I'm told it used to be (she said, defeating the point of the joke by explaining it).
Theoretically, all you'd have to do is conceal your identity and pause for a few moments out in front of my venue. Just long enough for me to run out the front door and make a magnificent gazelle leap onto the back of your motorcycle.
It's a different one this time, unfortunately. A little further out of the way — the country club outside of town, near the boardwalk.
If it helps to persuade you, I could arrange to lose one of my shoes somewhere between the door and the escape. Add a little je ne sais quoi to the whole affair.
i thought they were ruby slippers? but i think i'll stick with being the carriage instead of footwear
on my way
[And so he is. And he'll arrive just a little over fifteen minutes, donned in a leather jacket and wearing a helmet with a dark visor, like something out of a spy action movie. As expected, he's on his Harley, and the engine thrums and purrs he comes to a stop at the entrance of the country club -- just at the bottom of what appears to be a long set of stairs.
He's pretty sure this is the right place, at least. Seems fancy enough. Cloud glances around, looking for anyone who might be hurriedly approaching in his direction.]
[You're a thief at heart, Carmen, she remembers the man in her memories saying, sounding altogether too smug and too triumphant as he challenged what seemed to be her entire worldview in a single sentence. You're a thief at heart; who knows what you'll crave next?
It's a memory she's been trying her best to suppress and ignore for the past few days. Throwing herself into her work has been one way of doing that; it's easy enough to get engrossed in a project and simply never slow down long enough to dwell on anything she doesn't want to dwell on. But in moments like this, somehow, the thought tends to reemerge — and clings with her even as she surreptitiously gets her things together and positions herself in a place where she'll be able to see the arrival of her impromptu getaway driver when he arrives.
It's a wholly absurd impulse, to just...leave. And yet, there's something about that moment when she hears the faint purr of the Harley in the distance and knows she's on the cusp of an escape — something that just feels right, in a way that she can't seem to pin down.
So she doesn't. She simply times her moment perfectly, and one minute her unwelcome evening companion is talking her ear off about the Golden Gate Bridge, and the next moment he's talking to dead air because she's pulled a disappearing act that Houdini would be proud of.
She steps into the night, and then she's off and running, and a cocktail dress with red pumps isn't exactly optimal for an endeavor like this, but it doesn't seem to affect her in the slightest; she closes the distance, with the open ends of her bright red coat blown back from the momentum, and as she gets close enough to make good on her promise to leap on board and facilitate her escape, it's immediately apparent that she's laughing.]
[It's the clicking of heels and the flash of red that grabs hold of his attentions, but it's really the sound of her laughter, as she leaps on the Harley and settles behind him, that heralds her presence. Cloud has no reason to believe that it's indicative of nothing more than enjoyment or relief at having escaped the Most Interesting Man in the World. Maybe there's that spike of adrenaline surging through her, he thinks, for doing something she shouldn't be doing -- mounting an escape, when obligation should keep her there.]
Hold on tight. [-he says, showing no inclination to talk her out of it. He's already here, after all, and he wouldn't have offered to help if he wasn't willing to enable escapism in the form of roaring away on a motorcycle.
And so the bike's engine thunders loudly, drowning out all other sound, as he tears off immediately, making a tight turn to return to the street proper.
He has no direction for now. His intent is to just speed away from the country club, as if something was actually chasing them, though there's nothing at their tails at all.]
[It's a strange sensation, the way it feels to be holding on tight with her knees together and her legs sidesaddle while the Harley takes off through the night. Cloud's intent somehow manages to be perfectly in line with her own without even realizing it — the game of pretending to be chased even when there's no one there, the fun of doing something she probably isn't supposed to be and yet getting away with it, anyway.
But the strangest part is that notion, that supposed to be. Objectively, she's supposed to be back at the club, mingling and currying favor and being the very model of brilliance, poise, and charm.
And yet, here in the moment with the roar of the engine and the wind in her hair and the thrill of the escape, it almost feels like this is where she's always been meant to be, and she can't explain why.
There'll be excuses she has to make later. There'll be inquiries she has to parry, concessions and deflections she'll have to offer. But those can wait until later.
Right now, she just leans a little closer and holds on a little tighter, and spares a moment to shout over the noise of the wind and the engine when she has the chance: ]
[The thrill of something as simple as speed and momentum, the way the pavement flies beneath and past them, is something that Cloud takes pleasure in. It's exhilarating in ways that he doesn't always show on his features, as stoic as he can usually be, but it's impossible to hide the smile in his words as he responds over the noise of everything else:]
Glad you like her!
[The sentiment is sincere, as well. No, it's not the most expensive motorcycle, nor the fastest on the market. But it's his, and there's some measure of pride associated with it, clear in his tone.
After a while, though, they have to come to a stop. It's an intersection where the lights turn red, and Cloud is only so willing to push the limits of what constitutes as traffic violations after they've come so far. He rolls up to a stop, idle behind another car. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Carmen, and now he should be properly audible despite the helmet still muffling his sentences.]
I'm gonna say he won't be catching up to you now. Want to kill time before we head back, or do you want to turn around now?
[He doesn't mind either way. But he doesn't want to keep her out and flitting around the city if she actually does have things to tend to, now that the escape (and point) has been so thoroughly made.]
[It's one of the traits that she's really growing to like about Cloud, those hints of his genuine, earnest pride beneath his usual stoicism. It shows when he talks about the vehicles he works on at his job, of course, coming through in little flashes and catches. But it's never more prevalent when it's something of his own, and that's the part that she finds really compelling. It's not just skill, though she's always drawn to people by their skills. No, it's the confidence that comes with the skill that really moves her, the mixture of passion and conviction that only really comes of being good at something and knowing it.
She loves it when people show her what they love, what they're good at, what drives them. It's like the feeling of traveling, of flying at top speed — a sensation she can't explain, but that just feels natural, and right.
So it's small wonder, when he shows it to her, that she ends up responding the way she does; she would've taken the option of staying out longer either way, probably, but the prospect of hearing more of those smiles in his tone is more than enough to seal it for her without hesitation.]
I'd rather stay out, if you can spare the time. I'm not taking you away from someplace you'd rather be?
Not really. Didn't have much else to do after work today.
[And he'll never say no to a drive around the city. This city -- which had become far stranger and more than he ever hoped to have bargained for -- was still foreign to him. In a way, it was a mystery that needed unravelling, though Cloud never seems to think in such fantastical terms. Only that it would make sense for him to get to know it better, if he's to live here, and that he'll never say no to a late evening ride around town. He prefers it, followed only second by the blanket of night itself. And while he's not usually one for company, there's a sense of solidarity in the presence of another Retrospec user. By default, he feels a bit more comfortable around them.
The light is changing to green, now. He faces forward again, but offers-]
Tell me which direction you want to go and we'll head off. Someplace you like. Odds are that I've never been there before.
[But oh, here they go again, and as the traffic picks up again she notes that she didn't quite have the chance to give him an answer, so she shifts to lean a little more heavily against the back of his shoulder, which likewise puts her that much closer to his concealed ear.]
Head east, into Tisse. Have you ever been to the Stardust?
[-is his response, clipped by the sound of the engine flaring to life as he accelerates down the road. He heads east as directed, for an extended minute or two, managing to speak his reply whenever they slow down or come to a complete stop at traffic lights.]
There's still a lot of this city that I haven't seen yet, since I'm still new. And I pretty much stick to my daily routine, so...
[Basically... he doesn't get out and socialize very much.]
That's going to change these days though. What with everything going on in Recolle.
Well, then. Let me show you the world — shining, shimmering, splendid.
[Amused, she continues watching over his shoulder, interjecting with idle directions here and there to keep them on the right path toward the combination skating rink and bowling alley in Tisse.]
Are you planning to get involved with trying to solve the mysteries surrounding this place?
[He scoffs at that first bit, probably barely audible through his helmet. But no reply to it for now, only his focus on getting them to the right place by following her directions.]
Do I have much of a choice? It's not like any of these "changes" are subtle, and even if I wanted to ignore them I couldn't.
[And there is some strange part of him that wants to make "right" what he views as "wrong". Not even focusing on the morality of it all, he feels this inclination -- to bring back horses, to make his eyes blue again. That sure would be nice.
Eventually they make it to their location, and he parks his motorcycle near the front entrance. It's always convenient when there's a spot just for motorbikes and the like.]
This it? [He's finally taking off his helmet, exhaling as he does. His normally spiky style is pressed flat against his head, in its usual show of helmet hair. Cloud doesn't seem to care.]
[What a pair they must make, to the eyes of the average passerby; she's wildly overdressed and he's got helmet hair. She slides off the back of the bike with relative ease, or at least she makes it look that way, though in practice it's probably deceptively challenging to balance on the worn, uneven concrete of the parking lot.]
If it'd been the daylight hours, I would've pointed you toward the zoo, but the Stardust isn't bad as a close second. There are two rinks — one ice, one hardwood — and a bowling alley. Plus the usual arcade, snacks, flashing lights, whale mascots.
[She shrugs a little, as much indicating the building by the lift of her shoulders as offering a noncommittal bit of nonverbal punctuation.]
My treat. There are plenty of ways of killing time inside, if that's what we're after.
Whale mascots. [He repeats, focusing of course on the most ridiculous notion of them all. But it isn't off-putting, and in fact he sees no reason why they wouldn't enjoy themselves a little with what this place had to offer.] How can I say no to whale mascots.
[Off of his bike now, he makes sure to lock it up before waiting for her. He runs a hand through his hair, which doesn't help it look much better. He still has a grease smudge across his cheekbone from his shift at work today.]
I'll bowl with you. I can skate, too, but I might fall on my face. [Then again, the arcade sounds like fun as well.]
I have it on good authority that the whale mascot would swoop in and catch you, if you were to fall. Or I would.
[Her lips split into an insatiable grin, however, at the sight of his face, and she taps at her own cheek in indication the next time he glances her way.]
Speaking of your face — you were hard at work, I see.
[He scoffs, though it isn't without humor. He heads on towards the entrance, and holds the door open for her as they head in.]
That's nice of you. But I'll learn my lesson more easily if you just let me fall on my ass.
[At the indication at his cheek, though, he just gives an "oh" and wipes away at it with the back of his hand. Most of it disappears, though the smear isn't completely gone.]
Yeah. If that's the worst of it, then count that as a success. You should see me on days where we're really busy.
Is that an invitation? Next time I'll pick you up, then. Fair's fair.
[She breezes on in through the door that he holds for her, hands in the pockets of her coat, and pivots briefly to wait for him to fall into step next to her before starting to head for the bowling alley section of the complex.
The lanes, when they get there, prove to be pleasantly busy without being packed, and it's easy enough to secure a lane, which she takes care of efficiently. A bored-looking attendant points them toward their destination before asking for shoe sizes to supply them with pairs of bowling shoes, and then indicates the rack of house balls available for recreational bowlers to make use of during their visit.]
[That's not what he expected, but he just grins and laughs wryly again. His smile is something some might call unaffected at best, yet it remains friendly. Cloud may be standoffish, but it's never by choice; he will go out and bowl with what is basically a stranger he's only spoken to over text, as is proof of that right now. One merely needs to drag him out to do so, such as misfiring at him a call for a rescue.]
If you pick me up in the Stingray then I'm not going to complain.
[It doesn't take long for him to find a lane. He'll sit down first, kicking off his black, dirtied riding shoes, to be replaced a bit comically by something as mundane as bowling footwear. Then he moves on over to the bowling balls, choosing a more weightier one to be his companion for this game.]
[What's equally comical is the fact that, once she shucks off her own pumps, she ends up dropping a fair few inches in height as a result; though she's still tall for a woman without her shoes, her heels are as constant an aspect of her wardrobe as her habit of wearing red is, which adds the illusion of an extra few inches of height that the bowling shoes simply don't.
(They're also, quite frankly, hideous, and the way that they clash only gets worse when she sheds her coat and ends up standing around in a cocktail dress and her two-tone bowling flats, but from the way she's grinning, it's apparent that the juxtaposition is delighting her.)
Perhaps unsurprisingly, when she goes to find a ball, she picks a red one. Some things never change.]
I'm good enough to enjoy myself, but I'm not hiding a closetful of trophies anywhere, either. Why, what about you? Don't tell me you're secretly a ringer.
[This is definitely an odd sight. Not that Cloud will... complain seeing Carmen waltzing around in a cocktail dress, but honestly, he should be laughing at the absurdity of it all. What an odd pair they make, and he actually rubs at the back of his neck, wondering just how this night ended up the way it did.
While she's grinning, Cloud is doing the same, only reflected back in a milder manner.]
Nope. Not at all. I can throw it straight, but that's about it. Probably should work on my technique, but it's not like I find myself in a bowling alley all that often.
[So very rarely.
When they've all gotten everything settled, it's easy enough for him to get things set up on the little console. He types in their names (CARMEN on one line, and CLOD on the other because the "U" hilariously does not work on the dumb plastic keyboard) and their game begins officially. He goes second, so he waits his turn, sitting patiently in the meanwhile.]
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is the sky blue?
wait nvm
you know what i mean
yes. i do have those things
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Theoretically, all you'd have to do is conceal your identity and pause for a few moments out in front of my venue. Just long enough for me to run out the front door and make a magnificent gazelle leap onto the back of your motorcycle.
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but ok. that's easy enough. if this is the same address that you sent me before, i can be there in ten.
if you can survive that long
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If it helps to persuade you, I could arrange to lose one of my shoes somewhere between the door and the escape. Add a little je ne sais quoi to the whole affair.
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and does that make me the pumpkin carriage? real flattering.
i'll be there. sit tight and keep your eyes peeled
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but i think i'll stick with being the carriage instead of footwear
on my way
[And so he is. And he'll arrive just a little over fifteen minutes, donned in a leather jacket and wearing a helmet with a dark visor, like something out of a spy action movie. As expected, he's on his Harley, and the engine thrums and purrs he comes to a stop at the entrance of the country club -- just at the bottom of what appears to be a long set of stairs.
He's pretty sure this is the right place, at least. Seems fancy enough. Cloud glances around, looking for anyone who might be hurriedly approaching in his direction.]
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It's a memory she's been trying her best to suppress and ignore for the past few days. Throwing herself into her work has been one way of doing that; it's easy enough to get engrossed in a project and simply never slow down long enough to dwell on anything she doesn't want to dwell on. But in moments like this, somehow, the thought tends to reemerge — and clings with her even as she surreptitiously gets her things together and positions herself in a place where she'll be able to see the arrival of her impromptu getaway driver when he arrives.
It's a wholly absurd impulse, to just...leave. And yet, there's something about that moment when she hears the faint purr of the Harley in the distance and knows she's on the cusp of an escape — something that just feels right, in a way that she can't seem to pin down.
So she doesn't. She simply times her moment perfectly, and one minute her unwelcome evening companion is talking her ear off about the Golden Gate Bridge, and the next moment he's talking to dead air because she's pulled a disappearing act that Houdini would be proud of.
She steps into the night, and then she's off and running, and a cocktail dress with red pumps isn't exactly optimal for an endeavor like this, but it doesn't seem to affect her in the slightest; she closes the distance, with the open ends of her bright red coat blown back from the momentum, and as she gets close enough to make good on her promise to leap on board and facilitate her escape, it's immediately apparent that she's laughing.]
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Hold on tight. [-he says, showing no inclination to talk her out of it. He's already here, after all, and he wouldn't have offered to help if he wasn't willing to enable escapism in the form of roaring away on a motorcycle.
And so the bike's engine thunders loudly, drowning out all other sound, as he tears off immediately, making a tight turn to return to the street proper.
He has no direction for now. His intent is to just speed away from the country club, as if something was actually chasing them, though there's nothing at their tails at all.]
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But the strangest part is that notion, that supposed to be. Objectively, she's supposed to be back at the club, mingling and currying favor and being the very model of brilliance, poise, and charm.
And yet, here in the moment with the roar of the engine and the wind in her hair and the thrill of the escape, it almost feels like this is where she's always been meant to be, and she can't explain why.
There'll be excuses she has to make later. There'll be inquiries she has to parry, concessions and deflections she'll have to offer. But those can wait until later.
Right now, she just leans a little closer and holds on a little tighter, and spares a moment to shout over the noise of the wind and the engine when she has the chance: ]
She's beautiful!
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Glad you like her!
[The sentiment is sincere, as well. No, it's not the most expensive motorcycle, nor the fastest on the market. But it's his, and there's some measure of pride associated with it, clear in his tone.
After a while, though, they have to come to a stop. It's an intersection where the lights turn red, and Cloud is only so willing to push the limits of what constitutes as traffic violations after they've come so far. He rolls up to a stop, idle behind another car. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Carmen, and now he should be properly audible despite the helmet still muffling his sentences.]
I'm gonna say he won't be catching up to you now. Want to kill time before we head back, or do you want to turn around now?
[He doesn't mind either way. But he doesn't want to keep her out and flitting around the city if she actually does have things to tend to, now that the escape (and point) has been so thoroughly made.]
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She loves it when people show her what they love, what they're good at, what drives them. It's like the feeling of traveling, of flying at top speed — a sensation she can't explain, but that just feels natural, and right.
So it's small wonder, when he shows it to her, that she ends up responding the way she does; she would've taken the option of staying out longer either way, probably, but the prospect of hearing more of those smiles in his tone is more than enough to seal it for her without hesitation.]
I'd rather stay out, if you can spare the time. I'm not taking you away from someplace you'd rather be?
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Not really. Didn't have much else to do after work today.
[And he'll never say no to a drive around the city. This city -- which had become far stranger and more than he ever hoped to have bargained for -- was still foreign to him. In a way, it was a mystery that needed unravelling, though Cloud never seems to think in such fantastical terms. Only that it would make sense for him to get to know it better, if he's to live here, and that he'll never say no to a late evening ride around town. He prefers it, followed only second by the blanket of night itself. And while he's not usually one for company, there's a sense of solidarity in the presence of another Retrospec user. By default, he feels a bit more comfortable around them.
The light is changing to green, now. He faces forward again, but offers-]
Tell me which direction you want to go and we'll head off. Someplace you like. Odds are that I've never been there before.
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[But oh, here they go again, and as the traffic picks up again she notes that she didn't quite have the chance to give him an answer, so she shifts to lean a little more heavily against the back of his shoulder, which likewise puts her that much closer to his concealed ear.]
Head east, into Tisse. Have you ever been to the Stardust?
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[-is his response, clipped by the sound of the engine flaring to life as he accelerates down the road. He heads east as directed, for an extended minute or two, managing to speak his reply whenever they slow down or come to a complete stop at traffic lights.]
There's still a lot of this city that I haven't seen yet, since I'm still new. And I pretty much stick to my daily routine, so...
[Basically... he doesn't get out and socialize very much.]
That's going to change these days though. What with everything going on in Recolle.
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[Amused, she continues watching over his shoulder, interjecting with idle directions here and there to keep them on the right path toward the combination skating rink and bowling alley in Tisse.]
Are you planning to get involved with trying to solve the mysteries surrounding this place?
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Do I have much of a choice? It's not like any of these "changes" are subtle, and even if I wanted to ignore them I couldn't.
[And there is some strange part of him that wants to make "right" what he views as "wrong". Not even focusing on the morality of it all, he feels this inclination -- to bring back horses, to make his eyes blue again. That sure would be nice.
Eventually they make it to their location, and he parks his motorcycle near the front entrance. It's always convenient when there's a spot just for motorbikes and the like.]
This it? [He's finally taking off his helmet, exhaling as he does. His normally spiky style is pressed flat against his head, in its usual show of helmet hair. Cloud doesn't seem to care.]
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[What a pair they must make, to the eyes of the average passerby; she's wildly overdressed and he's got helmet hair. She slides off the back of the bike with relative ease, or at least she makes it look that way, though in practice it's probably deceptively challenging to balance on the worn, uneven concrete of the parking lot.]
If it'd been the daylight hours, I would've pointed you toward the zoo, but the Stardust isn't bad as a close second. There are two rinks — one ice, one hardwood — and a bowling alley. Plus the usual arcade, snacks, flashing lights, whale mascots.
[She shrugs a little, as much indicating the building by the lift of her shoulders as offering a noncommittal bit of nonverbal punctuation.]
My treat. There are plenty of ways of killing time inside, if that's what we're after.
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[Off of his bike now, he makes sure to lock it up before waiting for her. He runs a hand through his hair, which doesn't help it look much better. He still has a grease smudge across his cheekbone from his shift at work today.]
I'll bowl with you. I can skate, too, but I might fall on my face. [Then again, the arcade sounds like fun as well.]
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[Her lips split into an insatiable grin, however, at the sight of his face, and she taps at her own cheek in indication the next time he glances her way.]
Speaking of your face — you were hard at work, I see.
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That's nice of you. But I'll learn my lesson more easily if you just let me fall on my ass.
[At the indication at his cheek, though, he just gives an "oh" and wipes away at it with the back of his hand. Most of it disappears, though the smear isn't completely gone.]
Yeah. If that's the worst of it, then count that as a success. You should see me on days where we're really busy.
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[She breezes on in through the door that he holds for her, hands in the pockets of her coat, and pivots briefly to wait for him to fall into step next to her before starting to head for the bowling alley section of the complex.
The lanes, when they get there, prove to be pleasantly busy without being packed, and it's easy enough to secure a lane, which she takes care of efficiently. A bored-looking attendant points them toward their destination before asking for shoe sizes to supply them with pairs of bowling shoes, and then indicates the rack of house balls available for recreational bowlers to make use of during their visit.]
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If you pick me up in the Stingray then I'm not going to complain.
[It doesn't take long for him to find a lane. He'll sit down first, kicking off his black, dirtied riding shoes, to be replaced a bit comically by something as mundane as bowling footwear. Then he moves on over to the bowling balls, choosing a more weightier one to be his companion for this game.]
So... are you good at this?
[Bowling, he means.]
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(They're also, quite frankly, hideous, and the way that they clash only gets worse when she sheds her coat and ends up standing around in a cocktail dress and her two-tone bowling flats, but from the way she's grinning, it's apparent that the juxtaposition is delighting her.)
Perhaps unsurprisingly, when she goes to find a ball, she picks a red one. Some things never change.]
I'm good enough to enjoy myself, but I'm not hiding a closetful of trophies anywhere, either. Why, what about you? Don't tell me you're secretly a ringer.
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While she's grinning, Cloud is doing the same, only reflected back in a milder manner.]
Nope. Not at all. I can throw it straight, but that's about it. Probably should work on my technique, but it's not like I find myself in a bowling alley all that often.
[So very rarely.
When they've all gotten everything settled, it's easy enough for him to get things set up on the little console. He types in their names (CARMEN on one line, and CLOD on the other because the "U" hilariously does not work on the dumb plastic keyboard) and their game begins officially. He goes second, so he waits his turn, sitting patiently in the meanwhile.]
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i just spent a legitimately stupid portion of my life making this
THIS WAS AMAZING i laughed so hard and i'm saving it to use forever
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