[ It's callous, making her wield a blade so soon after that bloodbath with Pavel. But that's exactly why Hei's doing it. He's been raised on a refusal to soft soap himself in any way. Fear takes root in the wake of trauma. But if you expect to survive, it's your job to uproot it and to never let those sickly tendrils spread. Because once you stop trusting your mind or body, once you start freezing up at every little trigger, everything else falls apart too. ]
[ He watches Korra cut the lobster's head. She's businesslike, but imperceptibly trembling around the edges like a sighted deer, unsure, caught in a warp of memory. But when she goes through with it, there's a sense of almost-pride. So young and naive -- but a tough kid. She'll be okay. ]
[ He smiles like he has a secret locked behind the curl of his lips. A casual shift in weight, and then his hand settles around the crook at her elbow. He leans in, the movement telegraphed and careful -- giving her an out if she wants to pull away -- to press a light kiss to her cheek. ]
Quietly: ] Not bad. [ Honest, in his own way. Hand slipping off her elbow, he drifts out of her immediate space in the next blink. In the pot, water bubbles in a haze of steam. Lifting a lobster by the thorax, he lowers it head-first into the pot with a plop. ] Now drop yours in.
[...well consider that sufficient distraction from painful memories. She watches him with wide, surprised eyes as he moves away like he isn't messing with the dynamics of their relationship. Innocent kisses, gestures that for anybody else would simply be displays of affection... he doesn't do that. She doesn't do that, except for the occasional "thank you" or "goodbye" kiss.
Coming over just for cooking lessons. Little kisses leading nowhere. What exactly are they starting with this "start again"?
She banishes the thought, setting it aside to deal with later. It's not a question she wants to avoid, but she wants time to think about it alone, without Hei around to all but read her thoughts. She picks up her lobster, imitating the way he held his, and drops it into the water. She doesn't have his skill, so it splashes a bit, getting drops of boiling water on her arm.]
[ He'd advise her, if he could track her pinwheeling thoughts, not to read too deeply into every which way he handles her. Physicality is a neutral thing for Hei -- all his close touches are manufactured with a purpose behind them. It's no different here. Korra is almost a litmus paper; someone to measure his own rusty humanity, or lack of it, against. Hei's life has been about honing the sharp edges in his nature; now he has to learn to function without them. But for once, it's a choice, not an order. He doesn't quite know what to do with that. ]
[ Having the freedom to make a choice. Being cognizant of the fact that a choice exists. ]
[ That doesn't mean there's no affection there. He's aware what he feels for Korra is more than lust. But it isn't enough at the same time. Not an emotion the way normal people feel it. More like a photocopy; a diluted substitute. But why brood about it? He's beyond that point of his life where he thinks about anything other than where he is. It's too dangerous. The issues between him and Korra will always be like shark's teeth. Knock one out, and there's ten rows waiting to fill in the gap. ]
[ Best to keep it in the moment. Carpe diem etc. ]
[ He glances up as water splashes her arm, eyebrow quirked. Shifts to the sink to turn the tap on, in the same smooth motion. ] Easy. Rinse your hand out. [ It might be a good idea for her to put gloves and an apron on. ]
[Hei's line of thought would be beyond her understanding. She knows that touches can be faked and calculated for an agenda, but she couldn't even begin to guess what that agenda might be.
She obediently puts her hand under the cold tap water. It doesn't hurt much now, but Korra had enough accidents during her water and fire bending training to know that burns are best taken care of before the pain sets in. (On a whim, she tries to use the tap water to pull the heat out. It's one of the first healing techniques Master Katara ever taught her. But the water doesn't respond. It never does.)]
How long does it usually take?
[If any of her disappointment comes through her voice, it's only as a hint of wistfulness, almost imperceptible. Not counting those days when the City taunted her, she hasn't had her bending for almost eight months. She's learned to live without it; the ache is as much a part of her as her heartbeat, and just as easy to ignore.]
[ Hei watches from the corner of his eye as she rinses her hand out. The bright sunlight affords him a view of her hair and the curve of her cheek and the snub of her nose. For a moment she seems to go vague, inward, but he knows better than to press her. Instead he uses that opportunity to observe. All fresh and tawny, with a little touch of puppyish roundness to her face, she's not beautiful, but she is startlingly pretty. He's thought it before too. ]
[ It wouldn't be a temptation on an assignment. He'd have his head in the game, his focus on the straight and narrow. But here, he's interested in more than a good look. ]
[ Knock it off. Cooking lessons. That's what they're here for. ]
[ He covers the lobster-pot and moves to the counter, selecting a pear to place on the cutting board. From a drawer, he retrieves a vegetable peeler. ] They're 3-pound lobsters. Give them about twenty-five to thirty minutes. [ Carefully, he sheers off the bright green skin of the pear with in one unbroken spiral, handing it to her to munch on. ] We'll handle the dessert in the meantime. Then the stew.
[She takes the skin and for a moment just holds it, unsure why he handed it to her. (She's not the eater he is -- the only thing that stops her from eating everything in sight isn't that the food might be poisoned.) When he continues peeling and doesn't give her any instructions for the skin, she shrugs a little and takes a bite out of it. It's a little different from the pears she's used to, but it has a light, natural sweetness better suited to her palate than most of the sugary concoctions people have gotten her to try.]
So what is "poaching" a pear? [She's only ever heard of poaching in terms of unlawfully killing animals -- it's a Fire Nation thing.]
It just means cooking something at a simmer. [ Finished denuding two pears, Hei hands Korra the last fruit with the peeler. His calm look makes the intent clear: You do this one. Taking the bottle of red wine, he twists it open with a sharp crack. Sets a non-reactive saucepan at the stove over medium flame, and pours roughly three cups of wine in. A sprinkle of sugar, one bright strip of lemon zest and a cinnamon stick follow, before he adds over his shoulder, ]
Make sure you leave the pear's stem attached. [ Then, more wryly, ] This dessert won't get you drunk. But it's not so sticky-sweet you'll puke it up either.
[Korra takes the fruit and peeler nervously -- not because of trauma; just because she's never done anything like this before. But she quickly gets her gameface on.
Challenge: Accepted.
She holds the pear close to herself to get a better handle on it as she tries to imitate what Hei did. Except it keeps slipping and she ends up with multiple strips instead of the single long winding ones that Hei got. She's concentrating too hard on the pear to react to his dig about the wine (you get tipsy and sleep with a guy one time...).
The finished product isn't pretty, and Korra knows it. She sets it next to Hei's pears, sulking a little. She hates failing. Why doesn't he have another pear for her to try again on?]
[ (Hey, if she hadn't gotten tipsy that one time, things might've gone very differently. He doubts they'd even be in his kitchen right now. Circumstance is a mind-fuck that way.) ]
[ The wine gives off a sweetish aroma as it bubbles. Turning, Hei starts to drop the pears into the pot -- then huffs out a half-laugh at the little monstrosity Korra has skinned. Back in Heaven's War, his eerie proficiency with blades -- on flesh and on fruit -- had made for snarky jibes among teammates. It's (mildly, like all things) hilarious that Korra ... doesn't share that talent. But it's not her fault. Practice makes perfect, etc. If he can help it, he's determined to ensure the practice sticks to food, not people. ]
[ (It helps that her sulky faces can be pretty amusing sometimes.) ]
Interesting. [ He examines the pear at eye-level, before dunking it into the pot with the others. ] We'll call that one Quasimodo.
[ Hei's lips quirk. (Oh, how Huang would piss himself to see this. BK201 offering a teenager cooking lessons. Being almost humorous. Is the world ending?) ]
[ He reaches out and curls a hand against the nape of her neck, fingers a light press into the warm skin. The smile creeps into his voice, even if his expression is neutral. ] I'm going to eat that pear. That makes it marginally more personal. [ Feel free to interpret that -- or the contact -- however you wish. A considering pause, before he adds, ] If you're so hung up on the lizard, you name it.
[Okay seriously this touchy-feely stuff is beginning to weird her out. It's nice! She just doesn't understand where it's coming from, if this is the new status quo, if this is something she should get used to or if it's going to switch off abruptly like a light. He's so unpredictable; it makes her nervous when he changes patterns.]
You're so weird.
[Whether that's about his comment about the pear or him telling her to name his lizard...well, maybe it's a bit of both. She leans just a little into his hand and contemplates names.]
[ I must be, letting you in here at all. He doesn't say that. Or bother reading as deeply into the touches as she seems to be doing. (Then again, you don't overanalyze and obsess when you're petting a cat, either.) In the end, it's simply Hei's way of testing the waters. Determining what she'll allow, how at ease she truly is in his presence. He's never been one for words where tactile evidence just fine. ]
[ Unlike with other professionals, the physicality isn't something Korra's learnt yet to disguise. ]
[ His hand slips away by degrees. He focuses on the watery bowl of seaweed he'd left to soak for the stew. Draining the water out in the sink, he sets the drippy weeds on the board, knife at hand. Proceeds to cut them into two-inch pieces, his blade quick and precise, asking, ]
Think of a name yet?
[ He's indifferent either way. But it'd be interesting to see what she comes up with. ]
[When he lets go of her neck, she takes the chance to wander off to get another look at the lizard. (It's not like she came here to learn to cook or anything.) He has one clawed foot resting on an unusually round pebble and gives off a kingly impression that makes her grin a little.
She heads back to the kitchen when Hei speaks again.]
[ Hei raises an eyebrow as she drifts off -- Maybe I should cook that lizard. That'll get her to pay attention. By the time she returns, he's heated up a saucepan over the stove. Seasame oil, a pinch of salt, and the surface sizzles as he pours the cut seaweed in with a mixture of minced beef and garlic, sending up a cloud of steam. He stirs methodically with a wooden spoon, glancing over his shoulder at Korra. ]
"Little Dragon"? [ A huff, equal parts wry and impartial. ] The new curse must be inspiring you.
[ He stirs a moment more, then holds out the spoon for her. ] You do this. [ He has to check on the other two pots. The wine is erupting in little plorps. He turns down the heat a shade. The lobsters are nowhere near done yet. But the pot has begun emitting a shrill wail. ]
[ He's vaguely familiar with the Korean legend of imugi, enough to know they're considered a quasi-dragon, cursed in a serpentine shape and unable to reach full form. ]
[ Dryly, ] From what I've heard, imugi have to wait a thousand years until a pearl falls from the sky. Only then do they become dragons. [ Which is fitting. That lizard has delusions of grandeur if it considers itself a dragon. ]
[ He nods over the spitting of the saucepan and the shrill whine of the lobster pot. ] Stir for two minutes. Then I want you to pour three cups of water into the pan, cover it, and reduce the heat.
Our story is pretty similar. [Weird, huh?] I don't really know it that well. [For the first time, this kind of disappoints her. She never really appreciated the stories of her people until she was so completely separated from them.
She stirs the sauce, probably a bit more enthusiastically than is warranted.]
Never cared for stories myself. [ It's a terse reply. He shrugs his shoulders, because he's not particularly bothered with the similarities. It's a sign of collective consciousness, sharing scraps of culture and myth with others. ] I used to know them better as a boy. [ Back before Heaven's Gate appeared. It's been years since then, and Hei has literally traversed several different lifetimes. Hard to remind himself, sometimes, that he's only 23. Just a handful of years older than Korra. ]
[ He eyes the way she stirs with something like quiet amusement and approval, before he opens a cabinet to set a cup on the counter. The cheerful sounds of cooking, the smell of brewing food and wine, weave an almost happy vibe in the kitchen. It's -- nice. Maybe there's no reason it shouldn't be. ]
Me neither. But my dad loved them. He was a storyteller. [She misses his big voice, the faces he'd make and the way he'd wave his arms around as he'd tell his tales. He'd pretend to be a monster and then scoop her up in a giant hug and her mother would come "rescue" her and she felt so safe.
She fills the cup up with water and pours it in, focusing on the routine, mechanical motions in order to drive away an intense bout of homesickness. (If she were home at the beach house, she would go cuddle Naga until it faded to a dull ache, but she doesn't know how to ask for comfort from anyone else. It doesn't even occur to her to try.)]
[ A beat passes and Hei drifts to her side, hip against the counter, arms across his chest. Most of the meal is done -- all that's left is for the lobsters to redden, the pears to soak up the wine, and the stew to boil, before he whips up a dip sauce in under ten minutes. He doesn't say anything, just watches her work with a quiet consideration. She's gone inward again, and in turn, he's all watchfulness. ]
[ Body-language is something he reads very well, but anything involving gravitas or kindness often leaves him at a loss. He's only just getting comfortable with the brief touches that are string-free and patient but that he's never been good with, because why would he be? They served no function in his life back home. ]
[ Eventually, as the stew bubbles, he covers it with a lid, then asks plainly, ] Do you miss them? Your parents?
[ No angles or agendas -- yet. He's just mildly curious. ]
Hm? [It's a slightly delayed response -- it takes her a moment to realize he said something.]
Well yeah. [Duh. But it ain't no thang. It doesn't, you know, hurt or anything.] I haven't seen them in...over a year. Even when I was living in the South Pole, I didn't see them that often.
[ At Korra's elbow, Hei lobs butter squares into a bowl, sprinkling it with thyme, lemon juice, and crushed garlic before he batters it into a smooth paste. The way Korra looks and sounds, would once upon a time have been where he knew he had to create an opening. Widen a crack of vulnerability into a fissure of spilled secrets. But right now there's no sense of cold purpose. There are things Hei remembers learning (lies, elicitation, snapping necks) and things he remembers forgetting (honesty, simplicity, security). Parents were high up on the latter list. He'd learnt to blot them out, to keep his head up, get on with the mission, and look after Pai. Face forward. ]
[ Too much backwards-looking, and like Lot's wife, you'd end up a part of the landscape. A useless carcass. ]
[ He doesn't look up, making quick work of the paste, like this is an unarguably casual conversation, as he asks, ]
Did they send you to boot camp? Or was there a Spartan structure to raising kids in your homeworld?
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Okay.
[The blade hovers for a moment over the lobster's head. With a deep breath, she slices down. It's a neat job. The lobster dies quickly and painlessly.
Unlike Chekov.
She quickly pushes lobster and knife away, and wipes the clear blood off on her pants. (A part of her expects to see smears of red.)]
What next?
[Just focus on the next step. Step by step, like going through her forms. Don't freak out.]
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[ He watches Korra cut the lobster's head. She's businesslike, but imperceptibly trembling around the edges like a sighted deer, unsure, caught in a warp of memory. But when she goes through with it, there's a sense of almost-pride. So young and naive -- but a tough kid. She'll be okay. ]
[ He smiles like he has a secret locked behind the curl of his lips. A casual shift in weight, and then his hand settles around the crook at her elbow. He leans in, the movement telegraphed and careful -- giving her an out if she wants to pull away -- to press a light kiss to her cheek. ]
Quietly: ] Not bad. [ Honest, in his own way. Hand slipping off her elbow, he drifts out of her immediate space in the next blink. In the pot, water bubbles in a haze of steam. Lifting a lobster by the thorax, he lowers it head-first into the pot with a plop. ] Now drop yours in.
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Coming over just for cooking lessons. Little kisses leading nowhere. What exactly are they starting with this "start again"?
She banishes the thought, setting it aside to deal with later. It's not a question she wants to avoid, but she wants time to think about it alone, without Hei around to all but read her thoughts. She picks up her lobster, imitating the way he held his, and drops it into the water. She doesn't have his skill, so it splashes a bit, getting drops of boiling water on her arm.]
Ow!
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[ Having the freedom to make a choice. Being cognizant of the fact that a choice exists. ]
[ That doesn't mean there's no affection there. He's aware what he feels for Korra is more than lust. But it isn't enough at the same time. Not an emotion the way normal people feel it. More like a photocopy; a diluted substitute. But why brood about it? He's beyond that point of his life where he thinks about anything other than where he is. It's too dangerous. The issues between him and Korra will always be like shark's teeth. Knock one out, and there's ten rows waiting to fill in the gap. ]
[ Best to keep it in the moment. Carpe diem etc. ]
[ He glances up as water splashes her arm, eyebrow quirked. Shifts to the sink to turn the tap on, in the same smooth motion. ] Easy. Rinse your hand out. [ It might be a good idea for her to put gloves and an apron on. ]
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She obediently puts her hand under the cold tap water. It doesn't hurt much now, but Korra had enough accidents during her water and fire bending training to know that burns are best taken care of before the pain sets in. (On a whim, she tries to use the tap water to pull the heat out. It's one of the first healing techniques Master Katara ever taught her. But the water doesn't respond. It never does.)]
How long does it usually take?
[If any of her disappointment comes through her voice, it's only as a hint of wistfulness, almost imperceptible. Not counting those days when the City taunted her, she hasn't had her bending for almost eight months. She's learned to live without it; the ache is as much a part of her as her heartbeat, and just as easy to ignore.]
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[ It wouldn't be a temptation on an assignment. He'd have his head in the game, his focus on the straight and narrow. But here, he's interested in more than a good look. ]
[ Knock it off. Cooking lessons. That's what they're here for. ]
[ He covers the lobster-pot and moves to the counter, selecting a pear to place on the cutting board. From a drawer, he retrieves a vegetable peeler. ] They're 3-pound lobsters. Give them about twenty-five to thirty minutes. [ Carefully, he sheers off the bright green skin of the pear with in one unbroken spiral, handing it to her to munch on. ] We'll handle the dessert in the meantime. Then the stew.
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So what is "poaching" a pear? [She's only ever heard of poaching in terms of unlawfully killing animals -- it's a Fire Nation thing.]
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Make sure you leave the pear's stem attached. [ Then, more wryly, ] This dessert won't get you drunk. But it's not so sticky-sweet you'll puke it up either.
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Challenge: Accepted.
She holds the pear close to herself to get a better handle on it as she tries to imitate what Hei did. Except it keeps slipping and she ends up with multiple strips instead of the single long winding ones that Hei got. She's concentrating too hard on the pear to react to his dig about the wine (you get tipsy and sleep with a guy one time...).
The finished product isn't pretty, and Korra knows it. She sets it next to Hei's pears, sulking a little. She hates failing. Why doesn't he have another pear for her to try again on?]
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[ The wine gives off a sweetish aroma as it bubbles. Turning, Hei starts to drop the pears into the pot -- then huffs out a half-laugh at the little monstrosity Korra has skinned. Back in Heaven's War, his eerie proficiency with blades -- on flesh and on fruit -- had made for snarky jibes among teammates. It's (mildly, like all things) hilarious that Korra ... doesn't share that talent. But it's not her fault. Practice makes perfect, etc. If he can help it, he's determined to ensure the practice sticks to food, not people. ]
[ (It helps that her sulky faces can be pretty amusing sometimes.) ]
Interesting. [ He examines the pear at eye-level, before dunking it into the pot with the others. ] We'll call that one Quasimodo.
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And. WTF.]
You won't name your lizard but you'll name a pear?
[You. Are so. Weird.]
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[ He reaches out and curls a hand against the nape of her neck, fingers a light press into the warm skin. The smile creeps into his voice, even if his expression is neutral. ] I'm going to eat that pear. That makes it marginally more personal. [ Feel free to interpret that -- or the contact -- however you wish. A considering pause, before he adds, ] If you're so hung up on the lizard, you name it.
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You're so weird.
[Whether that's about his comment about the pear or him telling her to name his lizard...well, maybe it's a bit of both. She leans just a little into his hand and contemplates names.]
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[ Unlike with other professionals, the physicality isn't something Korra's learnt yet to disguise. ]
[ His hand slips away by degrees. He focuses on the watery bowl of seaweed he'd left to soak for the stew. Draining the water out in the sink, he sets the drippy weeds on the board, knife at hand. Proceeds to cut them into two-inch pieces, his blade quick and precise, asking, ]
Think of a name yet?
[ He's indifferent either way. But it'd be interesting to see what she comes up with. ]
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She heads back to the kitchen when Hei speaks again.]
How about Imugi?
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"Little Dragon"? [ A huff, equal parts wry and impartial. ] The new curse must be inspiring you.
[ He stirs a moment more, then holds out the spoon for her. ] You do this. [ He has to check on the other two pots. The wine is erupting in little plorps. He turns down the heat a shade. The lobsters are nowhere near done yet. But the pot has begun emitting a shrill wail. ]
[ It sounds like a tiny banshee chorus. ]
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Great dragon. [Although the fact that he can translate it all is kind of eerie.
She takes the spoon, holding it awkwardly.]
I'm just stirring?
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[ Dryly, ] From what I've heard, imugi have to wait a thousand years until a pearl falls from the sky. Only then do they become dragons. [ Which is fitting. That lizard has delusions of grandeur if it considers itself a dragon. ]
[ He nods over the spitting of the saucepan and the shrill whine of the lobster pot. ] Stir for two minutes. Then I want you to pour three cups of water into the pan, cover it, and reduce the heat.
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She stirs the sauce, probably a bit more enthusiastically than is warranted.]
Where do you keep the cups?
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[ He eyes the way she stirs with something like quiet amusement and approval, before he opens a cabinet to set a cup on the counter. The cheerful sounds of cooking, the smell of brewing food and wine, weave an almost happy vibe in the kitchen. It's -- nice. Maybe there's no reason it shouldn't be. ]
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She fills the cup up with water and pours it in, focusing on the routine, mechanical motions in order to drive away an intense bout of homesickness. (If she were home at the beach house, she would go cuddle Naga until it faded to a dull ache, but she doesn't know how to ask for comfort from anyone else. It doesn't even occur to her to try.)]
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[ Body-language is something he reads very well, but anything involving gravitas or kindness often leaves him at a loss. He's only just getting comfortable with the brief touches that are string-free and patient but that he's never been good with, because why would he be? They served no function in his life back home. ]
[ Eventually, as the stew bubbles, he covers it with a lid, then asks plainly, ] Do you miss them? Your parents?
[ No angles or agendas -- yet. He's just mildly curious. ]
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Well yeah. [Duh. But it ain't no thang. It doesn't, you know, hurt or anything.] I haven't seen them in...over a year. Even when I was living in the South Pole, I didn't see them that often.
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[ Too much backwards-looking, and like Lot's wife, you'd end up a part of the landscape. A useless carcass. ]
[ He doesn't look up, making quick work of the paste, like this is an unarguably casual conversation, as he asks, ]
Did they send you to boot camp? Or was there a Spartan structure to raising kids in your homeworld?
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No. The White Lotus built a training compound in the South Pole after they found me. I've lived there full time since I was thirteen.
[She remembers being so excited when she found out she'd get to live "all on her own"...and after a month, how much she wished they were there.]
They wanted me to concentrate on my studies, free from "worldly distractions."
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