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Thread: [M/IC] Class That Divides (Fanatasia and Naming)

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    Default [M/IC] Class That Divides (Fanatasia and Naming)

    Sennu stood alone on the outer edges of the room, staring vacantly at the wall that was placed opposite.

    The servant was dressed in full uniform, his clothes pristine and perfectly arranged. His buttons and shoes were all polished to a dull shine, unmarked and unmarred by his work. Even the man’s hair sat flat atop his head, with the aid of some level of care and product, which was quite an accomplishment considering how unruly it often proved naturally.

    Both of his hands were covered with flawless white gloves, and atop one of these he balanced an ornate silver platter. The platter was, in turn, stacked high with treats and delicacies, should any of the nobles decide to indulge. A pitcher and several glasses rested on a small bench nearby, tucked unobtrusively against a section of wall that would have otherwise remained vacant. Between the two, Sennu possessed most everything that would be necessary to conduct his regular duties.

    Had he taken the opportunity to glance about, Sennu would have seen that he was accompanied by several other men and women of varying ages, all dressed in similar uniforms. They stood about the perimeter of the room like sentries, watching the meeting’s participants, whilst trying to look as if they were not paying any mind to the discussion itself. Other master-servants, spread out just enough to avoid dissuade chit-chat, or any other sort of fraternization.

    Even if they hadn’t been, none of them would have indulged. They were supposed to be the best of their field – the sort of people who would be appointed the title of ‘Master’, had their work constituted an actual craft.

    As it was, Sennu did not bother to so much as glance at them. He knew that Mara – one of his coworkers who he was particular good friends with – was present, but he did not search her out. She would be busy tending her own section of the table, just as he himself did. They would likely gossip and chat about it later, but until then, the only ones to speak within the lavish room were the members of the meeting themselves.

    The king, first and foremost, sat at one end of the table. The rest of the guests were seated outwards from there, positioned by rank. Other members of the nobility – the bluebloods- were seated closest, flanking the crown ruler on both sides of the table. Further down would be the crown’s choice of workers – the guild masters or other public servants who attended to the needs of the royal family.

    Sennu did his best to watch without watching, and listen without listening. He remained alert, keeping an eye on his appointed section of the table – that pertaining to the bluebloods seated immediately to the king’s left – without drawing any attention to himself. Such was the mark of a good servant, after all. He was to be a ghost, moving amongst them to refill glasses or remove plates, without disrupting the flow of conversation. Sennu was there to do a job, and the nobility were to completely forget his presence at all times they were not actively calling upon him. It wouldn’t do to have the bluebloods holding their tongue, weary about what they might say, due to the presence of a few lingering servers.

    As the meeting dragged on, those he was attending called upon him several times. One of the men raised a hand casually, and Sennu immediately stepped forward, offering him the platter of treats. The noble selected one without so much as glancing at Sennu, and did not deign to dismiss him formally. The man withdrew without receiving so much as a word of thanks, and did not object to that fact in the slightest. Whenever a guest drained his glass, Sennu would be there, appearing at his side almost silently. The servant would be forced to lean about the nobles and pour at awkward angles, to avoid jostling the king’s guests, and did so without spilling a single drop.

    Flurries of motion caught out of the corner of his eye told him that his companions were doing the same, but again, Sennu paid them no mind. So long as none of them made a mistake, there was no reason to interfere, and they would all work away from today’s task without incident. There seemed to be a good bit of shouting, and anger coloured the voices of those who were contributing most fervently to the discussion, but that was none of Sennu’s concern.

    Just another day at work for the castle’s personal staff.

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    Aryende was always quiet, her father's staple belief was that the princess should be seen; but should not be heard. As such, Aryende spent most of her time trying to be perfect. However, she had shifted her hand carelessly, and her wine glass had toppled over. She was the diamond of the kingdom–which meant she was seated the most closest to her father.

    "So, when are you marrying her off, m'lord?" One of the guests asked, and the king began to answer.

    The king, a man with greying brown hair, a speckled, well-cut beard, and a very viking-like way of dress, had just ended a heated discussion to answer the possible-suitor, a noble from another family. He never truly injured his daughter, not any further than a firm slap, but his anger was already high. When the wine spread across the table, and the girl had stood, bowing deeply and apologizing, the king almost let it go. And then, she reached instinctively to clean her mess.

    The king snapped, and reached to slap her, though he only caused her hand to slam into the glass shards she was trying to clean. He ordered her quietly, "Leave the table, Aryende. You're an embarassment." As she got up to leave, bowing her head, she curtsied in deep apology to the table. Then, she was gone.

    One of her brother's had excused himself, and followed close behind of her, shoving her into a utilities closet. Artemis never appreciated when she upset their father, and he never appreciated the fact that their father would not force her to mind. He was the one who typically beat her with enough force that there were bruises. Artemis wanted his sister; and he knew that was wrong–which meant her took his frustration at himself out on her, for being the object that caused the frustration.

    Aryende had learned to be quiet. He didn't hit as hard if she was quiet. She curled into herself, sobbing as her eldest brother's foot connected firmly with her ribs, once again. She was wheezing, unable to stay quiet when she could not breathe easily, and this earned her a solid kick to the side of her head, and then Artemis had jerked her upright, snarling in her ear, "Surely, you won't think to tell anyone about what I've done, will you, little sister?" He shoved her against the wall, and gave one more solid kick to the backs of her legs, which caused her to buckle, and sob. The man glanced over his shoulder briefly, before he had shut the door behind himself and returned to the dinner.

    His father was speaking of marrying Aryende, now. "Honestly, she's not the heir and she holds no power, so I'll marry her to either the highest bidder in coin, or in services. If your alliance proves worthy once the court lawyers look at the contract, she's yours, Lord Preston." Artemis found that this made his temper flare, and almost had to let himself out once again.

    Instead, he managed to speak: "She's not well-trained as a wife, Father... Before she's married, she should learn to take care of a household. It would be worth nothing if she was unable to uphold her duties, and ended the alliance or the service."

    The regent and his father would get into a quickly-heating argument, and many of the brother's joined in. Some defended their sister, saying she was as obedient as she could be, but worthless, while others thought she was worthless through and through. If one of the servants slipped away, nobody would notice.
    Last edited by Fanatasia; 04-15-2018 at 05:27 PM.

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    Had this been some small lordling's court, the servants might have shuffled and looked away at the king's sudden outburst. They might have tried to slip from the room, or hurried to find other tasks that would prove a suitable distraction. Those who were chosen to serve the king himself were made of sterner stuff, however. Not a single one of the servants who stood around the perimeter of the room so much as batted an eye when the man reached over to slap his daughter. They all continued to watch with that same blank-faced stare that was so often employed in their line of work, unflinching and uncomprehending, even as the princess excused herself from the table.

    The words the king spoke were quiet, but carried plenty of weight, and portrayed his anger nonetheless. Not a one of them dared to stir, lest they draw his notice and become an outlet for his ire. The man could dismiss any of them without so much as a second thought, and that would be the best-case scenario. The king could easily whip or jail a servant who displeased him, and nobody would think twice about it. Nobody but the unfortunate soul who ended up losing their livelihood, of course.

    All of them watched on, but nobody made a move to intervene. They would likely discuss it later, of course, but only in secret, once they were safe from prying ears. In hidden corners, with low voices.

    The first one to move was the servant who had been positioned closest to Aryende's seat. Mara - the one servant with whom Sennu was the most familiar - would step forward and set about the task of cleaning up both the shattered glass and spilled wine. Her expression was one of total disinterest, as if this was just another part of the job. In a strange way it was. That seemed to break the tension, and activity slowly returned to normal in the room. The conversation continued, and the servants continued about their work. Within moments, everything in the room had gone back to normal, save for the two chairs that remained empty.

    Despite his training, Sennu couldn't help but throw a subtle glance across at Artemis as the prince returned to the room. If anyone took notice of the servant's misstep, however, they didn't point it out. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he would turn and take a few steps towards the servant located closest to him. He informed her that he was going to get more snacks from the kitchen, given the rate that one particular blueblood seemed to be going through them. She responded with a barely perceptible nod. At that, Sennu would turn and slip from the room. Since he had made his intentions clear, she would cover his section of the table for him briefly. Nobody would think his departure odd - the master servants were trusted enough for most anyone to think he was simply doing some task related to his duties. Such was the trust placed in those skilled enough to serve in the king himself.

    Sennu would emerge from the meeting room, and quietly close the door behind him. After a brief glance down the hallway, he would set off. The servant would stroll through the halls. He moved with purpose, looking as if he knew exactly what he was doing, so that none of the others might question him. True to his word, the man headed in the rough direction of the kitchens, but that was hardly his sole purpose.

    Just where was the princess?

    He knew the chances of finding her were somewhat low, especially considering the size of the castle. For all he knew, the princess had returned to her rooms, and locked herself inside. If that was the case, then no amount of searching on his part would do any good. Still, he felt compelled to try. He and the other servants were sworn to serve the royal family, after all. Every member of the royal family, princess included.

    That was what Sennu told himself, at the very least.

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    Aryende sobbed quietly as she tried to find her feet, and find enough strength to push the large, wooden door of the closet she had been left in open. Eventually using all of her weight, the door budged, but she was not prepared for that. Out from the utility closet spilled the princess, a few brooms, and a mop.

    Gasping, she struggled to her feet, arms curling around herself as she stumbled forward, bruised face toward the ground. She'd never been beaten quite this badly, but she highly doubted her father would do anything unless he thought she was going to die and he'd lose out on a treaty.

    She shuffled forward, slowly, swaying and stumbling as she went until she bumped into someone. This sent her off-balance, more than she was already, and she hit the ground with a quiet sob. The princess stared up at the servant – and she recognized him. Sennu, she thought was his name.

    Quietly she murmured, "You shouldn't be out here." You shouldn't see me like this. Nobody should. She moved to get to her feet again, wiping her eyes with one bruised hand, fingers curled against her will; possibly fractured. Every breath she took was rattled with wheezing, as if her chest was unable to comprehend the amount of air she required. She was getting lightheaded, and was determined to get back to her room before she fainted.

    After all, she was in enough trouble for being beaten black and blue. It'd just get worse if she lost consciousness in the hallway. "I've got... got to..." That was all she could get out; all the words that she could manage before she hit the ground again, and unless she was caught, her head would hit the ground quite hard.

    The dinner was winding up, rather than down. A heated debate had started about the upcoming wars, and the sanctioned fights among the peasants of the kingdom, for the royals amusement during the spring festival of Muiy, Goddess of Fertility.

    Nobody would come looking for her for hours, and would not notice a servant missing.

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    Sennu would continue his search of the extensive castle interior with grim determination, marching ever onwards in his search to find the missing princess. The master-servant did everything in his power to look as if he were out on official business, keeping his posture correct and maintaining a leisurely speed as he strolled through the winding hallways. Any officials he passed merely saw one of the rabble going about their appointed duties, running errands for one member of the nobility or another. His eyes, however, betrayed the truth of the matter. The man's gaze flickered back and forth, checking every nook and cranny for the king's daughter, hinting at his internal worry.

    His task seemed pointless at first, given the total lack of direction and information that he had to work with. On more than one occasion Sennu started to berate himself for wasting his time on such a hopeless endeavour, only to harden his resolve and forge on regardless. It would weigh heavily on his shoulders if he gave up now, only to hear that something had happened to the princess after all.

    His break came from a rather unexpected source. As the princess forced her way out of the supply closet, the sound of the falling brooms was just loud enough to reach his ears. Heading in the direction of the disturbance, he turned a corner, only to run face-first into the very person that he had been searching for.

    "Lady Aryende!" he exclaimed rather simply, even as the lady righted herself. His eyes quickly drifted to the bruise on her hand, which was drawn to his attention by its movement. His mouth quickly pressed into a small frown, and concern danced behind his eyes as he appraised the injured royal. His suspicions had been well-founded, it appeared.

    He opened his mouth to apologise, to respond to her claims that he was currently not doing his duty, only to be caught off-guard as the princess fainted again. Sennu quickly reached out to grab her, more on reflex than anything, and was partially successful. He managed to get a bit of an awkward grip on her arms and torso, arresting her fall just enough to stop her head from hitting the ground, but it wasn't enough to stop the princess from slumping over entirely. Once he was certain that he could do so safely, the master-servant would lower her to the ground gently.

    Stepping around her prone form, Sennu would kneel down beside the fallen princess. He quickly leaned across to both check her pulse and make sure she was still breathing, and was relieved to find that the girl was only unconscious. He would move to appraise the rest of her injuries quickly, before stopping himself up short. This was hardly the place for such things - if the two of them were caught like this out here, it would be disastrous. At the very worst, Sennu would be blamed for attacking the princess, and promptly executed for raising a hand against a member of the royal family. The king had an image to maintain, after all, even if Aryende was his least-favourite child.

    He made his decision quickly, eager to avoid lingering, lest they be caught. Unbothered by the improperness of what he was doing, he would gather the fallen princess up in his arms, picking her up bridal-style. Straightening to his full height, the man would stumble a little, before catching his balance and righting himself. Satisfied that Aryende was secure, he would quickly start heading for the princess' own room. They needed to get out of the open, and that seemed the most logical place for him to take her.

    Please, holy lords, don't let any of the bluebloods see us he would pray silently, beginning the steady march towards the princess' room. He was less worried about the other servants seeing them - even if they would gossip between themselves, he doubted any of them would tattle to the king or the rest of the royal family.

    Aware that most of the nobles residing in the castle kept their doors unlocked so that the servants might enter and clean, Sennu was far from disheartened when they reached the princess' rooms. Turning to the side, he would force the door open with his shoulder. Stepping carefully to avoid hitting the comatose princess against anything, or jostling her needlessly, he would quickly move across to Aryende's bed, where he would lay her down tenderly.

    After detouring briefly to lock the door behind them, Sennu would return to the princess' side. He felt the need to check over her injuries next - the readily visible ones, at least - so that he might better judge what to do next.

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    Aryende's ribs were fractured, her fingers fractured and one ankle sprained. Should Sennu look further, he would find quickly spreading bruises across her abdomen, and her back. Her face was the most obvious, and most concerning matter that was visible offhand, though.

    One eye swollen shut, a deep purple bruise surrounding it, her nose and mouth were both puffy, and various shades of purple and red. Her breathing came haltingly slow, each breath earned a quiet whimper from the woman, as she fought with her own consciousness, or lack thereof.

    She was hot, and she hurt, and as she swam through the haze that kept trying to pull her back down, she was startled. Where... was she? Wide eyes stared up at the servant, and she whimpered quietly. She was scared; she remembered running into the man, but that was outside in the hall.

    Where was she now? Her voice was quiet, hoarse, as she forced her mouth to form the words she wanted. "Where... did you... take me... Sennu." She had to pause to breathe; and that was hard in and of itself. "I... Don't tell... Father."

    Her father would find out that she was injured, of course. But they needed to ensure whatever he found out did not implicate her brother. Her father would simply hang whoever chose to dare implicate his heir.

    "Sennu... leave." She was quiet as she pushed herself into a seated position, gasping for air as she did. This prompted her to lay back down, and close her eyes, "...trouble," she mumbled. She made it a point to know the servants by name, most of the time, but Sennu? She had begged for her mother to request him as a servant.

    She inhaled and exhaled slowly, wincing with each breath, and eventually she was staring up at the servant again, murmuring, "...you can... leave." It wasn't an order; in fact underneath those words was a plea for him to stay.

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    Concern danced behind Sennu's eyes as he slowly went about the task of cataloguing the princess' various injuries, mouth pressed into a hard line. The master servant did his best to be gentle as he sought to discover the full extent of her wounds, gently probing for broken bones along any exposed flesh he could see, and anywhere else that he dared place his hands. He was careful to avoid touching anywhere that might cause the princess to take offense, fully aware of what would happen to him should she take issue with his actions. There was the possibility that he would miss some injury or another because of this, but that was an issue all its own.

    The one who did this clearly didn't have much of a taste for subtlety he thought idly to himself as he worked. Anyone with even the most basic understanding of medical practices knew that the bruises were far from the worst thing that could happen, however, despite the fact that they were most visible. He would throw a brief glance at Aryende's face when she spoke, before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

    He would open his mouth to reply, only to be caught thoroughly off-guard when the princess suddenly decided to try and sit up, despite the fact that such an action would likely cause her considerable pain. Had he been prepared, Sennu would have certainly tried to stop her, or otherwise dissuade her from such action. As it was, he could only wince, and move back to his work when she laid back down again.

    "You can relax, princess Aryende. We're in your rooms. Safe" he cooed softly, doing his best to sound somewhat calming, or reassuring. Once he had finished his work, the man would straighten, rising to his full height once more. He would pause briefly to consider what the best course of action would likely be, considering what he knew of her injuries so far, only for a wry smile to flicker across his features

    "I'm afraid I must refuse, my lady. It would be irresponsible of me to leave you alone in your current state, especially untreated" he would start rather simply, meeting her gaze this time.

    "I should really send for a physician, but his majesty the king would doubtless find out about your injuries were that to happen. Even if you could convince them to avoid reporting to your father directly, the castle’s attendants have a tendency to talk” he would offer, tone becoming thoughtful if he tried to walk himself through their options. He chose not to question why she wished to hide her injuries from her father…for the time being, at the very least.

    As he spoke, Sennu would turn and step away from the bed, setting about the task of gathering up a few useful amenities, such as the pitcher of water that had been left waiting on the princess’ table. He went about the work quickly and efficiently, without so much as a pause in conversation.

    “It’s hardly my area of expertise, but I have some basic working knowledge of medicine. If you do not wish to speak to a professional, then I will tend to you the best I can myself” he would offer rather simply, turning and moving back towards the bed. The statement was a tad presumptuous, admittedly, but it was part of his job to assist the royal family however he could. Beyond that, Sennu couldn’t help but feel some small sense of pity when he caught sight of the bruises on Aryende’s face, alongside a desire to relieve her suffering by assisting however he could.

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    Aryende closed her eyes, murmuring, "No physician." She shifted in the bed, whispering, "Papa will want... to know who." She couldn't say 'who'. She'd get beaten even worse if she was honest. Her gaze followed Sennu as he set about gathering things, and she had to fight back a wry smile; mostly because her face hurt too much to smile.

    "I have no... qualms." She had to think of the word, for a moment, and then she was reaching to try and grab the man's hand, with her uninjured hand, "You can't... can't say you found me. Nobody..." she shook her head, "...can know." She was nervous, and once she had reassured herself that the man wasn't going to tell anyone how they had ended up here, she settled her hand against her stomach, murmuring, "I'm hot."

    The fingers of her good hand began to tug at her fur-lined gown, and she whispered, "It's too hot." She was burning up, though not because the room was too hot. She was simply feverish. Aryende had a maid who dressed her; and as they lived in a very cool climate, an island nation, everything was fur-lined. She exhaled quietly, as she felt her cheeks flush with color. She needed help, and she couldn't let him get her maid.

    "Sennu – you have to help me out of my... my dress. The buttons are down... down the back." She was so thankful that her father did not believe in corsets; he profusely referred to corsets and other binds as 'western idiocies' and had informed the designer, who made Aryende's clothes, that she was a princess, not a western whore. All she had under her dress was a slip. They didn't wear much; it was just how things were done.

    "Please." She didn't try to sit up, even though she had to sit upright for him to get to the buttons. Instead, she just stared up at him silently, biting her lip. Quietly, she murmured, "I'm certain you have tasks you should be doing. If you get in trouble because you were here, helping me..." She averted her gaze, worriedly. Worrying about him took her mind off of the pain that her ribs were causing, her hand; the various bruises.

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    Sennu would simply nod in acceptance of her refusal to see a professional, having expected as much after her earlier admonishments. He would simply continue about his work in silence for the time being, moving around with both ease and grace. Still, he would pause briefly as the princess suddenly reached out to grab his hand, pausing his work briefly to turn his full attention back to the wounded princess. A calm smile flickered across his features as she quickly impressed on him that he would have to keep things secret himself, were he to remain himself - more so than any of the physicians would have done, at the very least.

    "You need not worry about that, my lady. I might not be able to offer the same level of care as a proper physician, but you can count on my discretion" he would reassure her gently, before frowning briefly as she complained of being overly hot. Such a thing was somewhat understandable, given her current state, but by no means encouraging.

    Still, the man would hesitate briefly as she insisted that he help her remove her dress, just to alleviate said problem. His composure slipped for the first time that evening, just for a fraction of a moment, before he would calm himself and get control once more. The female nobles frequently used handmaids to help them dress and undress, and all of them were supposed to be as unobtrusive and unnoticeable as possible. There was one major difference between himself and a handmaiden, of course, but if the princess had chosen not to be bothered by it, then neither would he.

    "I daresay that none of my other tasks are quite as important as this, princess. Now, will you be able to sit up with my help?" he would question rather simply, setting his small collection of materials down on Aryende's bedside table, before once again moving to her side. He would offer the princess his arm, content to assist her however she best deemed it necessary. Even if she needed to rely on it for support, he was relatively certain that he could undo the buttons with one hand. It would be slightly more awkward and time-consuming, but it would be doable nonetheless.

    "Just let me know if it starts to hurt too much, and we can stop immediately" he would offer in consolation, just in case. From there, his actions would depend on how the princess chose to go about this. He would be quick to set about his task as soon as they had found a way to do so that was
    bearable for Aryende, determined to cause her as little discomfort as possible throughout.

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    Aryende was stubborn, and she would not let him know it hurt. Because, as she pulled herself upright with her one good hand, using his arm, the fingers of that hand curled tightly against his wrist, and her breathing faltered, quickening for a moment. It hurt, but she didn't want the dress to stay on.

    She closed her eyes and tried to fight back her tears, burying her face against the man's arm, as she whimpered softly. She could feel each button being undone, he worked quickly for a man with only one hand. She found herself wondering how often he had undone a dress with just one hand.

    The princess felt herself being lowered, and she opened her eyes to watch the man, slowly remove her arms from the tight sleeves of her dress. And then, to remove it the rest of the way, he had to lift her legs for a moment, before the dress could pool at the floor in a pile of fur. The slip she wore was see-through, but she did not particularly care right now; it felt better to lay here in next to nothing, than to suffocate in that dress. Aryende's cheeks would have flushed, though, if they were not already flush with fever and covered with bruises. She was a very proper woman, typically, and had never let a man see her body, even remotely.

    "Thank you..." She sighed, content to leave the man to his earlier tasks, now. She was still hot, but no longer that suffocating, foreboding heat. She offered him half a smile, before she realized by the shock of pain that it hurt to smile. She'd forgotten.

    "Mama," a younger Aryende had whispered, seated on her mother's bedside. "This servant of father's would be a great asset to you, mama. His name is Sennu." Her mother had smiled, and ran her fingers through her hair, studying her injured arm with care. "Please, you'll get him, right, mama?"

    "I'll get him, dear. If he aids you once, he may aid you again. And as a mother..." She trailed her fingers slowly through Aryende's hair, "...that's what I want. Someone who can look after you, stop your father and brother's from being too harsh." The queen shifted in bed, stating gently, "Now, your father loves you, Aryende... But you have to understand. Men don't see women as... having rights. Women are for one thing, and one thing only, and that is to form alliances, lock that alliance with babies."

    The young Aryende had nodded slowly. "So you have to remember, your father always has the best interest of the kingdom, no matter what he does to you."


    As she watched the memory play out in her head, she had closed her eyes and almost appeared to be sleeping. Quietly, she murmured, "Sennu? How often do you personally carry out tasks for my mother?" Her mother could no longer get out of bed on her own; and she weighed too much for a handmaiden to help her with most things, that required going far. Aryende had always assumed Sennu seen her mother to help her out to the gardens, but then, her mother had recently acquired a wheelchair – large, wooden and rickety. She was not sure how she felt about that. What else does he do for her?

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