. "Absolutely arbitrary and unforgiving?" Rhaelyn asks with slighly upward curving eyebrows. "Yeah, but I don't think that's just 'lately', but just that we're noticing it more." Invited to the cake must mean that she's invited into their circle right? Just like the old days, she settles down on a space on the cot, making a face as she gets a glob of icing on her knee in doing so. OH well. Watching Io warily she shudders, "Ick. What's in that cake anyway?" For a long while she watches in the direction she darted in, "Wonder if we can get a pass for the bath." Because all day riding and around runners means her scene is....'interesting'. "On the bright side, they'll have a lot of linens and clothing to clean, what with all thi cake and icing and not letting us go anywhere?" Emmeline suggests, watching Iolene get up and hurtle out the door with a concerned expression. "You know, I think I'll go make sure they get some tea for her anyway, for when she gets back." the harper decides, glancing between Riorde and Rhaelyn a moment. "I should be right back." And then she gets up to walk over and start arguing with the assistant headwoman. Riorde's hand falls when Iolene bolts and leaves only empty space behind. She nods as Emmeline gets up to follow, and now with greater space on the cot, makes use of it -- she pulls up her knees and loosely clasps her hands around them, wrinkling her nose as she turns her face towards Rhaelyn. "I'm sure they'll let you bathe. All they have to do is smell you." Just as soon as her backside hits the bed she's up again, "Maybe I should just stay stinky. Just out of spite." She tosses her head and tromps off to her own cot to spend time quiet time. Apparently, when you don't eat much, there isn't much to upchuck and the illness that gripped most of the more courageous (or just glutinous) exiles in the first few weeks has finally, six months later, made its way to Iolene. She's not gone very long, and on her return, apparently Emmeline was successful in procuring her some tea, but has disappeared hence. "I-," holding the mug in both hands and looking decidedly pale, she sinks onto Emmeline's cot, now abandoned by owner and stinky Rhaelyn. "I'm sorry." Even after the other girls have left, Riorde remains seated on the cot, her knees still drawn up to her chin. Evidently she's waiting for someone to come back, since she's got her own cot she could be brooding on. "It's okay," she says, looking up from the hide she's picked up. "Where does she get all of these?" Her voice admits envious wonder. "I don't even know what this means. You feel better?" Iolene groans, sinking onto the spot /right/ next to Riorde and snuggling in uninvited. Then again, it's not even either of their's cot. "I am never eating cake again. Or anything from the kitchens here that looks ..." Like food. Misery lines her thin features and she curls up against Ri all the more, mug of tea and all -- hopefully it does not slosh. "I'm so wretched. My life sucks. I'm never going to be as smart as Emme. Or as pretty as Rhaelyn. Or as fierce as you." Sibella enters the Quarters and makes a beeline for her own cot, ready -already!- to turn in for the day. She pauses in front of Riorde and Iolene, caught between her curiousity and respect for privacy. However, Iolene's groan and the pallor of her face overcome Sibella's reservations, and she comes to the side of the cot. "Are you alright? Oh, you do look ill! You've got-" she sniffs the steaming beverage, "- tea, I see, but can I get you anything?" She borders on smothering with her immediate concern, but that is her way - she doesn't even offer a proper greeting. Riorde opens right up, letting go of the hide so she can wrap that arm around Iolene's shoulders instead. "I can't either," the older girl points out, trying to sound reassuring rather than fierce. "You just had more than me. I don't have their milk either. Maybe a splash in klah, but that's it. Didn't you see me puking when we got here?" It's not really about cake though, is it? Riorde doesn't seem to think so, because after she compares illnesses, she rubs Iolene's shoulders, the heel of her hand making circular motions, and says, "Don't be stupid. None of us will ever be as loved as you. Io, when we--" She breaks right off as Sibella comes up before them, the open affection she clearly bears towards the girl beside her suddenly shuttered behind a closed expression. Riorde, not completely unfriendly but certainly not welcoming, says shortly to Sibella, "She's fine." Iolene is lulled into a state of less moroseness by the power of Riorde's words and the heel of the other girl's hand against her back. If she were a kitten, she'd be purring, but as it is, she's a blonde haired exile who just lets out a quiet sigh, apology still tinged in that breath: for the puking, for other things that she's about to speak of, starting with, "I'm sorry I told Em-," but then trails off with that as Sibella approaches. Smiling weakly to the well-meaning candidate, Io waves. "No, it's fine. This tea should help settle my stomach. Emme said so. I just ate too much cake and have some. It's... cake. And now with Rhaelyn not around... It /was/ her that smelled so awful, wasn't it?" The sharp little face turns to seek out Riorde for answers. Brow still creased in concern, Sibella accepts Iolene's explanation, but wonders aloud, "Food poisoning... I've seen it. But from cake?" A finger reaches up to tap Sibella's dimpled chin lightly as she takes a seat at the nearby empty cot. As she absently ponders this and surveys the two girls before her, her cheeks suddenly take on a blushing tinge. "Oh... I'm sorry if I was so rude to interrupt your... snuggles." Despite herself, she has to chuckle at the ridiculous word. "It was her," Riorde confirms, and for a moment there's a flash of a smile, something quick and devilishly delighted. "Fitting, I thought." But then as Sibella continues speaking, with assumptions that Riorde has learned how to interpret in a certain light, the exile's protectiveness of Iolene only seems to deepen; her stare does start to turn antagonistic. "Then don't," she says abruptly. Letting go of Iolene, the dark-haired girl stands up in one quick motion. "Don't worry about Emme," she tells Io, deliberately turning her back on Sibella. "I told too-- come talk later?" With that suggestion, Riorde heads for the small privacy of her own cot in the very, very full barracks. For a moment, whatever Sibella says doesn't seem to have actually made any kind of impression in Iolene, certainly it almost seems as if she hasn't heard the other girl. Instead, those dark blue eyes train onto Riorde as she walks off, puzzled and with continued apology, but as the other exile finds her own cot and seems to want privacy, for the moment, Iolene doesn't come talk. It's not later yet. She turns a weary look to Sibella and tries to laugh, an empty hollow sound that still might sound jovial to those who don't know Io well. "It's fine. I just... I saw how sick my friends got when we first arrived here, eating the food, so I've only really had the plainest fare possible but when I get nervous. Well," she repeats a saying she shared earlier with her friends, "My Grams always said it's lucky I wasn't born as nervous as my mum was, otherwise I'd be as big as the island. I'm Iolene, by the way. I don't know that we've met." Similarly, Sibella watches Riorde go. "I don't think she likes me," she says to both herself and Iolene. Then, turning as Iolene gives her odd laugh, Sibella threads a hand through her ringleted hair. "I do the same... I was in the kitchens, actually, doing less working and more nervous-ing when someone ushered me back here, something about a curfew-" She pauses, tilting her head and void of expression, unsure as to how to proceed, now that she's seemed to create a rift in a previously warm atmosphere. "We haven't, no. I'm Sibella. I'm sorry, I just... I can't help it when someone seems to be in need. I should have known you were being taken perfect care of." Sibella inclines her head toward Riorde's cot. "You have a big heart," says Io generously. "But I'm fine, thank you. Are you from here? Or elsewhere? I know a lot of candidates were brought in from-," a beat, a breath, and then another of her small sighs finds a diplomatic replacement for what she meant to say, "Other places." Without Ri's warmth to cuddle against, Io cradles herself, wrapping long arms about her long legs and tucking them into her body so her chin rests on the tops of her knees. "And... don't mind her. She has a lot on her mind. We all do." Where we, clearly in an unintentional sort of way, does not include Sibella or maybe any of the mainlanders at all, particularly in the way Iolene's gaze drifts to the side of the barracks occupied by the exiles. Sibella watches Iolene's gaze drift and follows it, taking her meaning. "Yes, I bet you do. We all do, honestly. Not just with the hatching, but we, and I speak for the Weyr, care just as much for your-" Sibella inclines her head toward the exile's side of the big room, "-fates perhaps as much as you do. And most of us realize you have no reason to trust us with them." Their fates, that is. Sibella nearly throws her hands up, exasperated with her own ineloquence, "I'm sorry, it's been a rather long day and I'm sure it'll be a longer night. I'm only trying to say that we're all trying to do the right thing here, and sometimes our opinions on the 'right thing' seem to clash." Shaking her head like a runnerbeast, Sibella's long ringlets fly about. Sibella's magnamious nature seems to bring a wariness to the wearied look on Iolene's face. It's too good to be true and, "That's not really the feeling I've gotten from most people," returns Iolene's at-odds words. "Do you always believe in the good of others?" Curious, in spite of her sudden mistrust of Sibella, the blonde girls awaits the candidate's response. There is a moment of silence from Sibella, where she merely gazes past Iolene and into the distance, considering the question put to her. Quite seriously, she says, "Well, no, I don't. I honestly wish that I could, but too often I find myself judging per first impressions." At this last word, every moving muscle of Sibella's face freezes, and a shudder runs through her plush form. "Oh... I can't believe it's coming!" She smiles ruefully at Iolene, "I'm sorry, I'm just so preoccupied, even though I know it does no good!" "What's your first impression of me?" Iolene can't help herself and she leans forward, even more curious now. Her tea is forgotten, and for now, her volatile dairy issues seem to be at ease. Folding her hands together, Sibella regards the other woman with a facade void of expression. After a beat, it breaks into a smile, "Oh, you seem rather snuggable." She giggles. That's a new one and it makes Iolene laugh. A genuine bubbly sort of laugh that crinkles her face all up. "I don't think I've ever heard that before but I can... I'm all bones and-," she appears to want to say more but puts an end to the story of her life and turns back to Sibella. "Are you very nervous? The decision isn't really in your hands, is it? I mean, what comes, comes. And if it doesn't well, it doesn't, right? And then you go back to life either way. A new one, or your old one." Sibella fidgets and twiddles the fingers of her enfolded hands together. She looks down at them and watches them move, saying, "Well, see, it's my last chance. I Stood before and was left Standing... I'll be too old the next time, and both my Mum and Da were riders, see, so..." Following Iolene's example, 'Bella clamps her mouth from telling the story of her life. "I'm sorry, I know I can't do a thing about it but," she says, looking back up at Iolene earnestly, "Don't you ever have something happen, something big, and wonder if you had just done /this/ it would have gone differently?" Sibella's good at igniting Iolene's curiosity, but the question she might have asked initially, with lips parted at the ready, dies off as the candidate inquires after her own 'something bigs'. She sinks into Emmeline's cot, ignoring her tea some more. Her lips thin and the convival laughter just seconds previous fade in both sound and from the now near nonexistent light of Io's face. "No." It's so obviously a lie that Iolene has to apologize and is quick to it with a bleak look to the candidate, "I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about it, but please, enjoy the rest of the cake until Emmeline gets back. I should... I should go to bed. Have a good night, Sibella. It was nice meeting you." Sibella nods, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles, despite the bleak expression that Iolene now wears. "No, it's alright. You get some rest now. Everyone is sure to be bustling about in the morning, and there will be no rest for anyone then!" With this, Sibella retreats to her own cot to meditate, if not to sleep. |
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