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Wicked, ch 2

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Hawke shook her head at the brazen idiocy of these mercenaries.  Here they were in a perfect spot for a beautiful ambush, and the best they could do was charge her with weapons drawn?  Surely Javaris could afford better . . . then again, she had no idea what had become of him after the gaatlok debacle.  If only the fool had the sense to give up when he was beaten, she thought.  Falon rushed into the melee, calling out insults to the men as she hacked them down.  Sebastian was great with his bow, dropping several of them before she ever got close.  And Fenris made an excellent decoy, getting their attention with that huge sword.  Isabela fought alongside her, a near invisible companion in the battle; they complimented each other so nicely.  It was just too bad the pirate was lying to her.  She would ignore it for now in the hopes that Isabela would trust her eventually, but if the buxom wench betrayed her . . . there was only one way Falon dealt with that.  They cut the last mercenary down, leaving Tintop all alone.  The dwarf literally quivered under her gaze, which nearly made her laugh.

           
"Quit your blubbering, dwarf," she told him.  "You? Granny's garters, she would hire you!  I can't buy a break on discount," Javaris cursed. He seemed to think since they'd done business, he would be safe.  Fool.  Apparently he'd forgotten their little business deal wound up costing her gold.  That alone was enough to get someone killed.  "You know what, go ahead, take my head and pike it back to that sodding elf.  I need the rest," he finished, shifting from foot to foot.  He still seemed blissfully unaware of how close he was to finding the stone, or whatever euphemism the dwarves used for death.

  
"You brought this on yourself, Javaris," Hawke replied with a menacing step forward.  "Who else would steal their powder," she asked.  It was hard to tell if Tintop was lying.  Dwarves always looked like they were hiding something, even Varric.  Hell, especially Varric.  "Wait, you're tracking for the qunari?" Javaris asked, sounding genuinely surprised.  "Then she did it.  That elf got them after me for nothing!  Bitch-born!"  Hawke glanced at her companions, wondering if they believed this nonsense.  Only Javaris' complete incompetence had a ring of truth.  She gestured for the little man to continue.

  
"I'm minding business, same old, when outta the blue some elf tries to kill me!  Says she's got the qunari powder and I'm her cover."  Tintop walked a little ways away as he said this, turning his back on Hawke unwisely.  Her hand twitched towards her daggers, but she wanted to hear the rest of this first.  "I slipped her, hired some bodyguards and ran for it.  Aaand now you're here.  Great." the dwarf said, looking at her again.  "You always were a good liar," Falon told him, disgusted that after all this the weasely little man would still try to pin the theft on someone else. "Let me ask you something.  Are you exploding?  Well . . . then I probably don't have the sodding powder do I?" Tintop asked, gesturing wildly.

  
This was the first thing Javaris said that made sense to Hawke.  At the very least he should be trying to blow her up, though the recipe he had wouldn't have worked as intended.  It didn't prove that he wasn't lying . . . but it was pretty persuasive.  "Here, wanna drag dark into light?  I had a man follow her; the elf's in Lowtown.  I just wanna get out with my . . . dead guards.  Thanks for that," the dwarf sputtered, winding down at the end.  "You and I are done," Falon told him.  She still couldn't decide whether or not to believe anything Tintop told her and unfortunately, that left only one safe option.  "Good and good," Javaris spat, comfortable again in the certainty he'd be walking away from this.  "Thanks to you I've got a lot of dead gear to haul.  Sodding dog lord in-roader," Javaris muttered, turning his back on her again.  It was almost too easy, she thought as she drew her knife and shoved it between the vertebrae of his neck; a clean, painless way to go.  It was more than the greedy little bastard deserved.

  
Sebastian gasped, staring at the fallen dwarf.  "Why, Hawke?" he asked.  She realized just then that killing Javaris probably hadn't help the prince's opinion of her; perhaps if she explained her reasoning he would understand.  Thing was, Falon wasn't in the habit of explaining herself to people, and his lack of confidence in her pissed her off.  "He bothered me," she smarted off, annoyed at the dead dwarf and Sebastian both.  She regretted saying it almost immediately.  Sebastian got a hurt look on his face and the other two just turned their attention elsewhere.  Well hell . . . now what she thought?  It seemed the dwarf would cause her trouble alive or dead, but at least he wouldn't be in a position to sell poison gas to anyone.

  
"We need to set up camp away from the um . . . bodies," she said, looking at Fenris and Isabela.  Sebastian wouldn't meet her eyes, but he moved to comply.  "Couldn't we just go back to the city, Hawke?" the pirate asked.  She hated camping.  "We need to search Javaris and his men to make sure they don't have the qunari formula.  Easier to do that in daylight, don't you think?  Besides, I don't fancy running through Smugglers' Cut at night," Falon replied, trying not to let her frustration show.  Isabela nodded and followed the other two down the coast a ways.  They made camp in a small canyon off the main path, keeping their fire low and sound to a minimum.  The last thing they needed to do was attract the notice of one of the larger smuggling groups.

  
Hawke stripped her armor and settled back against a boulder, trying to relax.  The day left her incredibly tense and exhausted, but it wouldn't do to show it.  She had to be invulnerable.  Isabela came over to sit by her after a bit, resting her head on Falon's shoulder.  It felt nice to have someone to snuggle up to, though she still had her reservations about the woman.  Hawke glanced over to Sebastian.  He sat across the fire, curled in on himself.  Today must have been hard on him too.  The archer was older than Hawke by a few years, but always seemed so young; something about his naivety made him precious though.  She watched him for a bit, wondering what he was thinking.

  
He reminded her a bit of Bethany, dead now three years in the Deep Roads.  Sweet natured, innocent . . . that was certainly why she'd agreed to accompany him to speak with the Harimanns.   Of course, if Falon was honest with herself, the most attractive thing about him was the thought of taking all that adorable virtue and corrupting one bit at a time.  He couldn't be any harder to seduce than the templars in Lothering had been.  "What are you grinning about, sweet thing?" Isabela asked, peering up at her.  "Wicked thoughts.  I believe I'm going to go console our chantry boy."  
The pirate raised an eyebrow, "It's not going to work, you know.  He's too pure."  Falon shook her head, "No such thing.  You just don't want to lose a bet."  Isabela shook her head, "That too, sweet thing."  The two of them had a running bet on seduction that applied to pretty much anyone they were interested in.  Isabela took a pass on Sebastian after one conversation with the man.  She wasn't into religious types; to Falon that was laying down the gauntlet.  If the pirate thought he was impossible, that made the hunt even more interesting.  Hawke stood and walked over to Sebastian.  He didn't acknowledge her arrival, so she sat down next to him, settling against his leg.  That certainly got his attention.  He looked up, skin flushed.  "Ah, Hawke.  I've been meaning to speak with you,"  Falon wasn't sure how he managed embarrassment and moral superiority all at once, but there it was.   "I . . . I can't agree with what you did today.  The dwarf was innocent and you murdered him!" the archer said, tone rich with recrimination.

  
She shook her head, leaning into him to speak softly.  "Javaris was no victim.  I couldn't be sure if he was lying or not.  Would you rather I let him live?  Let him take the poison gas and sell it to Nevarra or Tevinter?  Can you imagine what would happen if even one mercenary band got ahold of it?"  "Are you saying you killed him to save lives?" Sebastian asked, desperate for a reason to forgive her.  He really made this too easy, she thought, giving him a slight nod.  The archer visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping.  She almost felt bad manipulating him.  At least she didn't have to lie . . .  Falon reached over him to pick up a gleaming piece of his armor.  It really was shiny enough to see your reflection in, she thought, staring at herself.  She never could see what others did; whatever it was  that made them willing to trust her.  All she saw was the dirty refugee, the failed soldier, the apostate's brat . . . and all the lies she told to cover it.  More fool them to fall for the act, she told herself as she set the armor back down.

  
"Isabela, why don't you tell us one of your stories.  A funny one," Hawke said suddenly.  She was not going to let herself go all maudlin.  "A funny one?  Let me see . . . have I told you about the time Marn married a fish?"  "What," Fenris asked from his spot on a rock above them.  He'd set himself sentry duty, but apparently Isabela's lead in was too good to ignore.  "You heard me.  He married a fish, a tuna to be exact.  I know what you're thinking, but look, you get a stupid man drunk enough after months aboard a ship, and he'll, well, just listen."  The pirate warmed up to her story as she told it, face alight with amusement.

  
Hawke drowsed as she listened, letting herself rest against Sebastian.  At first he stiffened, pulling himself back, but as Isabela's story got more ridiculous, he forgot to be wary of her touch.  It wasn't as if she let her hands do any of the mischievious things they wanted to be about.  She just rested her head on him, settling one hand across his lower back, the other primly curled in her lap.  It felt nice and for the space of one pirate's tale, Falon was able to enjoy his proximity.  When it ended, the archer excused himself, standing carefully.  "I'll just go stand watch with Fenris," he said, blushing again.  It was a wonder his skin didn't just stay bright red, thought Hawke as she watched him saunter off.

  
She fell asleep a little while later, waking briefly when Sebastian returned to camp, though she didn't show it.  She could feel his eyes on her and knew he was struggling to maintain what he thought were appropriate thoughts.  How frustrating.  Eventually, he knelt down, resting a hand on her hair.  "You're a confusing woman, Falon," he said softly.  For the briefest moment she felt his breath against her skin, and then the most delicate whisper of lips pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek before he was gone again.  Hawke was torn between the appeal of his genuine sweetness and the thrill of the hunt.  Perhaps Sebastian wouldn't be as difficult to breach as she initially thought.  It would be nice to show Isabela up for once.

  
Fenris woke her just before dawn to start the trip back.  He looked exhausted and she had a moment of guilt as she realized he'd kept watch over them all night.  She banished it quickly, after all, if the elf wore himself out by his own choice, it was no fault of hers.  He could have woken them at any time to take over.  Still, it was unexpected loyalty from the broody slave.  It was funny to think she'd actually considered sleeping with him at one point.  It certainly seemed like he was interested, but somehow, any intimacy with Fenris felt wrong.  He'd been so used in his life that he didn't trust easily, and Falon knew if she slept with him, that's all she would be doing.  Using him.  Things like that didn't usually disturb her, but when the elf looked at her with those big green eyes, expression bordering on adoration, she knew she could never take advantage of him.  Despite common opinions, she did have some standards.  Just not many, and not when they were inconvenient.


In the morning light, they were able to search the bodies of Javaris and his men thoroughly.  No recipe, no strange, sealed containers . . . nothing to indicate that Javaris had the saar-qamek.  "Well, damn," Hawke sighed.  She was vaguely disappointed.  It would have been nice to wrap everything up neatly here, but things were never that easy.  After that, they sped to Lowtown; all they could hope for now was to track the elf down before she caused harm.  Falon's stomach dropped as she realized she was too late.

  
A city guard was warning people off an alley that ran back to a collection of tenements, one of the poorest districts in Lowtown.  "All of you, I can't fight the damned air!  You want to live, stay out!" he shouted, exasperated.  "Is there something I can do?" Falon asked, peering past him.  "Wait!  Messere Hawke?  Maker, please, the street is death.  There was a cloud that drove people mad, and now a seeping mist that kills.  All I can do is warn people.  If someone like you dies on my watch, I'm right stuffed."  Hawke's jaw tightened visibly at the implication that somehow all the poor who died mattered less than one woman from Hightown.  A few years ago she would have just been another nameless refugee, another corpse for the pyre.  Instead of lashing out at the guard, she gave him a tight lipped smile, "Easy son, keep your post.  This is my risk."  "But . . . shit," the guard muttered, realizing there was no way he could stop her.  The four of the pushed past him and into the dim alleyway.


First, the smell of blood and urine hit them, not unusual in Lowtown, but stronger here.  And then they were overwhelmed by a thick, green smog that smelled sharp and medicinal.  Falon pulled a scarf over her nose and mouth, gesturing to the others to do the same.  She glanced at Sebastian, wishing for a moment that she'd left him at the Chantry.  This was sure to be an unpleasant, heart-rending task.  Just a bunch of pathetic street rats and refugees driven mad by poison, and no choice but to kill them.  It was too late now.  Hawke pushed on, trying not to cough.

  
The alley opened on a small neighborhood.  Bodies already lay with garbage piled in the street, some of them very small, very young bodies.  She looked away, focusing on the job.  There was nothing they could do for the dead, but she could damn well make sure it ended here.  Hawke was expecting to see an overturned cart or a shattered barrel or two, not carefully arranged barrels set around the square and alleys.  A quick look around and she was able to spot several barrels oozing the noxious stuff.  At least the fools who set them had been lazy enough to leave the closures lying on the ground, which would make sealing them that much easier.  What Falon couldn't fathom was why anyone would go to the trouble of stealing the saar-qamek only to unleash it on these people.  The exposure looked intentional.  Perhaps they were testing it; nothing else made sense.

  
As far she could tell, the square was clear, so Falon darted forward, Fenris and Isabela right behind her.  The first barrel cranked shut with a final sound, damp wood and steel clamping together to seal in the gas.  No sooner had it closed than they were set upon.  Falon was shocked to see well armed mercenaries pop around corners and descend from the rooftops, intent on stopping them from interfering with the barrels.  She had no sympathy for these men, and no problem killing them.  The bastards came in waves, seemingly in response to each successful barrel closure.  They died easy enough, but Falon couldn't help but tally the minutes they cost her.

  
Once the obvious barrels were closed, she set off into the alleyways, Sebastian at her back with his bow.  Fenris and Isabela took the other side to search faster.  It was dark back here, broken barrels and crates creating a labrynth of trash to navigate.  As she swung around one of the piles, she collided with someone.  The woman turned on her, wielding a bloody kitchen knife.  Falon backed up, easily avoiding her clumsy strikes; this was no mercenary, just some poor sod from Lowtown.  Past the crazed girl, she could see the last barrel, its latch lying a few feet away.

  
With a sigh, Falon prepared to do what was necessary.  She sidestepped the next attack and came around the woman.  Hawke pulled one blade up across the girl's neck, the other up under the arm, holding her in a deadly embrace.  "Drop your weapon," she said loudly.  The girl struggled against Falon, making inarticulate sounds of rage, spittle flying from her mouth.  There was nothing in her eyes to indicate that she knew death was moments away, just unreasoning hostility and emptiness.  Falon pulled her close and whispered, "You deserved better," as she drew her blade across the woman's neck.  Her eyes stung as she watched the girl drop.  Remember, she told herself, this is the price.

  
Hawke stepped over the twitching body and picked up the lever, closing the barrel.  When she turned around, Sebastian gave her the strangest look . . . sympathy.  She rolled her eyes, refusing to think about what might have caused it.  That was the last barrel, but they weren't done.  She and Sebastian met up with the other two in the square.


Fenris was bleeding a little which concerned her, but before Falon could say anything, the perpetrators of this little drama decided to put in an appearance.  A badly scarred elven woman, armed to the teeth and escorted by two mercenaries walked out of one of the tenements, eyes fixed on them.  "So, your fault I presume," Hawke asked.  "Is that . . . Serah Hawke?" the elf asked.  "You have enemies.  I'm glad it's you really," she spat.  The elf looked around at the dead bodies littering the square and for just a moment something sane and compassionate pierced her rage, gone as quickly, "These poor people.  You are a much better target."

  
"So, care to explain your particular brand of crazy?" Hawke asked, hiding her anger beneath a veneer of sarcasm.  "Qunari take my people!  My siblings forget their culture and then go to the Qun for purpose.  We're losing them twice!  So I get some help from your people.  We'll take the qunari thunder, make some accidents, and make them hated!  But this?  This is all wrong!"  Despite her obvious madness, the elven fanatic seemed genuinely disturbed by what she'd done.  Not enough to stop it though.  Just enough to feel guilty . . .  "You were going to kill people anyway?  That's not funny at all, really," Falon retorted.


"It can still work.  They are hidden in your city.  They'll enrage the faithful and make sure the qunari are blamed!  Me?  I'm finished.  I just need a few more bodies . . . a few more," the woman said, unsheathing her blade.  Hawke felt every shred of regret evaporate in a wave of anger.  She knew she only did what had to be done; she was no fanatic.  This elf was another story . . . people like her always had ideals, causes, some vast rationale for their madness.  And they always thought whatever it was justified the death and misery they caused.  They didn't have the sense to realize every drop of blood, every corpse, every devastated life lay at their feet.  At least this death was one she would enjoy causing.

  
Falon rushed forward, daggers out to meet the crazy bitch.  She attacked with single minded intensity, slashing and jabbing, barely stumbling out of the way as the elf hacked at her.  A few times the blade landed, but Hawke was beyond feeling it.  The fight stretched on, warrior and rogue too skilled to be easily bested; two implacable women intent on destroying one another.  Despite her determination, Falon could feel her strength ebb; this would have to end soon, she thought.  Hawke circled the elf, stalking her through the noxious green gases, watching for an opening.  The bitch had to be getting tired too.  Falon could see it in the way her arms quivered, the careful stance she kept.

  
Without really thinking about it, Hawke dropped her guard, hands shaking as they clutched at her daggers.  The elf struck, darting into the opening with a manic grin.  So foolish to assume victory.  Falon took the hit with her shoulder, feeling the blade pierce deeply.  She ignored the pain, stepping into the blow to deliver one of her own.  Her dagger struck the elf in her low belly; Hawke twisted the blade and slid it sideways, opening a gash like a bloody grin.  The elf would get no quick death from her.


The crazed woman looked down surprised to see her own blood, and then she stumbled back, falling.  Hawke nearly fell too, but she wasn't about to give the crazy bitch the satisfaction of knowing how wounded she was.  She heard Isabela retch somewhere behind her, felt Sebastian and Fenris try to pull her away, but Falon stood there, wavering, and watched the elf die.  It was slow and wretched, but she wanted to witness every second of agony.  It was the least she could for all the people that died for this one woman's insanity.  When the body stopped twitching, she finally let them lead her away.  Isabela was all for dragging her down to Anders' clinic, but Hawke demanded to be taken home.  Somehow Sebastian ended up responsible for carting her to the estate while the other two went their separate ways, which was fine with her.

  
Falon stumbled a little, vision wavering.  "You're mad, you know that don't you?" Sebastian whispered as he helped her hobble home.  "Maybe," she replied, giving him as much of a smile as she could.  Her whole body hurt, but the worst of it was the stab wound to the shoulder.  She could feel the way the bones there no longer met as they should.  Honestly, she probably should seek healing, but trusting any mage was hard, especially one you knew was possessed.  If she'd let Izzy take her back, the pirate would have found a way to get her to the mage, no matter what she thought about it.  Bodahn wasn't half bad with a needle and thread; between his efforts and some whiskey she would be fine, or so Falon reassured herself.  


  




Sebastian was worried; in all his years, he'd never seen anyone lose that much blood and still be conscious, much less standing.  Falon was walking and talking . . . how she did it was beyond his ken.  Bodahn greeted them at the door, ever cheerful.  He took one look at Hawke, and blanched.  "Take her up to her room, serrah.  The Lady Amell is not in.  Shall I send her a message?"  Sebastian shrugged, unsure if Hawke's mother would want to know.  "I'll have an injury kit and some elfroot up here in a jiffy," the dwarf told him.

  
Sebastian guided Falon upstairs; she was leaning heavily on him, barely lifting her feet on the steps as the injuries took their toll.  He laid her out on her bed as gently as she could.  "This is not how I imagined your first visit to my room," she quipped, head lolling a bit.  The archer let out an abrupt laugh, humor unexpected.  "We'll have to arrange another visit, then," he replied.  He hadn't meant to sound so forward, but her smile was worth it.  He sat next to her, gaze going from her shoulder to the door as he waited impatiently.  Bodahn was still nowhere to be seen, and Hawke's wound was seeping blood.  There was really nothing for it, he thought.  He would have to staunch the flow until the dwarf got back.  Sebastian peeled Falon's leathers off, careful of her injuries as he undid the buckles.

  
Underneath she was a mass of bruises and scars, bloody gashes where the elf pierced the light armors she favored.  With the leather and padding off, he could see the damage to her shoulder.  Bone shifted at an odd angle, the layers of flesh laid bare; Sebastian had to swallow a few times before he could bring himself to do more than look.  "Bad?" Hawke asked, eyes averted.  "I won't lie.  It doesn't look good."  She laughed weakly as he searched for a rag.  All he could find quickly was a pillowcase, but it would do.  He pressed it to the wound as gently as he could, applying firm, even pressure.

  
Sebastian glanced at Falon's face, hoping he wasn't hurting her, but the rogue had passed out.  Seems she's human after all, he thought.  The door opened and he craned his neck around to see who it was, expecting Bodahn or his simple son.  Instead, it was a ragged looking Anders followed by Isabela.  "Is she out?" the pirate asked, pushing past the mage.  "Yes," the archer said, looking down at her.

  
Isabela bent over Falon, gently brushing her fingers across her face.  "Anders," she snapped, "get over here and fix her!"  The mage gave her a dirty look as he waited for the pirate to get out of his way.  She moved grudgingly, as if she expected him to work from across the room.  Sebastian was glad to turn the rogue's care over to someone who knew what they were doing, but Falon had been adamant about not trusting Anders.  "You don't think she'll be upset about this, do you?" he asked.  The pirate grinned, "She might be.  We'll just tell her it was your idea."  He gaped at Isabela for a moment and then shook his head, "Aye and she'll believe it, I'm sure."

  
Anders ignored them, running his hands over Hawke and muttering as he catalogued a litany of injuries, "Bruised kidney, broken rib, broken rib, cracked vertebrae, shattered clavicle, severed tendon . . .  It's a damn good thing you brought me Isabela.  There's no way this shoulder would have healed cleanly without help."  The pirate made a noncommital sound as if she could care less, but her face betrayed genuine concern.  "If you have it under control, perhaps I should go?" Sebastian asked.  He felt unnecessary at this point, and it was somewhat uncomfortable to be perched next to a near naked woman in her bedroom, no matter the reason.  "Not quite yet," the mage replied.  "Can you hold that wound shut, chantry boy?"  Sebastian nodded, trying not to bristle at the disdain in Anders' voice.

  
He pushed the shoulder down as the mage manipulated the bones; Anders' hands briefly flared blue and something in Falon's shoulder shifted.  The gash stopped seeping blood as it began to close, sealing to a red, scabbed line.  Her bruises faded and many of the smaller cuts healed completely.  Anders sagged as he let go, obviously exhausted.  The mage always looked tired though.  He probably didn't sleep much; being an apostate in Kirkwall was a dangerous proposition.  Sebastian almost felt sorry for him, but it was a hell of his own making.

  
"You let Hawke know she owes me," the mage said, gazing at the sleeping woman intently.  "I don't do this for her kind for free."  "I don't think I care for your tone," the archer replied, anger replacing any sympathy he might have felt for Anders.  "Shut up before you get yourself into trouble," Isabela told the mage, pulling him back with a look for Sebastian.  "You know Hawke is always good for it, whatever you need hun."  Anders nodded, "You're right.  Of course you're right.  Just . . . tell her for me."  He shuffled out followed closely by the pirate, leaving Sebastian alone with Falon again.

  
He watched her sleep for awhile, settling himself next to her.  She probably wouldn't care, but he was mindful of her modesty too, settling the sheets right up against her chin.  Hawke looked so innocent, lying there.  Every trace of devious mischief and lust gone, leaving nothing but sweetness behind.  Sebastian thought perhaps this was what lay beneath the rest, the soft, gentle heart she carefully protected.  He remembered the way her skin felt against his lips, soft and warm; he was tempted to kiss her again.  It would be wrong though, more so than it had been the first time.  When Bodahn finally showed up with elfroot and whiskey, the archer was loathe to leave, but he really had no place here.  Hawke had others to look after her.

  
The Chantry seemed less comforting that usual to Sebastian when he got back; it was vast and quiet, and endlessly boring.  He thought about going to check on Falon often; he thought about her a lot in general.  Instead, he spent time in prayer and contemplation, withdrawing to the silence of his cell as much as he could.  Sebastian spent that week in turmoil, faith winning out against desire if just barely.  These feelings he had for Hawke were entirely inappropriate and he knew it, but Maker, there was no way to be rid of them.  All he could do was wait and pray.

Title: Wicked
Author: Yozzie (Roz)bourne
Game: Dragon Age 2
characters/pairing: Sebastian/f!Hawke
Disclaimer: all characters belong to Bioware and EA I just take liberties with their words and actions.
***Contains naughty language, mild violence and sexual themes***

Falon Hawke always gets what she wants, even when the object of her affections is a chaste Chantry boy. This fic takes place in Act 2.

Wicked 1
Wicked 2
© 2011 - 2024 Zara-Arletis
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