![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
stuck meme
stuck meme |
esuna off that paralysis Post toplevels, reply as usual. Hope you enjoy your quality time with your thread partner, now that you're stuck...01. IN A CROWD — for bonus points: in a crowd, after an argument. 02. DEFENDING THE BASE — while you wait for reinforcements to arrive. Good luck! 03. ON A RAFT — or a manacutter or an airship or something, drifting towards a deserted island. 04. IN A RELATIONSHIP — that your thread partner is trying to break you out of. The relationship can be with someone else... or just your bed/pet/hobby/gambling habit. 05. IN A WAITING ROOM — while you're waiting to hear a healer/conjurer/physician/chirurgeon's assessment, and you really didn't want to run into anyone... or maybe you'd like some emotional support? 06. TRYING TO NAVIGATE — through the Ul'dahn marketplace, maybe, or Hawker's Alley, or any number of confusing Lominsan/Gridanian/Sharlayan alleyways. 07. STANDING GUARD — wherever might be applicable: outside the Rising Stones? Rowena's House of Splendors? Or maybe awkwardly in front of a bedroom with a near-stranger so that the person who hired you to keep watch can get it on inside... 08. WITH YOUR HAIR — caught in someone else's belt or leather sheath or inexplicable shoulder spike... oh, adventurers and their impractical clothing. 09. DELIVERING TERRIBLE NEWS — exactly what's on the tin. Sucks to be you. 10. DOING THE DISHES — at a restaurant where you forgot your wallet and couldn't pay the bill. 11. IN A LAKE — because this person caught you skinny-dipping and won't... go... away... 12. WAITING TO BE RANSOMED — in the actually-quite-loving care of some especially incompetent criminals. Enjoy being stuck! This meme was gently lifted off bakerstreet. |
TEMPLATE CODED BY ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
valoirs
valoirs
francel de haillenarte; ishgardian noble
You know my spoiler situation! 7-ish...did you order a bodyguard for anything?
[Part of an adventurer's job description seemed to be taking on whatever happened to come their way, however strange. And when a message found its way into her hands, strangely discreet for what seemed to be a straightforward guard detail job, Sayano took it. She always did. Even if this guard detail was of an Ishgardian noble, and was...well, an Au Ra. Coerthas was an odd place for her to travel to, with her superficial resemblance to scalekin of the more draconic variety. And "odd", of course, meant "vaguely uncomfortable". Because people weren't particularly prone to violence at random and she never hurt anyone when she did come, nothing had come of it but cold looks and even colder attitudes, but it was still a deterrent, compared to the simple double-take then and now in the other city states.
...Did this Haillenarte fellow really want her as a bodyguard? Or had the order simply found its way to her by chance? Either way, she would find out soon. The wooden door creaked open to the howling of wind outside, and a horned head poked its way in. A chocobo somewhere over her shoulder kweh'd as it was dismissed, running off towards home. She announced her presence with all the cheer she could muster, tinged with nervousness. Her upbeat attitude seemed to be part of what kept the jobs coming, after all...]
Hello! Someone sent for an adventurer?
[She stepped inside, both hands holding the note that had sent her (so neither of them were near the knives on her belt), and shut the door behind her so as not to let more of the cold air in. She'd leave if asked but for now, she'd much rather be out of that snow.]
2.0 francel, assuming adventurer
Ah — yes, please enter.
[as sayano moves into the second room she will see what actually constitutes francel's home — the table, the fireplace, the bed in the corner, the small kitchen — and the man himself, standing by the window with a house haillenarte knight to guard him. the knight, stephannot, bears the gentle look of a man who is handsome but gracefully aging; unfortunately, he is in the middle of pulling his chainmail hood over his hair, and snapping his iron mask over his face.
young lord francel, for his part, bears the innocent look of a young elezen boy who has just been stretched into the frame of an adult. he blinks at sayano's appearance, masking his discomfort. he asked for the observatorium's levemete to send an adventurer, yes, and he could tell from her name that she was doman — but he didn't expect an au ra...
nevertheless. ishgard has changed, somewhat, and the holy see's persecution and execution of au ra is largely in the past. nevertheless, sayano's scales give francel a slight edge of discomfort — first of all because they make him feel ill at ease, but second of all because he understands keenly what his countrymen has done to her kin and it adds to his general sense of guilt.
none of this shows on his face as he smiles politely and asks:]
You would be Sayano?
[he hesitates a moment, yes, but oddly enough he has no trouble pronouncing her name in the correct fashion.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
i lost this notif?! please forgive me
It's okay, I'm tagging slowly anyway!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
09
Truth be told, never mind that he hasn't come here to replace Haurchefant, Emmanellain finds it no easier than anyone who knows him to see himself seated at that desk at all. But sit at it he must, and make weighty decisions, and comport himself as he vowed he would. In fact, he is expected to pen a formal letter each to the Observatorium, Skyfire Locks, and Whitebrim Front, for which he'll obviously need a writing surface.
Corentiaux watches him take a seat and put quill to parchment, Haurchefant smiling above their heads.
When the last letter is written and sealed, Emmanellain entrusts their delivery to two knights — the delivery of all but one. The letter addressed to Lord Francel de Haillenarte remains in Emmanellain's own hands, and assuring Honoroit that he has no intention of succumbing to former bad habits or becoming a meal for any wild beastkin about, Camp Dragonhead's new commander sets out for Skyfire Locks. It's the right thing to do, and not just to maintain the close ties between their houses.
He knows better than to think that Francel will be pleased to see him, but they're to be as good as neighbours here, as they were growing up, not mention that they're like to see rather a lot more of each other from now on. Surely bygones are bygones?
Emmanellain's mount crosses Haldrath's March as the sky darkens, reaching the slopes leading to Francel's humble home in time for the chocobo's rider to feel the first bite of the rising wind and whirling snowflakes, and anticipate his escape. That is, as soon as they let him all the way in. ]
spoilers for 3.5 on
stephannot tells everyone that it's a work in progress. that he's getting better. he's learned to laugh again — to smile and do his work and carry on — but that's a very different thing from getting better. the truth is that francel doesn't even know anymore how he feels about haurchefant being dead. it's become part of a new reality. he carries an ache with him wherever he goes.
so he feels weary when sylvaintel steps outside to investigate the sounds of the chocobo at their doorstep. a visitor, he thinks. i want no visitors this day. he is seated at his desk with a quill held loosely in his hand and a fresh sheet of parchment laid out in front of him. he has too much to do to be entertaining visitors.
sylvaintel's voice interrupts his thoughts.
"lord emmanellain is come, my lord," the knight calls, from the other room — and by the sound of it, he has let emmanellain inside.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
07
He lives. Others of his unit do not.
It is an age-old tale.
But for all that casualties are a fact of war, and his fallen comrades are promised eternity under the Fury's aegis, he would do aught within his power to stem future bloodshed. Lives snuffed out are a steep price to pay in exchange for posthumous honour and glory.
He lives, and he would change that tale, safeguarding Ishgard's morale and her hope for a future whose skies are not darkened by loss. ]
no subject
it is his first year in seminary, though he ranks among the older students and takes classes meant for the near-graduates by virtue of placement testing and the stellar education he received from private tutors. house haillenarte is widely considered the most gentle and dignified of the four high houses, at least because it does not stain its hands with scandal or dirty-dealing; francel's family has produced no bastards, but nor has it commissioned any assassinations. ser chlodebaimt is the most accomplished of the haillenarte sons — yet there is promise, too, in young francel, whom many say will make a fine priest, one that might someday be appointed to the synod.
but such lofty dreams find little purchase in francel's heart. he is seventeen and wholly concerned with other things, like when chlodebaimt's next letter will come, when haurchefant will bring him more baubles from central coerthas, and whether or not the rumors about lord artoirel seeing some lady lisette or lionne or something-or-other are true (and if they are true, how he might convince them to break up).
today, he is cutting class. well, it isn't really a class, he would argue — he is supposed to spend the next bell studying and preparing for his next lesson, but his next lesson is music theory, and francel could sleep through that course and still receive full marks. it's a tempting prospect. he has been awake since well before the first bell of the day, for morning prayers, so he chooses to spend his time napping in the cathedral — where it is always quiet, but where the bells can be easily heard, so he will wake once they sound.
he selects a pew at random. it is the same one zephirin is sitting in, though francel pays the temple knight no mind as he makes himself comfortable at his own end of the pew. in a move that might distress some older, more straitlaced ishgardians, francel swings his legs onto the bench so that he can nap on his side. he sets his midday snack — an apple — behind his back, and then closes his eyes to rest.
the pew is unevenly built. slowly, the apple rolls down the bench, only coming to rest when it bumps gently against zephirin's thigh.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Zephirin de Valhourdin
02, an au where francel is a knight because i have no shame
it was not, ser francel reflects, a proper warning. the thirteenth seat of the heavens' ward (along with some others in the lower half of their ranks) had been assigned to delay the "group of rats" working to free aymeric, whereas sers adelphel, grinnaux, and charibert were sent to dispatch those "rats" working to assassinate the archbishop. in fairness, he executed his orders perfectly: he delayed them. but he did not destroy them — he did not kill them, and not for lack of desire. francel had actually wondered why they were not given orders to kill. why not just kill the lord commander while they had the chance? why not leave the rebels nothing for their efforts?
in the end, francel was forced to retreat not because of ser lucia, or ser estinien, but because he could not bring himself to draw his blade against lord haurchefant.
stupid. weak. he swore an oath to defend the archbishop and serve halone — yet somehow his devotion to the fury faltered in the face of his lingering love for his once-best friend. francel, haurchefant had pleaded. why do you do this? why do you not stand with me?
francel hadn't been able to answer.
now, in the safety of the vault's inner sanctum, francel nurses his wounds and tries to think about anything but the hurt and confusion in his bastard, bosom friend's blue eyes. he tries to think about his own pain instead. a jump from estinien left one of his shoulder plates crumpled and useless; francel unstraps it from his breastplate and shrugs it off, setting it gently to the floor. there is a bruise no doubt blossoming beneath his chainmail.
francel is so caught up in his thoughts that he does not hear zephirin's footsteps until it is too late.]
...Ser Zephirin.
[francel's commander stands before him. or rather — he stands before his commander, bruised and defeated and one-shouldered. it is an embarrassing position to be caught in. he bites his lip as he kneels: an unconscious display of weakness.]
Haur... Ser Lucia's party is advancing towards the cells. I believe Ser Janlenoux is now moving to intercept them.
yes good
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Emmanellain de Fortemps
05 variant ;3 because i love 3.0 spoiler you know the one
But miracles work in mysterious ways, and for once, they worked in the favour of the Fortemps. Somehow - perhaps because their Warrior of Light used all their contacts - he had begun to live again, begun to heal ever-so-slowly. Even with that, there was no guarantee that he would wake again. It had long become after hours for another night - but of course, that wouldn't stop somebody from waiting with him, long after the staff had left for the night and couldn't check.
And then, Haurchefant Greystones' eyes opened. He had no words for now, simply staring upwards, straining to see anything. The lights were dim, and there was no way to leave for now. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
And RNG decreed that it shall be 10
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Fray Myste
no subject
EDIT: I just realized she could also be a non-WoL up to date with either of them without necessitating plot spoilers, I'm a dumb. That would probably work better, if you'd rather.))
(no subject)
(no subject)
Sidurgu Orl
01+06 sorry Sidurgu.... 3.0 spoilers
Under the pretense of protecting the Warrior of Light's Lalafellin companion, the perfect excuse, Emmanellain lets bells pass by, immersed in a haze of chatter (unbeknownst to the young lord, Tataru and Gibrillont collaborate to preserve his dignity at least to some extent). Eventually, however, Tataru asks him to take a message back to the manor, and so he agrees to the task, bidding her farewell for now.
Despite all furtive intervention, the stairs to the tavern doors are made uneven, perilous ground to cross. Halfway to the end, Emmanellain's feet catch on a step. He stumbles, cannot halt the inevitable, and lands in a sprawl. A sealed envelope slips to the floor from within his coat. ]
I am incredibly silly, oops
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Edmont de Fortemps
08+04 many apologies
The manor guards on duty turn a blind eye to the lordling's jaunty wave and tottering gait, dismissing the scene as nothing out of the ordinary and expecting young Honoroit to hurry to his master's side on schedule.
Then a loud yelp disturbs the peace, followed by splashing and spluttering. Emmanellain clambers to his hands and knees, and lifts his head to spend several moments gaping in bewilderment at the stream of water pouring from the fountain — thankfully no longer directly onto his face. This is something of a predicament. The vague realization crosses his mind that he can't very well go inside and leave a trail of puddles to catch some poor soul unawares, and as he finds himself seized under the arms and hauled to his feet, back onto dry stone, he fumbles with his sodden coat, meaning to peel it off and wring it out.
"Lord Emmanellain—" The gatekeep's alarm does little to deter the young lord, who abandons the challenge of clasps to undo with chilled fingers, instead pulling his coat over his head. And no further. "My lord!" Honoroit's voice chimes in, breathlessly, accompanied by the boy's rapid footsteps. Two pairs of hands guide Emmanellain out of the frigid air and indoors. "No one would fault my lord for his exceedingly disciplined pursuit of cleanliness, but pray postpone it until a bath drawn is on hand..." The boy sighs with an old man's weariness. ]
Ah, Honoroit... Good sense should be your very name! But surely you weren't out searching for me?
[ Emmanellain's voice, though muffled by the thick barrier that his coat makes across his face, fails to match his manservant's hushed tones. When Honoroit valiantly attempts to free his master, Emmanellain cries out in pain, for the sudden tug pulls at his hair so sharply that he fears it on the verge of being torn from his scalp. ]
Wait, wait—
[ All in all, dripping water all over the floor and inexplicably entangling himself in his own coat is not quite how Emmanellain envisioned returning from the evening's excursion. But there is hope! His father has yet to catch wind of it — to his knowledge. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
Sayano Gakunin (OC/maybe WoL) / pre-Garuda, no spoilers please!
[It takes a particular lack of awareness to forget where one is in relation to Witchdrop, even more so when awareness of one's surroundings is part of one's occupation. As a ninja, after all, one known for hiding in the shadows, Sayano must know her environs well enough to know where the shadows are.
But, no - without eyes to hide from or a target to sneak up on, she found little need in looking anywhere but forward, so determined to join her adventurer friends in whatever fight they had found for themselves that she didn't notice until it was too late. She stumbled over a snowbank and with no purchase to speak of in the snow, she found herself sliding over the edge without a chance to stop herself.
Fortunately, she'd invested in a travel cloak. This very cloak is precisely why passersby, if they are not drawn to the strange sight of a clockwork dragoon doll standing alone at the edge of the chasm, may hear a high-pitched feminine voice calling for help. They would be forgiven for thinking her a Lalafell with a lower voice from the sound of it, but what they would find on coming to the edge and peering down would be an Au Ra, clinging to a purple cape caught on a rock or lucky icicle, out of reach of the edge, herself, but not out of the reach of an outstretched hand.]
Oh, thank the Twelve! Please help me up before this gives!
2: A prompt for me: You start, I'll follow!
((Pick your flavor: pure WoL, random Scion, Echo-capable adventurer, no Echo at all, whatever, I can work with it! No skinny dipping though because it just wouldn't work with her from either direction.))
spoiler free, but if you're looking to avoid HW msq npcs for now, say the word and this will vanish
Weary of walking up and down along Camp Dragonhead's battlements, he'd thought to offer the cook his services and his company, but she adamantly refused to be charmed into his proposition to take stock of the garrison's wine, going so far as to shoo him out of the kitchens. Who could fault him for taking matters into his own hands?
Around Camp Dragonhead's perimeter, no wolves roam too close this day, no goobbues, no beastmen. Nary an aevis is in sight. Emmanellain ventures onward.
Then, carried upon the wind from the direction where Witchdrop lies, he hears it: a maiden's voice, clearly distressed. As Emmanellain's feet take him closer, the lone doll by the chasm catches his eye, and only then does he consider that this could be a heretic's trap, false cries for help to lure would-be rescuers into a dragon's waiting maw. It is Witchdrop. He should turn around, hurry back to his temporary post, and alert someone.
He should, but whoever is behind that voice sounds rather convincing. If she genuinely needs help, waiting any longer could have dire consequences. The dilemma is torturous. Finally, gripping the hilt of his sword too tightly, Emmanellain holds his breath, and peers over the chasm's edge.
Dangling from the end of the cape clutched in her fingers is not a dragon, but an Au Ra. Though her scales and those horns are disconcerting, and nothing proves that she isn't a heretic, Au Ra don't transform into dragons — Emmanellain is fairly certain. ]
Oh, right... Hold on!
[ He kneels in the snow, stretching his hand out for hers. ]
Can you take my hand?
Perfectly fine! Did you have a preference for OC type?
SPLENDID I can roll with any option!
I'll go with Echo'd random adventurer then!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I was under the impression it was closer, oops! We can handwave it as echo or favorable wind ig?
Np, it can be any distance away that makes sense for Sayano!
Okay then!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
pfff, poor Emmanellain
Poor Sayano tbh!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
[K'pandolu's on her way to collect some materials when she hears the voice, ears swivelling to pinpoint its source. There's- ah, a doll- that'll be its owner in trouble then. Not that she'd have left them in trouble, at any rate…
She's as careful as she can be while rushing- she's had a few too many close calls with Witchdrop herself to feel sure in any hasty approach, though thankfully not now. She steadies herself, kneeling, and reaches out for the other's hands.]
Of course. Come on- I've got you-
(no subject)
(no subject)
Y'shtola | scion of the seventh dawn & witty repartee expert
no subject
(no subject)
02 if Y'shtola would pass through, 3.5 spoilers
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
K'pandolu Tohka | oc