Somewhere far across the world, Hanzo might have taken a moment's pause. Looked towards the distance and felt some twisting sense of unease. The possibilities play through his mind, but a moment later his attention is being called. He knows he cannot linger on the feeling.
Instead, he quietly dreads what might be. Perhaps word will reach him soon.
---
But Moira plays her cards close. This is not strictly Talon business, after all. This is furtherance of a personal curiosity, that may or may not prove useful to Talon after the fact. Right now, she has her own goals in mind first and foremost.
When Jesse wakes, it's impossible to tell what time of night it is. He's still in the labs, with its sleek white walls and florescent lights flooding every corner. Gone is his precious Peacemaker, as well as most of his clothing. There's some modesty afford with a pair of lab pants that someone managed to get him into while unconscious, but Moira intends to observe the wound Reaper left behind as well.
She doubts the cowboy will play nicely. Hence the very sturdy iron cuffs at his wrists and ankles, holding him down to the table while she hums quietly to herself over the keyboard, nails tapping away as she makes her notes.
If Jesse dreamed this time, he doesn’t remember it. He returns to consciousness slowly. Haltingly. The mental equivalent of stumbling up a rocky hillside to reach a plateau.
He becomes aware of several things as he blinks his eyes open: one, that he’s sore. It’s a novel feeling now as a vampire. His pains don’t tend to linger like this anymore. The other thing though, the hunger, now that’s familiar. How long as he been out? Hours? Days?
He starts to sit up before realizing that he’s been bound, his few test tugs on the cuffs quickly turning into a full-on struggle. But they’re solid, heavy enough to hold a vampire in place—especially one weakened from whatever the hell she’d done.
Moira's eyes dart up briefly, observing his struggle but for a moment before quickly returning to jotting down whatever notes she'd been taking. Plenty of things to take account of before they begin. Any change could be an important one.
Jesse strains one last time against his bonds before sagging against the table, already feeling spent. She’d definitely done a number on him. He glares at the ceiling, huffs, then turns his head to point that glare in her direction. Of course she's being so nonchalant about all this. It makes him even angrier, which compounds his sense of helplessness.
“I feel like I got run over by a truck. How long was I out?”
"Approximately twenty-two hours, thirteen minutes. As it happens."
Her lip twitches faintly as Jesse's efforts finally cease, as he eases back into place. Good. He still appears to be somewhat groggy. They'll want to test how much he can withstand at various levels of efficiency, but better to start low for now.
Smoothly, she slips out from behind the computer, hands clasped behind her back, as she approaches the table.
"You might have woken earlier, if not for your particular condition."
His eyes narrow even further at the specificity. It’s no surprise she’s been monitoring him, but the reminder still sets his skin to crawling. As a hunter, he’d prepared for a lot of eventualities, most of them different versions of his grisly, untimely end. This hadn’t been one of them though. He’d never imagined being tied up and at the mercy of a mad scientist.
He watches her with unwavering focus as she steps closer. Groggy he might be, but he’s still of his own sound mind.
“You mean the being a vampire bit, or the part where you sucked the life out of me 'til I just about died again?” He remembers then, suddenly, the version of her he’d glimpsed before, pale and wraithlike just before he'd lost consciousness.
"Your physiology seems to include the curious side-effect of keeping you unconscious during the day, regardless of your condition. Of course, it's not the only thing that's changed over the years, is it?"
She doesn't answer his question right away. Of course she doesn't. She's far more interested in him, her focus falling to the hunter's chest.
"I understand you encountered our dear Gabriel some time back."
Jesse's hands tug at the cuffs in an instinctive attempt to move out of her line of sight. Trust her to bring up one of the only topics that could successfully derail any other train of thought he happened to be having.
The question, however, isn't forgotten. Especially when he's fully aware she could pull that same ghostly stunt again at any moment.
"Don't call it that. Gabe is dead, and that thing is walkin' around in what's left of his skin." He almost asks how she knows about their run-in, but then remembers on his own: Talon. They're all part of the same club. She must've heard it through the grapevine somehow.
"But you already know that. So what's your point?"
"You've become something of an anomaly, cowboy. Even among our kind. Something else stirs within you..."
And one hand lifts to hover briefly, just above Jesse's chest. Seconds later a few, lazy tendrils curl upwards, towards her fingers, almost as if merely to tease what might be to come.
"It's the reason you survived the Reaper. Isn't it?"
It’s just a taste of what Jesse has already felt, but his body tenses anyway, hyperaware now of the tug Moira’s power brings with it. It’s sickening, dizzying, like going upside-down on a rollercoaster without the adrenaline rush or promise of safety.
“I survived—”
Because of Hanzo, he almost says, but catches the words before they can escape. What if she then decides she wants something from the elder vampire? He can’t risk that. But it does make him think, for the first time in a long while, about his demonic passenger. It’s easy to forget most days, it being so much a part of him now that he’d not be able to tell you much at all about it. Its only real outlet is Deadeye, and any sentience it might have had once was sealed by Gabe’s work when he was a teenager. It was supposed to return to whichever plane from whence it came when Jesse died. Not likely to happen anymore, at least not until much later than expected.
And that’s all. Isn’t it?
“I drank blood. Just after the fact, and it was enough.”
His eye hurts again. His head hurts. His whole body still hurts. He grits his teeth, straining against his bindings more on principle than in a genuine escape effort. It’s clear that won’t work, so he needs to figure something else out.
Blood? Blood alone could not have undone the damage so easily. Not the blood of a mortal, at any rate. There's more to this, pieces of the puzzle left undiscovered, but of course Jesse is making a play at stubbornness, now. The tendrils disappear, as Moira's hand lowers. She considers him very sternly for a moment.
"You know lying will do you very few favors, now. If I can't trust that you're telling me what I need to know...then I'll just have to go digging for the truth myself."
With a wave of her hand, one of the trays nearby comes floating closer, laden with tools. Needles, knives, tubes and syringes. "The process is not a pleasant one. But it is thorough. And it will tell me what I want to know." Her head cocks slightly.
"Are you certain you don't recall more than that?"
Even though he has no intention of telling Moira a thing, he does try to remember. He thinks back to that night, his foolishness in getting caught off-guard, the attack and stumbling home after, cold seeming to permeate his entire body from the wound in his chest. Finding Hanzo, back in the room. Their argument, just before he passed out—
wait
Of course he hadn’t wanted to die, so he’d probably thought—
stay
He’d… thought that to himself… hadn’t he?
your soul is not forfeit not yet
He knocks his head back against the table, hissing as a sharp pain lances through his temple.
“You… already did somethin’, didn’t you?” He forces his eyes open, the light in the room suddenly close to overwhelming. He’s had a few migraines in his day, but only while alive. But he also hadn’t had any headaches since being turned until just recently. Before Moira. Even as he accuses her, he realizes with a sinking feeling there might be something else going on here she didn’t have a hand in.
"A few blood samples. Nothing earth-shattering, I can assure you."
But perhaps whatever else is there will show some measure of self-preservation, even when Jesse himself is helpless. Thoughtfully, she taps the handle of one of her instruments.
"Now. This will have to be done slowly. In order to prevent your body from healing over any incisions we have to make immediately, these blades here have been treated with silver. Too much, and we risk poisoning you. Certainly not the result we're looking for."
Moira's bland tone might suggest she were reading aloud the recommended dosage of a children's vitamin, rather describing the intent to cut him open, then and there.
It’s bad enough she’d taken his blood. No telling what it might say about him, or the blood-borne bond between him and his sire. The rest of it is worse though, something straight out of a horror movie. His eyes follow the line of her arm to the (still floating, what the hell is that about) tray of instruments.
She’s serious. He knows her well enough to recognize that. It’s just never been him at the end of her blades and needles before.
“You’d do it anyway. Doesn’t matter what I do or say, does it?”
To think, he’d trusted her once. She’d stitched him up numerous times, kept him alive through more than one poisoning. And she’d done it all with the same cool professionalism she’s now using to explain how she’s going to torture him in the name of her own curiosity.
He thinks he’d be sick if he were human, between the headache and the dread. It’s too bad he can’t be anymore. He’d take some pride in messing up her pristine lab. Instead, he clings to his anger, he heat of it familiar by now. Almost welcome. It, at least, he has control over.
"It might, if you were planning on being at all forthright. But I know you better than that." Her eyebrows lift. "Somewhat ironic...here you are, attempting to spy on me for Overwatch, and yet the information you'll provide us will be infinitely more valuable. I'd be willing to bet even they don't know the full extent of what you are, do they?"
A scalpel slips into her grasp as she leans closer, observing the way he tenses. How much pain would it take, before they saw something interesting? If the silver doesn't evoke what they need, there are other ways. Iron. Holy water. Monkshood. White oak. All methods of ways to see which earned the loudest screams, the most agony.
They really don’t know the full extent. Not about him, and not about where he is or what he’d set out to do. For all they’ll know, he’ll have simply up and run. The only sign to the contrary will be that his laptop was left behind. Even then, they might not realize the significance.
He’s on his own here. He could die, truly die, and not a soul would know except Moira. Though he doubts she’ll let him go quickly.
And she doesn’t.
It’s slow as she’d promised. Agonizing. Jesse has a relatively high pain tolerance, and has been through systematically inflicted pain before. But not like this, and not at the hands of someone so skilled at it. He curses at her from the start. Throws verbal barbs and struggles just to make it that much more difficult. The screaming comes later. His struggling becomes less of a conscious choice and more of an instinct.
He’s not aware of when he slips. His fangs are out, and his bonds actually start to strain under the force of a cornered, starving vampire. It’s then Moira might be able to see the ring of red around the iris of his left eye. As what makes Jesse himself retreats, something else rises to take its place.
At one point, he throws his head back and screams, a sound of pure pain and rage stemming from the very core of him. In his eyes, there’s fear. In his eyes, there’s triumph. The air goes desert hot and dry around him, tinged red from a sun they can't see. The same red that consumes one eye, then the other before darkening to an endless black that swallows iris and sclera both.
Then his eyes shut, and he goes very still. A breeze that had blown in from nowhere ceases, papers fluttering to the tile in its wake.
It's nothing like anything she's seen before, in any other creature she's studied. There is an aura that seems more in the realm of spirits and ghosts, creatures non-corporeal. Harder to study but infinitely more fascinating.
"There you are."
And she leans closer, one finger crooking to tip his chin upwards. The knives are set to the side, damp and ruddy, their job done for the time being.
guess who just bought themselves a paid account to get demon icons
When his eyes open, it’s without any other movement. No preamble, no slow waking. No wincing or crying out. No sign that he can even feel what she’s done to him anymore.
Just one moment, eyes shut. Then the next, eyes open, black and fathomless and staring back up into Moira’s. Then, slowly, a smile creeps across his face. It’s somehow just like one of Jesse’s and also subtly, distinctly not.
“Why hello there, doc.”
Edited (all that and it didn't even use my icon, so gotta fix that) 2020-01-31 22:04 (UTC)
Interesting. There's a certain similarity there, but it seems as if something lacks here that is otherwise present. Or perhaps Jesse isn't the one speaking at all, now.
There is, despite the sudden rise in temperature, a coldness to those black voids.
"And what might you be?" she hums, allowing her hand to drop. No sign of a struggle or renewed hostility. No signs of pain, as the skin starts to seal itself slowly back together again. "McCree's little secret, all this time?"
“You seem like a smart one, Moira O’Deorain. I think you already know.”
It sounds like Jesse still, far as his accent and manner of speaking go. It has, after all, been with the man since his youth. Every thought Jesse has ever had, everything he’s ever done—the demon was privy to all of it, and it could mimic its human host expertly if necessary.
Now, of course, it’s not necessary at all. Moira knows what he is, and so he lets his speech take on a lazy, comfortable lilt not at all fitting to the amount of blood and gore on his person. Still, he sounds like Jesse. Maybe it’s a preference by now.
“How much did Gabriel Reyes tell you though, I wonder? He did clever work.” He smirks, laughing quietly at the memory. “I was workin’ on undoing it, but you helped move things along so much faster.”
"He certainly didn't tell me he had a demon stoppered up inside of our resident gunslinger. Though that does explain a number of things." The second presence she'd felt while draining Jesse, earlier...his unnatural prowess as a hunter, even while he'd still been human.
"Is he still present, when you're like this?"
She turns to wipe her hands off on a nearby towel, though her eyes remained fixed on the demon. So it had been attempting to wriggle lose now, for some time. Had Jesse been aware, and holding back?
He seems amused by the question. ‘Present,’ after all, could have all sorts of meanings. And he does enjoy operating in ambiguity.
“I should’ve had the boy a long time ago, all truth be told. We made a deal. It’s high time he held up his end of the bargain.”
As he talks, his eyes follow her in turn, not once blinking.
“But I could go on and on about myself. Tell me a little bit about you doc. Information for information.” Spoken as if he isn’t strapped to a table and in absolutely no position to negotiate.
Of course. Leave it to a demon to feel so entitled, even held hostage as he is. Moira can almost admire that sort of gall, even if her lips purse slightly.
"And what is it that provokes a demon's curiosity?"
She moves towards the computer, quickly tapping away in brief notation. May as well keep track of all of this. Who knew if the shift was permanent, or how long he'd remain strong enough to stay conscious. Whether he shows the pain or not, his vessel has undergone quite a bit of physical stress.
“Humans are always going around makin’ somethin’ new.”
He watches her still, unmoving. Perhaps he can’t thanks to the damage she’s done. Grateful as he is to have full reign over this body now, he does wish she could’ve done it in a less destructive way. The pain is rather novel though.
“I know monsters. I know spirits. But you’ve done somethin’ with ‘em I’ve never seen before. No respect for the natural order of things.” Based on his tone, he sees that as the opposite of a problem. “I want to know what you did to yourself, and I’ll give you a secret in return.”
While it's technically divulging information to a potential foe, there is the upside of sharing her success with a receptive audience. Captive as he might be. "What I've done is untethered myself from the same physical restraints my colleagues share," she replies, straightening behind the keyboard. "A vampire requires blood to survive. Shelter from sunlight. A number of inelegant hurdles best avoided altogether."
And for a moment, she lets the illusion fade. The thing that keeps her appearing as her former, living self. Instead she seems as pale as a ghost, hair loose and white and wispy about her face, eyes pale and blank.
"Those who speak of such things in tales and legends would have known the name 'banshee'. Though as always, the stories and the truth of the matter don't quite overlap in their entirety. I imagine you know something of that, yourself."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Instead, he quietly dreads what might be. Perhaps word will reach him soon.
---
But Moira plays her cards close. This is not strictly Talon business, after all. This is furtherance of a personal curiosity, that may or may not prove useful to Talon after the fact. Right now, she has her own goals in mind first and foremost.
When Jesse wakes, it's impossible to tell what time of night it is. He's still in the labs, with its sleek white walls and florescent lights flooding every corner. Gone is his precious Peacemaker, as well as most of his clothing. There's some modesty afford with a pair of lab pants that someone managed to get him into while unconscious, but Moira intends to observe the wound Reaper left behind as well.
She doubts the cowboy will play nicely. Hence the very sturdy iron cuffs at his wrists and ankles, holding him down to the table while she hums quietly to herself over the keyboard, nails tapping away as she makes her notes.
no subject
He becomes aware of several things as he blinks his eyes open: one, that he’s sore. It’s a novel feeling now as a vampire. His pains don’t tend to linger like this anymore. The other thing though, the hunger, now that’s familiar. How long as he been out? Hours? Days?
He starts to sit up before realizing that he’s been bound, his few test tugs on the cuffs quickly turning into a full-on struggle. But they’re solid, heavy enough to hold a vampire in place—especially one weakened from whatever the hell she’d done.
no subject
Moira's eyes dart up briefly, observing his struggle but for a moment before quickly returning to jotting down whatever notes she'd been taking. Plenty of things to take account of before they begin. Any change could be an important one.
"Rest well?"
no subject
“I feel like I got run over by a truck. How long was I out?”
no subject
Her lip twitches faintly as Jesse's efforts finally cease, as he eases back into place. Good. He still appears to be somewhat groggy. They'll want to test how much he can withstand at various levels of efficiency, but better to start low for now.
Smoothly, she slips out from behind the computer, hands clasped behind her back, as she approaches the table.
"You might have woken earlier, if not for your particular condition."
no subject
He watches her with unwavering focus as she steps closer. Groggy he might be, but he’s still of his own sound mind.
“You mean the being a vampire bit, or the part where you sucked the life out of me 'til I just about died again?” He remembers then, suddenly, the version of her he’d glimpsed before, pale and wraithlike just before he'd lost consciousness.
“… What’d you turn yourself into?”
no subject
She doesn't answer his question right away. Of course she doesn't. She's far more interested in him, her focus falling to the hunter's chest.
"I understand you encountered our dear Gabriel some time back."
no subject
The question, however, isn't forgotten. Especially when he's fully aware she could pull that same ghostly stunt again at any moment.
"Don't call it that. Gabe is dead, and that thing is walkin' around in what's left of his skin." He almost asks how she knows about their run-in, but then remembers on his own: Talon. They're all part of the same club. She must've heard it through the grapevine somehow.
"But you already know that. So what's your point?"
no subject
And one hand lifts to hover briefly, just above Jesse's chest. Seconds later a few, lazy tendrils curl upwards, towards her fingers, almost as if merely to tease what might be to come.
"It's the reason you survived the Reaper. Isn't it?"
no subject
“I survived—”
Because of Hanzo, he almost says, but catches the words before they can escape. What if she then decides she wants something from the elder vampire? He can’t risk that. But it does make him think, for the first time in a long while, about his demonic passenger. It’s easy to forget most days, it being so much a part of him now that he’d not be able to tell you much at all about it. Its only real outlet is Deadeye, and any sentience it might have had once was sealed by Gabe’s work when he was a teenager. It was supposed to return to whichever plane from whence it came when Jesse died. Not likely to happen anymore, at least not until much later than expected.
And that’s all. Isn’t it?
“I drank blood. Just after the fact, and it was enough.”
His eye hurts again. His head hurts. His whole body still hurts. He grits his teeth, straining against his bindings more on principle than in a genuine escape effort. It’s clear that won’t work, so he needs to figure something else out.
no subject
"You know lying will do you very few favors, now. If I can't trust that you're telling me what I need to know...then I'll just have to go digging for the truth myself."
With a wave of her hand, one of the trays nearby comes floating closer, laden with tools. Needles, knives, tubes and syringes. "The process is not a pleasant one. But it is thorough. And it will tell me what I want to know." Her head cocks slightly.
"Are you certain you don't recall more than that?"
no subject
wait
Of course he hadn’t wanted to die, so he’d probably thought—
stay
He’d… thought that to himself… hadn’t he?
your soul is not forfeit not yet
He knocks his head back against the table, hissing as a sharp pain lances through his temple.
“You… already did somethin’, didn’t you?” He forces his eyes open, the light in the room suddenly close to overwhelming. He’s had a few migraines in his day, but only while alive. But he also hadn’t had any headaches since being turned until just recently. Before Moira. Even as he accuses her, he realizes with a sinking feeling there might be something else going on here she didn’t have a hand in.
Doesn’t mean he’ll tell her anything regardless.
no subject
But perhaps whatever else is there will show some measure of self-preservation, even when Jesse himself is helpless. Thoughtfully, she taps the handle of one of her instruments.
"Now. This will have to be done slowly. In order to prevent your body from healing over any incisions we have to make immediately, these blades here have been treated with silver. Too much, and we risk poisoning you. Certainly not the result we're looking for."
Moira's bland tone might suggest she were reading aloud the recommended dosage of a children's vitamin, rather describing the intent to cut him open, then and there.
no subject
She’s serious. He knows her well enough to recognize that. It’s just never been him at the end of her blades and needles before.
“You’d do it anyway. Doesn’t matter what I do or say, does it?”
To think, he’d trusted her once. She’d stitched him up numerous times, kept him alive through more than one poisoning. And she’d done it all with the same cool professionalism she’s now using to explain how she’s going to torture him in the name of her own curiosity.
He thinks he’d be sick if he were human, between the headache and the dread. It’s too bad he can’t be anymore. He’d take some pride in messing up her pristine lab. Instead, he clings to his anger, he heat of it familiar by now. Almost welcome. It, at least, he has control over.
no subject
A scalpel slips into her grasp as she leans closer, observing the way he tenses. How much pain would it take, before they saw something interesting? If the silver doesn't evoke what they need, there are other ways. Iron. Holy water. Monkshood. White oak. All methods of ways to see which earned the loudest screams, the most agony.
Ah well. No time like the present to start.
just let me know if I should change anything!
He’s on his own here. He could die, truly die, and not a soul would know except Moira. Though he doubts she’ll let him go quickly.
And she doesn’t.
It’s slow as she’d promised. Agonizing. Jesse has a relatively high pain tolerance, and has been through systematically inflicted pain before. But not like this, and not at the hands of someone so skilled at it. He curses at her from the start. Throws verbal barbs and struggles just to make it that much more difficult. The screaming comes later. His struggling becomes less of a conscious choice and more of an instinct.
He’s not aware of when he slips. His fangs are out, and his bonds actually start to strain under the force of a cornered, starving vampire. It’s then Moira might be able to see the ring of red around the iris of his left eye. As what makes Jesse himself retreats, something else rises to take its place.
At one point, he throws his head back and screams, a sound of pure pain and rage stemming from the very core of him. In his eyes, there’s fear. In his eyes, there’s triumph. The air goes desert hot and dry around him, tinged red from a sun they can't see. The same red that consumes one eye, then the other before darkening to an endless black that swallows iris and sclera both.
Then his eyes shut, and he goes very still. A breeze that had blown in from nowhere ceases, papers fluttering to the tile in its wake.
no subject
"There you are."
And she leans closer, one finger crooking to tip his chin upwards. The knives are set to the side, damp and ruddy, their job done for the time being.
guess who just bought themselves a paid account to get demon icons
Just one moment, eyes shut. Then the next, eyes open, black and fathomless and staring back up into Moira’s. Then, slowly, a smile creeps across his face. It’s somehow just like one of Jesse’s and also subtly, distinctly not.
“Why hello there, doc.”
ahahahah beautiful
There is, despite the sudden rise in temperature, a coldness to those black voids.
"And what might you be?" she hums, allowing her hand to drop. No sign of a struggle or renewed hostility. No signs of pain, as the skin starts to seal itself slowly back together again. "McCree's little secret, all this time?"
no subject
It sounds like Jesse still, far as his accent and manner of speaking go. It has, after all, been with the man since his youth. Every thought Jesse has ever had, everything he’s ever done—the demon was privy to all of it, and it could mimic its human host expertly if necessary.
Now, of course, it’s not necessary at all. Moira knows what he is, and so he lets his speech take on a lazy, comfortable lilt not at all fitting to the amount of blood and gore on his person. Still, he sounds like Jesse. Maybe it’s a preference by now.
“How much did Gabriel Reyes tell you though, I wonder? He did clever work.” He smirks, laughing quietly at the memory. “I was workin’ on undoing it, but you helped move things along so much faster.”
no subject
"Is he still present, when you're like this?"
She turns to wipe her hands off on a nearby towel, though her eyes remained fixed on the demon. So it had been attempting to wriggle lose now, for some time. Had Jesse been aware, and holding back?
no subject
He seems amused by the question. ‘Present,’ after all, could have all sorts of meanings. And he does enjoy operating in ambiguity.
“I should’ve had the boy a long time ago, all truth be told. We made a deal. It’s high time he held up his end of the bargain.”
As he talks, his eyes follow her in turn, not once blinking.
“But I could go on and on about myself. Tell me a little bit about you doc. Information for information.” Spoken as if he isn’t strapped to a table and in absolutely no position to negotiate.
no subject
"And what is it that provokes a demon's curiosity?"
She moves towards the computer, quickly tapping away in brief notation. May as well keep track of all of this. Who knew if the shift was permanent, or how long he'd remain strong enough to stay conscious. Whether he shows the pain or not, his vessel has undergone quite a bit of physical stress.
no subject
He watches her still, unmoving. Perhaps he can’t thanks to the damage she’s done. Grateful as he is to have full reign over this body now, he does wish she could’ve done it in a less destructive way. The pain is rather novel though.
“I know monsters. I know spirits. But you’ve done somethin’ with ‘em I’ve never seen before. No respect for the natural order of things.” Based on his tone, he sees that as the opposite of a problem. “I want to know what you did to yourself, and I’ll give you a secret in return.”
no subject
And for a moment, she lets the illusion fade. The thing that keeps her appearing as her former, living self. Instead she seems as pale as a ghost, hair loose and white and wispy about her face, eyes pale and blank.
"Those who speak of such things in tales and legends would have known the name 'banshee'. Though as always, the stories and the truth of the matter don't quite overlap in their entirety. I imagine you know something of that, yourself."
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)