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I love posting in threads because I can keep track of who's who!

Places:
Castle Drackhaven-Gladinis Dynasty residence
Majorka-Landlocked capital city that was rebuilt twenty years ago by Petre's reign.

People:
Petre Gladinis-Tenth king of the Gladinis dynasty.
Renso Mansfield (Gladinis)-Eldest son of Petre. Has a...checkered reputation.
Elia Gladinis-Middle child, daughter of Petre. Rigid, a touch spoiled, but good-hearted. Holds grudes.
Rafeo Gladinis-Youngest, son of Petre.
"Stay still please, sire."
"How many bloody times do I have to tell you, I hate that title." A guffaw and an eyeroll as Jefea unfurled a measuring tape once more, tightening it around "sire's" chest and squeezing, motioning for one of the servant girls to jot down the number that had been ascertained before nodding, releasing the tape.
"Your gala wear will be available to you tomorrow morning, sire. We will deliver it to you-" He sighed, partly in disgust, partly in annoyance.
"You know, Jefea, I have legs. I'd be happy to use them and pick up my own clothing from the tailors." The girl quietly giggled before being silenced by a glare from the measurer.
"Sire, while you might still be readjusting to your life of nobility, I humbly implore you to take cues from your younger siblings, both of whom are very grateful for the opportunity to have such luxury bestowed upon them."
"Yes, yes, the good ones, I understand. I'll be awaiting your delivery with baited breath then." He shot a wink at the girl, a rush of pink coming to her cheeks as she turned around and walked out of the room along with Jefea, who closed the solid, wooden door behind him with a massive thud. Jefea, like many of the royal servants who his parents employed (employment implies compensation, however...so, enslaved), had known nothing else other than paying homage to members of the socially elite, but especially to the dynasty of Gladinis, a ten king deep lineage that had ruled the Continent for a thousand years. To be fair, the kings that had come before his father were made out to be saviors, warriors, tacticians, lovers (odd section of the history books, that) and most of all, benevolent rulers who preserved peace within and ensured it abroad; in other words, they were revered demigods that the people looked to with the utmost worship. While that was well and good on the outside, the inner works of the Gladinis dynasty was...well, complex would be an understatement. Backstabbings within the extended family, assassination attempts, negotiations with foreign rulers that would have caused the general public to fall over and affairs, oh the affairs! It was a wonder that his father and mother had managed to stay civil with each other. A chuckle came to his lips as his broad-shouldered, barrel chested figure strolled from the interior of his gilded cage/room to a stone-carved balcony, surveying the parallelogram shaped walls of the capital city, Majorka, with an admiring eye. His disdain for his lineage was only matched by the admiration he had for what his father had accomplished in making Majorka, a barren wilderness just twenty years ago, into the stronghold that it was today. Even the castle that they occupied now had been in ruins, yet King Petre Gladinis had risen it up to it's former glory and Majorka came right along with it.

Breathing in the crisp fall air, he smiled, a warm smile that still felt foreign. His jet black hair, which was cut much shorter than he would have liked, still was able to ruffle in a slight breeze that wafted through. Renso chuckled again, trying to process the sheer amount of...happenings that have...well, happened over the last several months. To think that he would have gone from Renso Mansfield back to Renso Gladinis, heir to the Gladinis throne so relatively quickly was jarring an-

"Brother? Brother are you...oh, there you are." Rafeo, thirteen years younger than the 29 year old eldest, came alongside his brother garbed in flowing ebony and viridian colored robes, the official colors of the Gladinis dynasty (because every royal family MUST have official colors).
"Raf." He nodded to his brother, who smiled widely.
"Nice having you around, you know."
"Tell that to our sister." Rafeo frowned.
"She'll come around eventually, I know it. She's not all bad."
"No, no, but Elia holds grudges. I know she still despises me for leaving you both behind...and I don't blame her for it." He looked back to Majorka.
"I don't think ill of you for it...to be honest, I was sort of jealous you got to go." Renso laughed heartily.
"Well, let's set something straight: no one gave me permission to go. I just sort of...went." He paused.
"But there was much going on during that time, things that I'd like to leave behind." Rafeo opened his mouth slightly, closed it for a few moments, then changed the subject by asking:
"I assume you'll be at the ball tomorrow night?"
"Indeed I must." A twinkle sparkled in Renso's eye as he looked back at his brother.
"Any of the young, courtly maidens catch your eye? You're getting to the age where Father is going to consider arranging a marriage for you." A slight blush from the younger sibling.
"There's someone from the Tillcroft family. Quite beautiful, but...she's much too old for me. Might be a good match for you though." Renso held his hand over his chest in mock hurt.
"Are you saying, my dear brother, that I am indeed, old?" Rafeo smirked.
"Not directly."
"Bah! Old I may be, but that qualifies me to try and play matchmaker for you tomorrow."
"Oh please by the gods, no...Father and Mother do that enough already."
"Why don't I try to set you up with the old girl, the one you find 'quite beautiful'?" Rafeo's jaw dropped.
"No, no, no, oh please to the heavens no! I don't need to be embarrassed like that in front of h-" Renso smirked.
"So there IS someone else..."

__________

Afternoon, Castle Drackhaven
As the guests began to arrive and settle in before the ball, Renso had been charged by his father to act as an "emissary" for those who were arriving. In other words, Petre wanted to make sure that EVERYONE in the greater royal circles of the Continent knew that Renso, the prodigal sellsword, had returned to his rightful place by his family's side. He complied with the demand phrased as a request out of respect to his father, but that didn't make the robe, tunic and undergarments he had been given earlier this morning any more comfortable. Shifting uncomfortably underneath the heavy robes, he looked to the attendants next to him before asking the one directly to his right:
"Who's arriving next?" They were standing at the entrance to the castle, directly opposite a massive granite arch that all who came had to go under and then across an expansive stone bridge with thick railings that jutted up at least four feet to give archers a defensive position in case of a breach from the river below. The question was prompted by another sighting of carriages flying flags that Renso couldn't readily identify.
"I believe it's the Tillcrofts, my lord."
"Ah, the TIllcrofts, of course." Rafeo's crush. Let's see if he could pick out the "quite beautiful" lady from the arriving party.
"Stay still please, sire."
"How many bloody times do I have to tell you, I hate that title." A guffaw and an eyeroll as Jefea unfurled a measuring tape once more, tightening it around "sire's" chest and squeezing, motioning for one of the servant girls to jot down the number that had been ascertained before nodding, releasing the tape.
"Your gala wear will be available to you tomorrow morning, sire. We will deliver it to you-" He sighed, partly in disgust, partly in annoyance.
"You know, Jefea, I have legs. I'd be happy to use them and pick up my own clothing from the tailors." The girl quietly giggled before being silenced by a glare from the measurer.
"Sire, while you might still be readjusting to your life of nobility, I humbly implore you to take cues from your younger siblings, both of whom are very grateful for the opportunity to have such luxury bestowed upon them."
"Yes, yes, the good ones, I understand. I'll be awaiting your delivery with baited breath then." He shot a wink at the girl, a rush of pink coming to her cheeks as she turned around and walked out of the room along with Jefea, who closed the solid, wooden door behind him with a massive thud. Jefea, like many of the royal servants who his parents employed (employment implies compensation, however...so, enslaved), had known nothing else other than paying homage to members of the socially elite, but especially to the dynasty of Gladinis, a ten king deep lineage that had ruled the Continent for a thousand years. To be fair, the kings that had come before his father were made out to be saviors, warriors, tacticians, lovers (odd section of the history books, that) and most of all, benevolent rulers who preserved peace within and ensured it abroad; in other words, they were revered demigods that the people looked to with the utmost worship. While that was well and good on the outside, the inner works of the Gladinis dynasty was...well, complex would be an understatement. Backstabbings within the extended family, assassination attempts, negotiations with foreign rulers that would have caused the general public to fall over and affairs, oh the affairs! It was a wonder that his father and mother had managed to stay civil with each other. A chuckle came to his lips as his broad-shouldered, barrel chested figure strolled from the interior of his gilded cage/room to a stone-carved balcony, surveying the parallelogram shaped walls of the capital city, Majorka, with an admiring eye. His disdain for his lineage was only matched by the admiration he had for what his father had accomplished in making Majorka, a barren wilderness just twenty years ago, into the stronghold that it was today. Even the castle that they occupied now had been in ruins, yet King Petre Gladinis had risen it up to it's former glory and Majorka came right along with it.

Breathing in the crisp fall air, he smiled, a warm smile that still felt foreign. His jet black hair, which was cut much shorter than he would have liked, still was able to ruffle in a slight breeze that wafted through. Renso chuckled again, trying to process the sheer amount of...happenings that have...well, happened over the last several months. To think that he would have gone from Renso Mansfield back to Renso Gladinis, heir to the Gladinis throne so relatively quickly was jarring an-

"Brother? Brother are you...oh, there you are." Rafeo, thirteen years younger than the 29 year old eldest, came alongside his brother garbed in flowing ebony and viridian colored robes, the official colors of the Gladinis dynasty (because every royal family MUST have official colors).
"Raf." He nodded to his brother, who smiled widely.
"Nice having you around, you know."
"Tell that to our sister." Rafeo frowned.
"She'll come around eventually, I know it. She's not all bad."
"No, no, but Elia holds grudges. I know she still despises me for leaving you both behind...and I don't blame her for it." He looked back to Majorka.
"I don't think ill of you for it...to be honest, I was sort of jealous you got to go." Renso laughed heartily.
"Well, let's set something straight: no one gave me permission to go. I just sort of...went." He paused.
"But there was much going on during that time, things that I'd like to leave behind." Rafeo opened his mouth slightly, closed it for a few moments, then changed the subject by asking:
"I assume you'll be at the ball tomorrow night?"
"Indeed I must." A twinkle sparkled in Renso's eye as he looked back at his brother.
"Any of the young, courtly maidens catch your eye? You're getting to the age where Father is going to consider arranging a marriage for you." A slight blush from the younger sibling.
"There's someone from the Tillcroft family. Quite beautiful, but...she's much too old for me. Might be a good match for you though." Renso held his hand over his chest in mock hurt.
"Are you saying, my dear brother, that I am indeed, old?" Rafeo smirked.
"Not directly."
"Bah! Old I may be, but that qualifies me to try and play matchmaker for you tomorrow."
"Oh please by the gods, no...Father and Mother do that enough already."
"Why don't I try to set you up with the old girl, the one you find 'quite beautiful'?" Rafeo's jaw dropped.
"No, no, no, oh please to the heavens no! I don't need to be embarrassed like that in front of h-" Renso smirked.
"So there IS someone else..."

__________

Afternoon, Castle Drackhaven

As the guests began to arrive and settle in before the ball, Renso had been charged by his father to act as an "emissary" for those who were arriving. In other words, Petre wanted to make sure that EVERYONE in the greater royal circles of the Continent knew that Renso, the prodigal sellsword, had returned to his rightful place by his family's side. He complied with the demand phrased as a request out of respect to his father, but that didn't make the robe, tunic and undergarments he had been given earlier this morning any more comfortable. Shifting uncomfortably underneath the heavy robes, he looked to the attendants next to him before asking the one directly to his right:
"Who's arriving next?" They were standing at the entrance to the castle, directly opposite a massive granite arch that all who came had to go under and then across an expansive stone bridge with thick railings that jutted up at least four feet to give archers a defensive position in case of a breach from the river below. The question was prompted by another sighting of carriages flying flags that Renso couldn't readily identify.
"I believe it's the Tillcrofts, my lord."
"Ah, the TIllcrofts, of course." Rafeo's crush. Let's see if he could pick out the "quite beautiful" lady from the arriving party.
Ren shook his head, the half-frown morphing into narrowed eyes and lips thinning into agitation.
"I'm getting tired of you telling me what I supposedly felt, did..." He grimaced, another jagged bolt of pain crossing through his skull and down his spine.
"But if you are...telling the truth..." He suppressed the urge to shout as yet another burst of agony cascaded down his spine and into the small of his back, nearly forcing his upper body forward.
"And I did...help you, then you've...piqued my curiosity." The pain from the back to back incidents subsided and, for the moment, he felt normal. A part of him wanted to recant his expression of interest almost immediately now that he was somewhat lucid, but those spikes of pain had only come on when he had wracked his brain searching for the supposed experiences Ryoko had informed him of. If he really wanted to figure out why she had approached him, the validity of the claims and, selfishly, the cause of the sudden aches, he needed to work with her, albeit temporarily. He paused for a few moments, eyes cast on the neon signs across the river, breathing lightly. Silence passed between the duo before he spoke quietly:
"I don't think it would be wise for you to go through any kind of examination process out here."
"She can come back with us!" Morgana delightedly exclaimed, dark blue eyes shifting from Ren to Ryoko, whiskers twitching in excitement. For the supernaturally created cat-being, this represented the first time in a while that there was SOMETHING happening in their lives that involved the Thieves, even if it was at the expense of his friend.
"That was awfully eager of you." He shot a half-teasing glare at Morgana, who ducked his head back into the bag as he proclaimed:
"Onward, to home!" Ren couldn't help but laugh.
"As the cat says, we do. Follow me."

Ren's apartment was housed in one of the many white-washed, sterile high-rises that stood near Osaka station. Not only was he happy about how close he was to the station to visit...well, fewer people than years ago, but it was also a place where he and Morgana could blend in. Neighbors were barely seen, let alone interacted with, and the walls were soundproof enough to where one could easily find themselves doubting that anyone else lived in the building at all. The lack of personality was less apparent in Ren's apartment, wherein Ryoko would see a few trinkets on a bookshelf, books on a host of subjects and several photos mounted on the right hand wall of the Thieves she should have recognized. As Ren closed the door behind them, he asked:
"So what exactly do you plan on doing to examine the pain?" After Morgana leapt out of Ren's bag, the cat followed up:
"I'm curious myself! How can you diagnose Ren's pain so easily? DO you have experience with this kind of thing?"

________

...When your brain goes numb, you can all that mental freeze...

Left kick. Right uppercut.

What you know about rollin in the deep...

Jab. Jab. Cross. Cross.

I feel like...

"Ann? Ann?!"

Taking an earbud out of her left ear and allowing the training mannequin a respite from her onslaught, Ann Takamaki turned to face the source of the voice, her lithe frame dripping with sweat. She took a couple of breaths, wiping a few droplets off of her brow before smiling widely, speaking in slightly accented English:

"Hey, Roan! What's up?" Roan Atkins, a burly man of about 40-ish, chuckled as he motioned to the training dummy.
"You were putting in some focused work. Good for you."
"Just doin what you showed me! It's done WONDERS for the toning in my arms and legs." She winked and flexed her arms, slight protrusions of muscle jutting upward. Roan clapped, laughing as he responded:
"Well don't get too worked up tonight. You've got shoots on the coast all next week, so we'll need you limber, not sore."
"You got it, chief!" Ann titled her head slightly.
"There's something else, isn't there..." Roan nodded.
"There was a request that came in from Tokyo. I know how..."
"No."
"Ann, Japan is a burgeoning market and you need to go ba-" Ann turned around.
"See you tomorrow morning, Roan."

Left hook. Right hook.

Hands held, head on his shoulder, looking at the sunset...

Will it ever get better than this?

What about children? Maybe?

Model! I'll be your manager slash lover.

I'll follow you to the ends of the earth.

Ends of the earth.


Right kick. Left haymaker.

Jaw clenched.

Flashes of emotions intermingled with unfamiliar nostalgia flitted across his conscious memory. Feelings of crossing across dream spaces, gliding across subconscious desires, slitting his dagger through the defenses of those who were willingly feeding the creature that jointly threatened the world along with the god of control-

Ren jolted back in his chair, head nearly whipping backward.
"Ren!" Morgana hissed, ready to jump onto his companion's lap to check and see if his heart was beating out of control, but Ren waved him off, taking a slow exhale before he gave Morgana a reassuring smile, turning to Ryoko, the smile morphing into a pensive half-frown.
"What you're saying is...true. I can feel it." He shifted once again in his chair, elbows gently resting on the table, coffee jostling in the porcelain mug.
"But you have to understand something, Ryoko: my time as a thief has come and gone." He chuckled sardonically, motioning to the illuminated bustle of Dotonbori.
"We fought with all we had to make sure people's hearts were safe, their desires intact and also, apparently, their dreams stable-" A throbbing pierced his temples, jaw clenched as the momentary agony came and went.
"What was that..." He mumbled to himself, looking to Ryoko apologetically.
"Happens every so often. Maybe a side effect from being in people's heads for so long." A slight chuckle before he continued:
"I remember far too much of my time as a thief, so the opportunity to remember even more isn't exactly what I'm looking for right now." Morgana frowned, poking his head out of the bag as his whiskers twitched, feline mouth opening slightly, then closing.
"Even if this 'Dreamer' monster/thing had an origin point and you somehow discovered who made it, why don't you deal with it yourself? You don't need me for anything other than maybe back-up." Morgana hissed at end of the sentence, but didn't follow up with a barb. He knew the subject was well-trodden ground that Ren had refused to budge on for at least two years, ever since she left.
"Sorry to have wasted your time with a meeting like this." He shook his head, taking a sip of the coffee and instantly regretting it, setting the cup back down.
"I am curious, though: what did you think would happen when you showed up? That I'd jump back into duty? That I would feel obligated to go back to the old ways of doing things?" He snorted.
"Even with all the work that the Thieves and I did, all that we sacrificed, things continued to go on like they always had. Fighting against it is...tiring."
"Yumekishi...Ryoko..." The name rolled off of his tongue far too easily for his liking, as if it were a part of his core. Her explanation only complicated the now seething vortex of thoughts within his mind. He wanted so desperately to remember, but something was fighting his recollection, pushing his memories further down into the recesses of his subconscious. It wasn't until she made the point about their journeying through dreams that a rush of emotion flooded up into the conscious, a grey, destructive wall of macabre standing between him and the sudden implosion of the dreams of mankind.

He attacked it furiously, whipping and lashing with his dagger, firing off his pistol, unleashing every possible ounce of magical energy he could from the Personas that served him, yet the wall continued to regenerate, to reform and undulate forward. Joker could feel the hunger seething out of the creature, the outstretched arms of those consumed hoping, wishing that he too would join them in the belly of the beast. It was at that moment when he felt a twinge of familiarity, a loud shout of triumph as bolts of lightning cascaded down onto the wall, followed by the crackling of ice and the burning inferno that only hellfire could produce. His teammates, his friends had come to help him, just as they said they would next time Joker encountered the devourer of dreams. It retreated, temporarily, only for-

Breathing heavily, Joker's line of sight returned to the present, where Ryoko sat, her eyes seeming to wonder whether or not he had remembered. Regardless of his perceptions, he had indeed remembered...something. Something dreadful, that he truly wanted to forget. He sighed, looking at the soft, lapping waters of the canal, pleasure boats cruising past lazily in the stifling August air.
"You were the one who told me about the...devourer? Dreamer?" He shook his head.
"I don't remember what it was called, but I remember what it looked like, the threat it represented to people not just in Japan, but everywhere around the world." He slumped back in his chair.
"Ryuji, Ann, Yusuke...they were there, too. I found them in their...something, somehow, and they came to help." He tilted his head.
"But our relationship goes deeper than that, doesn't it?" Morgana's ears were perked straight up, eyes locked on Ren.
"Why didn't I know about this?" He asked a bit too loudly for their current surroundings, but Ren chose to ignore the comment, willing to explain to Morgana how he was excluded from this particular adventure of his past life.
"Regardless of our past...affiliation, why are you coming to me now? If you know as much about me as I believe you do, you know that the Thieves are a relic of the past." It stung for him to describe his former team that way, but they hadn't been a "team" in seven years. Life tends to dissolve bonds very quickly.
Her entrance left Ren with an odd taste in his mouth, coppery and sweet. His mind was racing to try and put together the shards of memory that were strewn about in his subconscious, summoning his mental might to put a name to the face that sat across from him. Upon her question, he parted his lips, ready to answer before they closed at her mentioning of Morgana. His initial instinct was to reach down and quell the potentially shifting Morgana, but instead, he unzipped the top of the bag, allowing for the supernatural feline to poke his head out of the bag, eyes narrowing. No use in hiding it now; besides, the cafe terrace didn't have any others occupying it and there were no wait staff to trouble him about having an animal in his bag.
"Don't say anything." He mumbled, casting a glance at Morgana, who most certainly wanted to, but instead twitched his ears, looking intently at their coffee partner. Ren turned his attention back to the woman, her seemingly soft, yet inquisitive gaze prompting far too many questions for his liking. Instead of asking them all at once, Ren sat up in his chair and told her quietly:
"Quite a way to get my attention." He shifted, grimacing slightly from the sweat that was beginning to pool on the upper part of his back.
"I would say I'm flattered you knew who I was, but I find myself more...troubled than anything else." He pushed the coffee a couple of inches away from him.
"Troubled simply because you know who I am, but I don't know who are you. Your face, your clothing, even the way you sit...I feel like..." He shook his head.
"I feel like I know you. That I should know you from something very important." He swore under his breath.
"If you know anything about me, you'll know that this is an occurrence that comes up far too often in my life." Morgana shot Ren a sympathetic look before returning to glare at the new-comer.
"So in short: no, I don't know you and I'd appreciate you telling me who you are before we carry forward in our conversation."
"Ren? Ren, are you sure about this?"

Ren's reedy frame shuddered, jolted back into the reality that he was still standing in front of his apartment, the card that had prompted a surge of emotions and fractured memories half-crumpled in his hand. He looked down, glasses steamed from the acrid humidity in the hallway, but still visible through the sauna-like environment was Morgana, tail swishing in curiosity as his head nodded towards the door.

"Come on, let's get inside." With a nod, Ren followed the sound advice, entering his quarters with Morgana's mottled fur rushing up against the leg of his slacks. A blur of black was visible as he took off his glasses, cleaning them on his damp(ish) off-crimson dress shirt before returning them to his face. Morgana paced on the kitchen island, paws clicking on the granite.

"No one knows who we are in Osaka. We picked Osaka JUST for that reason." An aggravated sigh, the cat's sky-blue irises glaring at Ren.
"Well come on, tell me what you're thinking. Don't clam up on me now!" A sardonic chuckle was followed by a reply:
"When I touched the card, I...felt something. Like when I would go to the Velvet Room except...I never left? I don't think?" Morgana's tail stiffened.
"Velvet room, eh?" Ren nodded.
"It was the same feeling of being uncontrollably whisked away, but all I felt was my mind trying to remind me of something...something important. I can't put my finger on it, but I just know whoever left this is someone that I need to see." Ren cast his eyes past Morgana to the ebony leather sofa tucked against the right-hand wall, several pictures hanging right above, each depicting various slices of the past that he never wanted to forget, no matter how painful the reminders might be.
"Do you think it's..." Morgana shook his head.
"No, no, she wouldn't do something like that. She'd just show up." He looked to the pictures as well for a moment, eyes narrowing before turning back to Ren.
"Think Futaba would be able to help figure out...I dunno, where the card was made?" Ren rapped his fingers on the island, then nodded.
"She might be able to get something. I'll send a picture and text her on the way to...wherever this address is." Punching in the address into his nav, he found that the caller wanted to meet at a cafe right on Dotonbori Canal. Odd to want to meet in such a public place, but then again, Ren knew the power of subtlety within chaos. Dotonbori would packed with tourists, drunk salarymen, hawkers and every other kind of distraction imaginable. No one would regard two people talking at a cafe, even with the subject potentially revolving around his past.
"Want me to come?" Ren shook his head.
"Too dangerous a time. Don't need you getting abducted or trampled." Morgana let out a huff.
"Just because I'm not as spry as I used to be doesn't mean I'm an invalid!" Ren half-smiled.
"Guess you can ride with me. Don't be too obvious, though." Having spent most of the day roaming around the alleys and side-streets around Ren's office, the thought of falling asleep in Ren's oversized duffel bag did sound appealing.
"I'll be listening the whole time, though! Whoever this is will have to deal with the both of us."
"Just like always."

Cafe Paris' terrace faced the canal, but also had exit points on either side of the sitting area, giving Ren the perfect area for a discussion with a potentially dangerous individual who knew about his past. His coffee lazily wafted steam, untouched. Sojiro had trained Ren too well when it came to recognizing good coffee, which soured almost any visit to a normal coffee shop. Ren understood why the old man was cranky about sampling other's coffee; it was never as good as his own.

His phone buzzed, Ren glancing at the message from Futaba:

Nothing unusual! Weird, huh? Seeing something like this...let me know how it goes, ok?! I want deets!
With a chuckle, he placed his phone on the table, grateful that Futaba was still a part of his life, as was Sojiro. With his parents as emotionally distant as they were, Sojiro and Futaba were more family than his parents ever were. It had been a few months since he had gone to Yongyen, maybe he should...

He heard footsteps coming onto the near empty terrace, Ren turning his head to see if this would be the mysterious caller.
I normally OOC for notes to myself! Feel free to use it like that or if you want to plot here, we can do that as well :)
In Hi guys! 15 days ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
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