thecapitol | Once Upon A Dream

Once Upon A Dream - 4th wall

The Tributes will not be warned for when their injections will occur. For those who are known to be compliant and willing to work with the capitol, they may be taken aside and told they are getting a shot or whatever else may convince them. Others may be injected within their sleep (and have been drugged earlier to keep them that way).

If you are not a tribute, your injection comes on your decision, having cashed in your ticket at Hypnogogia for a good rest and stay.

Everyone is ushered to bed at once and everyone will be quick to discover why.

The first effect is a sort of paralysis - not the terrifying inability to move, but a signal to the brain that says why move? Moving is so much effort. It's quickly followed by drowsiness, and then a chill that radiates from the needle into the body, and finally, unconsciousness.

This shared dreaming carries on whenever you sleep for seven total days, with the Expos running during their waking hours. Those with Vistors will meet them within the dream.

Day 1: It starts as a typical day in the tower. You may very well not realise it to be a dream. The only difference is that there are others here, ones who won't be around when you wake. They've been instructed to wait for you. You can show them the whole of the Capitol in this time, if you wish.

Day 2: On this day, the world is... yours. Some of the world will bleed into the mini worlds of others, so long as you have the wish in mind to visit them. Some details about the worlds may be off but it will initially seem as though you've finally returned home.

Day 3: A paradise. Any paradise. Whatever your characters would personally deem as a paradise. Like with day 2, the dream worlds will bleed into one another.

Day 4: On day four, it starts off somewhere inspired by a District. It's been tailored to suit the Capitol of course but

̨̙̟͒̒̔ͬ̄̌̓̓s̋͒ͩ̈́ͯ́̾ͭ͑͘҉̮͈̪̲̼̜̟͡ó͔͔͖̼̂̓̌̓m̰̹ͩ͑̽̆̽̚͟͞e͙̰̬̻̋ͣ͑ͭ̄̌̀ṭ̡͈͔̺̀͂̈́ͯ̎͛̓́́ḣ̍̉͌҉̮̖͔͉̜͉̘͓į̶̥̼͙͒̏́̈n̼̬̼͖͖̳͊͐̈g̷̱͈̦̀ͣ͒̒̅͛ͯ̐̿ ̵̡̻̳̯ͫ̓̃ͭͨg̵͚͚͖̏̒̏ͨ̐̏ͦ͞͡ȏ͚̳͓̱̩̞͚͙ͮ̊̄̐̂͊e͇͇̦̳̦ͥ̽͌̆͂̇͆ͤͅs͙͙̠̝͍̹͔͓͛̽̾͑͂͆ ̠͖̘̥̤̑ͧ͘w̛̰̰̗͕̻̯̰͕̃͌͘r͖̰͚̋o̵̭̺̺̘͈͕͆̐̇̌ͣ͆͗͟n̷̫ͦ̆ͯ̀g̛̥͖͎̺͙͈ͮ̓͐̄̇.

The dream world seems to distort. From the setting, to those in it, for five seconds everything is warped and wrong, caught in an echo chamber. Then it goes dark and silent. From the dark, the nightmares crawl out. The nightmares may have things taken from memory, but most of it is a new and horrible scene where making sense isn't mandatory.

Capitolites are quickly awoken and refunded. They are given a (poor-tasting) drink that will offer them totally dreamless sleep. But they don't have to drink it if they do not wish...

[OOC: This is the day that D13 players will finally be able to participate and on every day following. You are allowed to post for this early.]

Day 5: The Capitol tries again to take back control of the dream, starting out with a fun and cute arena with super-soakers, glitter bombs, and weapons made from foam. It's happy and colorful. But it doesn't last long.

Soon enough, the dream warps again into a nightmare. The arena loses its harmlessness, becoming one that's very much a threat. This may be an arena from memory or something totally new.

Day 6: The Capitol hasn't given up fighting District thirteen's interference but they've taken to a new tactic. In attempt to drive them out, or at least pin some of the blame on thirteen, the sixth round of sleep is set in a bad memory. It can be any memory at all; something in the arena, something offworld, even things around the capitol or area around so long as it could've been caught on camera. Essentially, unless it's a blind spot, it's fair game.

Individuals who are free of or manage to fight through this torment are free to help the dreaming characters as they will-- or make things worse.

Day 7: War. Terrible war. This is what will be heard on the final day. It will echo out over the dream world. And that dream world will reflect the very terrible war spoken of. Is that your friend over there, looking shell-shocked? Is that your family laying there motionless? Who is that in the fray crying out? Could it be the one you love most?

This dream will leave very few survivors and will not last long. Those that do, will hear this: "Know the cost of selfish acts. Consider what you stand for."

[OOC: With this you may consider the fourth wall live! All tributes and any guests, Capitolites, and D13ers who are signed up may tag in here. Alternately, you may make your own logs! If you are tagging in here, you MUST warn with headers for any relevant topics that may upset players.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Day 4
This time when they shoot him full of the drugs that will make him dream, Albert's ready for it. Or he thinks he's ready. It's still an improvement, he tells himself. It's a bit better to know when and how instead of being stuck with a shot and sent off without any warning. The needle goes into his upper thigh, one of the only places on his extremities left with honest flesh, and soon after Albert drifts into sleep.

He wakes up in much the same place. At first, it seems as if the drugs didn't take. He feels as if he's simply woken up again from a dreamless sleep, blinking blearily at the uniform pinholes in the ceiling tiles. Everything's a bit distorted around the edges, slightly fisheyed, but it's something he's used to with his cybernetics being what they are.

Cybernetics that he shouldn't have, his brain catches up with him. The Capitol had outfitted him with purely harmless prosthetics, nothing like the heads up display that winks to life around his vision. Targeting computer, statistics, ballistic calculations for his micro missiles. It's all present and recognizable, yet different in how the visuals are displayed. His original HUD was in blues and reds, this instead is gold and the emblem of the Capitol rotates slowly in the bottom right corner of his view.

/STAND UP

He doesn't think to obey, he simply does, rising from the hospital bed with outward impassiveness as he begins to panic in whatever piece of his own mind they haven't overpowered and twisted for their use. This isn't Black Ghost's search for a more perfect weapon, this is the Capitol's success in a useful tool, technology they would not have had otherwise, stolen from both Clara's world and his own. It makes him sick, or it would if he could feel a damned thing other than panic.

/MOVE TO THE NEXT ROOM

Albert actively fights the command this time but it's fruitless. His body won't obey his own commands, instead moving at the behest of whoever is sending the messages that scroll along the bottom of his vision. He walks across the room stiffly, a tin soldier marching to an unheard drum, and pulls open the door despite virtually screaming at himself in his mind not to.

The next room looks much like the training room in the tower but cleared of all weapons and stations. The observation alcove remains, an assortment of men in white coats with shadowed faces stand there but Albert can't even turn his head to see. Instead he's compelled to keep facing forward even when he comes to attention in the center of the space. At the end of the hall, against the barren concrete wall, is a figure. The person is tied there, bag over their head to hide their identity, but Albert doesn't have to see who they are to know what they are.

His target.

/TAKE AIM

Albert's right arm raises, his fingers poised at just the right level to hit his target in the heart. A clean death, a ruthless murder he doesn't want to commit, that he tries desperately to assert his will over himself in an ailing attempt to prevent. He won't be a killer for someone else's cause again.

He won't be made a monster again.

But his arm does not lower...

Day 5/6
Still rattled by his own nightmare experience, Albert nonetheless takes to his mission. It's one he agrees with, striking while there's an opportunity to do so and seeking out allies and information in the Capitol without putting life and limb on the line. Exhausted as he is, it's necessary.

And it keeps him from thinking over his nightmares made nearly real.

On each subsequent day, Albert makes his way through the dreamscape to find those he calls friends or perhaps even others he's not entirely close with but instead stumbles across in his journey. He seeks to check on their well being, to reassure those who need it that help is coming, but also to drive that help to fruition. To that end he needs information. Anything and everything relevant from Peacekeeper movements to Avox facilities, from the smallest tidbit about a Capitolite politician who's loyalties may be in question to President Snow himself, Albert seeks every scrap of knowledge he can drum up over these two days.

Perhaps he shows up in your dream. Will he be a smiling, gentle figure? A friend or brother here to reassure that everything will be alright? Or will he play the soldier and spy, working through dreams and memories in order to learn what he needs to know and further the Rebellion?

You tell him.

Edited 2015-07-28 19:23 (UTC)

The figure at the other end of the room had been struggling against his ties in an attempt to escape and wreak havoc however he could. When he heard someone coming into the room, however, he went still and squinted through the thin fabric over his head. It was there to hide his face, but it wasn't so thick he couldn't see through it. When he saw who it was, he almost wished he couldn't. There was something in the way Albert was moving, the way he took aim without hesitation...it wasn't right.

"Albert?"

There was a sickening feeling in his gut that said Albert wasn't himself right now and a treacherous part of him made him tense up and wait for the sound of gun fire.

Edited 2015-07-29 15:02 (UTC)

Jet.

Again, they pit him against his husband. Again he's used as the vehicle of destruction for someone he loves most. It's Hilda again, with his ill-fated plan to cross the Wall. It's the ocean over Yomi where he should have grabbed his partner and kept him tethered to the Earth instead of falling through space. It's not going after him when he stormed off to America and it's holding his gun to Jet's shocked face at Valhalla and Jet's hated gratitude for stabbing him through the heart. It's everything he despises about himself, every one of his worst nightmares rolled into one and they're putting him through it again.

He won't let himself.

Outwardly, Albert is an emotionless automaton. His mouth set in a thin line, his eyes staring straight ahead at his target. He's perfectly still, perfectly poised. A one man firing squad.

/FIRE

The word blips in his vision, scrolling front and center. An inexorable command.

He fires.

The rapport is explosive, a single round expertly fired from four barrels. None of them hit their mark, though all of them are close enough to tear the bag over Jet's head, possibly even close enough to nick his cheek if he moves at all in start from the noise.

But none of them hit him.

There's gun fire and it deafens him temporarily with how close it is and he can't help the flinch it causes. He didn't expect it and it was so close he felt the breeze of the bullets. The bag near his face is torn and there's a slight sting in his cheek that he can only tell is a cut from the feeling of something seeping from it. A millimeter more and it would have been lodged in his face.

He lets out a shuttering breath he wish he didn't have. He didn't want to be scared or concerned about when the next round would come, it was Albert for crying out loud! But Albert had almost just ended his life too. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut under the cover of the bag a moment, steeling himself; he had to try and help his husband somehow.

"I don't know what they got in your head, but I know you wouldn't do this by choice; you can fight it, Al!"

"Fight it!"

He's trying. He's not certain how he's doing it, but he's denying this control with every fiber, with each part of him that is beyond physical. His mind, his soul, the things they cannot take.

/RECALIBRATE

The word winks once in his vision, then is lost in a scrolling mass of text regarding his primary and secondary systems. He sees what they've done, how they've changed him, brought back the weapon of 004. What they don't know is that Albert Heinrich and 004 are intrinsically tied, for all Albert has denied it over the years. He knows himself, he knows his physical capabilities, but it's always been his mind behind them that makes him successful.

And he won't stand for anything else.

/AIM

Again he raises his arm, aimed for Jet's face. He moves forward one step, another, another still, feet falling heavy on the concrete.

/FIRE

With that comment Albert halts his progress and with every bit of his being, every little piece of him that's still human - the mind that recognizes just how wrong this is, the heart that loves his husband and won't see him come to harm, and the soul that's been patched too many times to count and refuses to take further tarnish - Albert swings himself around and fires instead at the platform on which the scientists stand.

The bullets fall like hailstones.

There is no force field.

It's only after every one of the figures in that platformed alcove has dropped, dead, out of sight that Albert realizes he'd been screaming the entire time. He drops his arm to his side again, panting and hunched.

He hears the steps forward and goes still and quiet, watching through the weave of the bag as his husband gets closer, gunhand aimed at him again. He watches Albert stop and can't tear his eyes away as the barrels level at him. But then Albert's swinging around and firing above them, defiance and effort in the scream he gives as he forces himself to fight against whatever bug they'd put in his head.

Jet nearly sighs in relief but it catches in his throat as he watches the awesome display of willpower from the older cyborg.

It's impressive and it sends a swell of pride through his chest for his partner.

"Al."

He longs to reach out to the older man and smooth his hair and make sure he was okay, but he was still tied and still unable to remove the bag from his head. He'd have to rely on words for now.

"Are you okay?"

Albert grunts a noncommittal noise as he moves to free Jet's head from the bag and uncuff his husband from the metal ring bolted into concrete wall behind him. One carefully aimed slice from his knife does the job.

He's exhausted, despite remembering now that he's in the process of sleeping he feels run down and fatigued to the point where when Jet is free he leans on him just a little. But there's a triumphant glint to his gaze, a confidence in how he holds himself that notes however slightly that something has changed. That he knows something about himself now that he didn't before.

"Are you?"

Albert leans on him a little and Jet welcomes it, his arms coming up to wrap comfortingly around that broader frame.

"Yeah, just a little scrape." He wiped at it with a sleeve but then brought his hands up to run through his husband's hair and then down to cup the back of his neck.

"That was pretty damn impressive, you know. I knew you had it in you...glad you could figure that out too."

Edited 2015-08-04 04:36 (UTC)

Another grunt, but this one has a disbelieving warmth behind it. Leave it to Jet to believe in him when Albert didn't have any sense of it himself. "We promised. I'm not going to lose you again, especially not at my own hand."

He touches Jet's face gently, hovering the pad of his thumb just a hair's breadth of space from the cut he'd inflicted. It's already stopped bleeding, but the fact that he did it at all is something he hates. As much as he hates what happened in the Arena, and as much as he hates himself for what happened on the cliff in front of Valhalla. He's sick and tired of being used as a weapon against his husband, no matter the reason.

"Never again."

He leans in and presses their foreheads together, fingers making soothing motions on the back of Albert's neck.

"Damn straight, you're stuck with me forever, headaches and all so you just better get used to that."

He half wished he had something better to say, something smarter or more helpful than playful banter and light-heartedness, but he didn't; these were his tools. At least they seemed to still work and he aided them with a smile that was no where near forced.

After a moment, the stars aligned enough to allow his thoughts and words and tongue to work together and color flushed his face lightly.

"M' proud of you you know."

The compliment sends a flush up Albert's neck. Love, yes, even though they still say it sparingly it's something he knows in his bones, but pride. Pride in him after he'd failed so much, after it had taken him near a century to be able to face himself, after he'd been broken and had to be built back up, for Jet to say he's proud of Albert is enough to turn him pink.

"Hush, Spatzi." He uses the diminutive form instead of the less childish way that he always does, out of embarrassment and it's only because it's a dream that it comes out at all. He stands on his tiptoes to meet Jet's press of his forehead against the German's, bringing them to eye level and closing his as if it will lower his shyness at Jet's comment.

Edited 2015-08-04 06:06 (UTC)

His hands don't move even with Albert's shift, he simply smiles at that flush he could see and pressed a kiss lightly to his partner's lips.

"Haven't you learned? You can't shut me up so easily." His tone took a slightly more serious note but the affection was still strong in it.

"I am, though. I just want to make sure you know it. Have been for a long time and it's not going to change any time soon."

He was hopelessly proud of Albert. Long before Mocawa, he'd been proud of his partner's intelligence and cleverness and his strength. And after that crap with Jaden, even though Jet had fought hard to get his lover back into one piece, he was proud of the fact Albert had gotten there at all.

Lesser people wouldn't have made as much progress or even come out the other side stronger than before like Al had. Jet couldn't be prouder of him.

"I should put the bag back over your head." But he smiles instead, pressing a soft kiss to his husband's lips in quiet thanks and affection. Jet's right, he can't shut him up that easily. He can't really shut him up at all when he's actually trying, but right now he doesn't want to.

To know that Jet is proud of him - not just cares for, loves, or looks to, but is proud - has a profound effect. He hasn't felt this light since their wedding.

(no subject)

metalicarus - 2015-08-12 01:01 (UTC) - Expand

The following is an understatement. This is bad.

When he wakes up from... well, when he wakes he's chained to a wall and there's a bag on his head. Couldn't be a rope or hand cuffs, something he could tear or break or slip through. Couldn't be a blindfold, no, it's a bag.

"You know, I get it. Lots of people want a little kinky time with the Ri. But listen. You're sending a lot of mixed signals here. First off, this bag. This bag sucks. Unless there's a face on the other side this isn't even a little sexy. And second. These chains? They're not doing it for me. I'm sorry, but I think we should just be friends. It's not me, it's you."

All the while he's tugging on the chain, trying to turn himself around so he can kick his feet off the wall and use his body weight to break something. Until he hears someone enter the room. Oh hell.

"At least tell me you're a smoking hot babe."

Maybe in some other circumstance, Albert might find the incessant banter coming from the intended victim's covered mouth funny. He doesn't have the wherewithal to question just now, trying to fight the control that's being exerted over him with proverbial tooth and nail, mentally slamming his consciousness over and over into the barriers that keep it trapped and simply watching, affording no authority over his person.

/FIRE

He pulls with all his might, all the willpower and mental strength from wells he didn't even know he had to draw from and not a single bullet flies, his gun arm wavering in a barely perceptible circle.

Murmuring sounds from the observation platform and suddenly Albert's vision is alight with text, diagnostics and readouts about whatever they've built into him. He feels cold with fury, sick with anger, but there's no other physical response. Just silence and stillness.

He won't beg for his life. No way in hell. He wants to ask about Sam, where his wingman is, but he can't be sure Sam didn't get away, and moreover, that his mentioning him won't cause more trouble for Sam.

Riley's got no idea who this guy is, or who those people are up above when he's only just starting to catch the barest glimpses of. His eyes dart to them and back to the one before him.

"You doing this for them? Or are they just here to watch? Come on man, say something."

He's not going to be able to negotiate out this. He's trying anyway.

Silence is all that Riley gets in return, but it's a pregnant silence. Albert is still there, twofold in a body that refuses to be his and a mind that rails against that fact. The silence to Albert is full of screaming, full of clawing at scrolling text that he can't stop from moving through his vision, readouts of his physical systems that do nothing to represent the mind that's supposed to be piloting the body. He's been severed, decapitated without the grisly mess.

But the captive's demands for attention don't go unnoticed. He tries to latch onto them, to build back that connection through his senses. Hearing. He can hear him. Sight. He can see him too, bag over his head and chained to the wall. Albert can only pray that the man keeps talking, keeps the banter going one sided in the hopes for an answer so he can use it as a lifeline.

The bag on his head allows him to see some things, but the hatching blocks out just enough, he can't actually tell what Albert's doing. He sees a raised arm and hand but he can't see the bullets that could be launched from the end of those fingertips. He can't tell he's facing down a one man firing squad.

But that aside, it's clear that there's something going on here. There's a good possibility he may not walk out of this unscathed. That's fine. As long as he can still walk out of this.

"You know, we can start small. Like, Hi. I'm Riley. Pararescueman, 58th Rescue Squadron. I've been pancake free for six weeks and it sucks ass. Now you say, hello Riley, my name is..."

Riley. That clicks and in doing so the text scrolling through his vision shudders for a moment before popping up with entirely new information that his so-called handlers didn't ask for.

/QUERY: RILEY

NAME: LAST NAME UNKNOWN, RILEY
AFFILIATION: UNITED STATES AIR FORCE AIR COMBAT COMMAND, 563D RESCUE GROUP, 58TH RESCUE SQUADRON
RANK: UNKNOWN
PARTNER: WILSON, SAMUEL
STATUS: DECEASED

Sam's wingman. He knows the name, knows who this target is that the Capitol is trying to make him take out and with a name to the voice Albert redoubles his effort to fight against the hold the Capitol has on him. He won't do this to Sam. Won't be responsible for murdering his partner in cold blood.

The information across his vision shudders again and scrolls through the rest of the diagnostics. Or tries. Instead it shudders again and again as Albert uses his knowledge of Riley as a connection to the rest of his systems, working new mental pathways past the cybernetic modifications the Capitol had tried to build over those Gilmore had developed. Snow's scientists are no Black Ghost; the work is amateurish and inelegant and it doesn't take Albert long to find work arounds and other connections. Finally, he gains something partial. Not full control, not yet, but at least he has his voice again.

"My name is Albert Heinrich. I am being controlled but I will not let them use me as a weapon. I-I-I-" His voice begins to skip like a worn recording. "S-Sam--fr-alli--s-s-s-wiLSon---"

His vision goes black and his voice cuts off. They're trying to shut him down.

What the hell.

Sure, he was a man that could fly, sure that might have given plenty ways of possibility for someone to be controlled by someone else like a robot but still. What the hell.

The cutting out of Albert's voice is a contender for top creepiest things he's heard and he's listened to his brother's singing.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't cut out on me now! What do I need, a quarter? I got lots of those. I got a couple thousand quarters back home!"

Come on, come on...

"Talk to me Heinrich! You know my partner, Sam. Tell me, do you know if he got away?"

Oh shit, he better have got away.

"You were trying to say you were friends right? How about we make that you and me? Friends all right? And friend don't let friends shoot friends or whatever it is they're using you to do."

The crack about quarters brings a spark of annoyance to Albert - he's not some carnival oddity - but ultimately he decides it's good to feel that annoyance. It gives him strength somehow, gives him a focus for his efforts in fighting the Capitol's attempts to reroute and gain complete control of him again.

He throws up blocks, firewalls, whatever an educated onlooker might call them against the Capitol scientists' efforts. Again and again they try and access his mind, to shut him up, shut him down, and technologically browbeat him into submission. But Albert has something now he didn't before those long years ago when Black Ghost had first played merry hell with his body.

He has willpower.

Despite his dark vision, Albert knows where they are. He can hear the buzz of the forcefield even over Riley's yammering. His hearing has always been good, but with his cybernetics it's flawless, giving him the ability to zero in and target.

/TARGET ACQUIRED

Slowly, mechanically, Albert turns towards the seating box on the wall of the training room.

/ATTEMPTING LOCK...

It's eerie how he moves, modular and with measured slowness. He has to fight for control over his own body but he manages by degrees. Two of the three scientists, the ones not typing furiously on the computer, get up and inch towards the door.

/TARGET LOCK

Albert's vision clicks back on like an old television and shows the computer the remaining Capitolite is typing away on directly centered. Commands scroll across the text box of his heads up display, coming frantically and with spelling errors.

/INITIATE EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN PROTOCOL
/EMERFRNCY SHUTDWN
/STOP
/ENDPRGRM
/PROGRAAM END
/END
/SHT

The bark of a brief rapport of gunfire sounds and the computer explodes in a shower of sparks. The scientist cries out, throwing his arms up to protect his face and disappearing from view under he window's ledge. A second later, Albert can be heard panting hard, but his movements are more normal, more human.

He makes his way over to get Riley out of his imprisonment, grimly triumphant.

It's not slow motion but he has the sense that it should be. He watches through dark fabric as Albert's hand moves up above him. His own hot breath keeps being blown back into his face. He feels heat and fire that isn't really there.

He thinks he keeps talking but he's not sure. His ears are ringing and his mouth is dry. He doesn't even think about the people up there as he hears the gunfire and sparks.

He swallows and hears himself again at last, just over Albert's panting. "Holy shit."

A moment later and Albert has the bag off of Riley's head, ignoring the muttered curse from the man as he goes to work on the wrist restraints.

"Are you alright? Do you remember how you got here?" It's curious that he would be here in Albert's dream, after all, when he'd never met the man before in his life.

And it is a dream. Albert knows this now when he'd been unaware before, but the test is over and he'd beaten it and with that knowledge comes the fact that this is, for better or worse, a dream. He's not sure if that takes something away from the achievement or not.

He gets his first clear view of his savior/would-have-been-executioner. Silver hair and a stern looking face but what's more interesting is the flash of metal on his hand. That both explains a lot and explains exactly jack shit.

"Well I'm--" Not dead. Not Going there. "--Currently here, breathing, and reporting for duty. Gives fair point to being alright, I'd say. Should be asking you, man. What the hell just happened?" He watches as the restraints are dealt with.

"Me? I was with my wingman on flight. You said his name. Shit went south. I--" Hesitation again. "It's a long story man. I don't know it's gonna make any more sense if I tell it all to you. All I know is that it's been a weird few days."

Edited 2015-10-05 03:55 (UTC)

"He's told me." Albert frowns, finishing cutting Riley loose and wondering if he's a figment or actually here and dreaming like the rest of them. Considering he doesn't know what Riley actually looks like, he's leaning towards actually here, but that could mean nothing. People he doesn't know pop up in dreams all the time, and since he has no frame of reference, he doesn't know if this is actually what Riley looked like or not.

"About you. You were shot down midflight." He says it cautiously, watching Riley closely for any indication one way or the other if he's real or not.

[OTA] Albert Heinrich - Day 4/6 - (cw: needles/body control)

Day 4

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Day 4

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject