2019-09-30 - Shittiest Nachos This Side of the Pecos


A gaggle of geeks sit in Luke's bar and talk about a wide variety of things, mostly food and colors though.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Mon Sep 30 01:50:58 2019
Location: Luke's

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Theme Song



Luke's is currently undergoing some minor redecora-CRASHBANGBONGSMASHtinkletinkletinkle-er… uh… construction it would seem. The bar isn't closed, which is both for the best and clearly a thing it rarely does for any reason. Much less a little re-um-structuring. Yeah. That. The door to the kitchen swings open an an irate hipstery looking pale guy in a dark beard wearing mirrored shades comes through it in a huff, a black apron wrapped around him currently glistening as if covered in glitter, though upon second look it is made clear that it's really hundreds of small droplets of water clinging to the fabic, and a few not so small that have already soaked in, darkening the already dark cloth. This is made abundantly clear by the sodden mess of hair currently plastered down the side of his head and weighing down one half of his beard, making it look like the left half of his face is melting while the right remains perky and most importantly, very dry.

He pauses just inside the doorway and reaches out with a hand, flailing for a moment before finding the ebon and silver cane resting against the wall there and then begins making his way around the bar so he can sit at it like a normal patron, "Not. One. Word." he says to Anya as she passes by him, his tone dire with implied threatened violence. Beware the wrath of the blind man, for he shall uh… be snarky upon you! Rar! "Double." he adds after a pause, then holds up two fingers. Which does not mean double, it means 2 of the drink he ordered, which was a double. Knowing Hod for any length of time teaches anyone that more booze is always the correct answer in such a senario.

Remy is out and about tonight. He borrowed a Jeep from a friend in Salem Center and was using it to come down to the city to get a few things done. A market near by is where the white and red Jeep had been parked, and out of the market is where Remy comes strolling. He didn't NEED to buy things here in Manhattan, but he may as well get some stuff while he's here. The back of the Jeep is opened up and he dumps a few bags inside, then shuts the door again.

His eyes spot the tavern down the way so he grabs a dark blue denim jacket out of the driver's seat and throws it on over his black v-neck tshirt, then proceeds to meander on down ot the bar, far enough behind Hod's arrival that he did not witness it.

As the door opens again, Remy's right hand is run through his long dark brown hair. He steps inside and casts his unusual eyes about the interior of the pub, taking in the sights and sounds of the new joint. "Mm, nice place." He mutters. "Sorta…"

The Cajun wanders deeper in, toward the bar himself, eyes searching for a place to park himself, ready for a drink and a little relaxation-y goodness.

Luke's out, which means Anya is doubling as cocktail waitress and bartender. Tall order, but the girl can handle it. Currently she's wearing an old OutKast t-shirt, paired with a devilishly short skirt and pink fishnets over black tights, combat boots, and a bright pink mohawk. Not always what one expects from a young woman of the Latinx community, but so it is.

Passing by Hod with a wry smirk, she gets to work on filling his drinks, but her eyes flick to the new arrival with a grin. "Hola, welcome to Luke's!"

The tall drinks are finished and slid down the bar in Hod's direction; they both come to a rest right in front of his hands. Skills.

"What cha having?" she calls toward Remy with a smirk on her face.

As the others are going about their business, the door opens, which seems to ring a little bell. Even if there's not actually a bell on the door. A young woman of questionable design slips in and quickly closes it, turning at the waist to look behind her, as if perhaps she's being pursued. She seems satisfied, then turns to look back at the room, her wide green eyes making a circle from wall, to floor, to ceiling, to wall, and back to the floor again.

She looks as though she may have been at a local comic convention: steampunk gold and ivory corset, garter belt, violet stockings, high heeled and antiquated shoes. A violet velvet bolero jacket and matching tophat, beset with green-glassed brass goggles. Her face is white. Well…all of her is white. Maybe it's paint. Maybe. Her lips are the color of a pomegranate, inside, where the good stuff is.

She moves swiftly over to the bar and takes a seat next to the man with the cane. "You're wet," she says to him in a dreamy voice. "But only on this side."

One of them comes to a rest, the other never gets a chance to stop moving and is swept from the bar with a deft motion of the blind man's hand and immediatly brought to his lips. Everyone has to be good at something. The bourbon disappears as fast as it appeared, and the empty glass is pushed gently to the opposite side of the bar ahead of him. Hod isn't slinging glasses down the bar, not until he has at least six more of these in him. "If I were the irritable type I'd take exception to that disparaging comment." he says as he reaches out with the fingertips of one hand, feeling about until they hit cool glass and wrapping around it neatly. "Don't get the nachos." he offers helpfully. "Not until we finish the kitchen anyway, just… trust me."

Hod does not react to the oddly dressed young lady, merely lifts the second drink to his lips, "Uh-huh." he agrees, sipping this one a little more slowly then the last one, "Don't worry about it. I have plans to head back into the kitchen here in a minute and slip and fall into the sink on just this side," he waves a hand over his left side, "to help even thigns out a bit. Just taking my fifteen first." By this point one may notice he's dripping slightly.

Remy first looks to Anya behind the bar, when she asks the question of what he'd like, she gets a soft smile from him. "Beer is fine, whatever kind you think is best here." With that said, Remy's eyes dart over to look at the steampunk-inspired gal who settles in beside the Wet Bandit (Home Alone jokes?). He gives a light grin to the look of both of them but doesn't really comment on Hod's response, he sounds as though he might already be a few rounds deep, if not more!

For now, Remy just remains seated there, quietly waiting for his drink as he reaches into that dark blue denim jacket to draw out a cell phone that is deposited onto the table. It buzzes in his hand, having received a message while doing this. He glances down at it, but doesn't immediately reply to it.

"You don't look like a Luke to me." Remy says Anya, just trying some small talk.

"That'll be the Brooklyn Pilsner," Anya answers, and makes her way to get a pint ready for Remy. "We've also got damn fine barbecue, and some shitty nachos. I can throw a burger on for you, or we can get some chicken from a place up the road, yeah?"

Her eyes scan over the woman who just plopped down next to Hod. Anyone who's seen a bartender at work will recognize the look of one sizing up whether a potential customer is going to be a troublemaker or not. Remy, for the record, didn't get that look.

The pint glass is set down before Remy. "Tab?" she asks, before smirking again. "Luke took the night off. Hod here has a bet with me that he comes back before last call." The was she says 'Hod' is a bit strange, as if it would rhyme with 'Ode'.

Wiping her hands on a towel, Anya walks back over toward Duela. "What'cha drinkin', amiga?"

"Do you have lemonade? If not, I will take a glass of water." Duela pauses. "And a lemon. And some sugar packets." Then she looks down to Remy. "She could be a Luke if she wanted to be. I once knew a girl without a mohawk named Barney." A beat. "But she got a mohawk later. Then she died." She turns back to Anya. "Please be careful, Miss."

Hod holds his glass up between two fingers, "Holden." he corrects, not to Anya, but to Remy. Friends get to use his uh… 'nick name', or at least people he's willing to attept the niceties with. He has 'grumpy old man' stamped all over his 30-something frame, maybe he was emo in his youth before the hipster bug bit him. "Ribs are solid. A bit of work, they'll be perfect." he offers as a suggestion down the bar in Remy's general direction, "But only a bit." of work he means.

Then Duela is being weird and Hod just takes it in stride, "She has a point, you should b-wait. You have a mohawk?" he asks Anya, his features arrainging themselves into curiosity, "I've been trying to figure out that rustling sound for two hours. Like someone shaking a broom vigorously when you walk by. I thought you were just carrying cleaning supplies everywhere you went!"

Remy shows a soft smile, friendly sort, and nods his head a pair of small times. "Pilsner and nachos then. Best beer and shitty nachos, seems like they should balance themselves out quite nice, if'n you ask me. Don't need t'trouble nobody goin' for the far off chicken. I gotta get home in a bit an' make up dinner anyhow."

His head is dipped at the Tab question. "That fine." He responds and then glances to Hod when the bet is mentioned. "Sounds like this Luke fella cares about his place then, seems like good odds he will show up t'check in on it again."

His eyes glance then to Duela's comment directed at him and he shows her a sly soft grin. "Mayhaps, Miss. But I playin' the odds is all, odds for that seem a little slim…" Remy then affords a nod to Holden. "Ribs, eh? Maybe I come back in here soon and try'em out, yeah?"

"Lemonade," Anya confirms, and gets to filling another pint glass. Her eyes flick between Duela and Remy for a moment, lightly entertained, but they return to Duela as she finishes filling the glass. "I'm always careful, my girl." She sets the glass down and says, "Buck fifty."

A sour look is given to Hod, but she doesn't say anything about the ribs remark. "What did you expect?" she asks if the mohawk. "It's bright pink too. Not joking." To Remy she nods her head and laughs, looking back to Hod. "See? Some people like the shitty nachos. Ever been to a Yankee's game?"

Without further adieu, she disappears into the kitchen for a moment to whip up some shitty nachos.

Duela is twirling a strand of her green, bobbed hair around her finger with a sweet smile to Remy. "It's a valid point," she replies, digging in a drawstring pouch hanging from her waist. She sorts through a handful of game tokens from the local arcade, sorting out the few quarters she has. She frowns, and slides a small stack of quarters across the bar to Anya. "I'm sorry, I only have two dollars, so I am a terrible tipper." She drinks from the glass, and sets it down with a soft "Mmmmm." Then she turns to Remy. "Shitty nachos, hmm? Sounds DELICIOUS! I haven't had shitty nachos in…" She blinks blankly. "I've never had shitty nachos. Are they good?"

Hod just shakes his head at Anya, "What's pink?" he asks, not meaning what is colored pink, but literally, what is pink. Because… yeah. "Some people order the shitty nachos," he counters, "no one /likes/ the shitty nachos. And why would I go to a baseball game?" he turns his head back and forth more or less between Remy and Duela, "She was asking me, right?" he says as he finishes his second drink and sets it down across from him as well.

He decides to give up on the query and points at Remy, "You should! Gonna tweak the ribs juuuuust a little, get them perfect, then I'm starting in on the shitty nachos. Gonna keeping the name though. It amuses me. Just gonna make it less accurate." Duela's commentary earns her a quiet blank mirrored shaded stare, "Oh. You delightful innocent." he offers wistfully.

Remy just gives Anya a small smile as she vanishes toward the Kitchen. He shakes his head side to side. "Never been much of a sports person. Doin' the same thing, over and over, then celebratin' a winner, just t'do it all again in a few months. Don't make much sense t'me. Never have."

He gives a glance over to Duela then and he smirks at her. "I ain't tried them yet t'give ya a review, but by the sounds'a it, you ain't got enough money t'taste test'em yourself. Maybe you spend too much on that fancy outfit'a yours, eh?" She asks with a continued sly grin.

His glancing eyes then go to Holden and he holds a stare on the man for a moment. "You the big chef around here then? Rib speciality? Spent some time in Kansas City a few years back, they had whole big ol' competitions for their ribs there. Boy was that a nice thing t'drive your motorcycle up on, a wave'a that smell. Made your stomach start'ta dance like ya wouldn't believe." Remy picks up the glass that he'd been given then and gives it a sipping test.

Not one, but two orders of shitty nachos are brought out. They're the kind that are reheated but not soggy, and covered in off brand melted velveeta. Jalapenos have been added to each, and she sets one down in front of Duela first. "On the house," Anya tells her with a rueful smirk, before walking down to set the second order in front of Remy.

"My mohawk, Holden," Anya answers. "It's pink. And you should absolutely go to a baseball game. Nobody actually pays attention to the game, so it won't matter whether you can see it or not." She looks toward Remy as well "You go for the experience."

Now, when Remy starts talking about Kansas City, the young woman stands back a bit, crosses her arms and just grins. She's watching Hod, as if expecting some kind of response.

"Nobody ever called me Innocent," Duela replies thoughtfully. "I've been called a lot of things, though. I have them all written down somewhere. But I don't think I'm innocent. I've done bad things. God says sometimes good people do bad things. But God's not here right now. He stayed outside when I came in. I don't suppose God goes into bars, y'think?"

And then there are shitty nachos. "Oh my…These smell….positively AMAZING…Thank you, Not Luke."

Hod lifts a hand and waffles it in the air, oblivious to the held stare, which from him is just a reflection of Remy staring back at him in the shades, "Just got the job. Gotta redecorate the kitchens, set them up just so. Then, beat anyone that moves anything with a mop handle until they've learned not to do it again." he pantomimes something akin to a whack-a-mole game with one hand. "Luke's recipe on the ribs, somewhere between Memphis dry rub and a touch of the sweet vinegar of the Carolina style sauce. He's trying to keep the price down, so uses a cheaper cut of rib, I'mma see if we can't manage to still use a solid rack /and/ make it for under cost. Also try working in a second or third sauce, make a rack go further with simple variety. Lots to play with." he flashes a toothy grin, "I like a challenge." and his expression says it's true. He looks almost hungry for the 'battle' of it. "Burnt ends." he then offers up at Remy's story, his voice longing and meloncholy, "Maybe I can get Luke to okay a smoker, maybe make a limited run of brisket each day… hrm…"

He then turns said reflective gaze Anya's way, "Yes, I understood that. But what /is/ pink?" he leans forward and rests his chin on his fist and offers her what passes for an innocent expression on his half sodden face, "Enlighten me." Aaaand then Duela gets weird again and Hod turns to eye her, a different grin spreading across his lips, "Oh." he ponders, "I think you'd be surprised at the places one might find a god these days." He slips off of his stool and plucks up his cane, "I can't listen to her eat those things, it's just gonna make me all weepy. Hey Cajun," he tosses Remy's direction, "you think a place like this could do with a good creamy etouffee? I think we can get crawfish up here on the cheap at the market, rice doesn't cost much, do like a chili/chese sorta thing, fusion old stylings with local customs… to much?" if you're gonna ask someone about Cajun food and there's one in the bar, make use of the tools at hand!

Remy offers a soft thank you to Anya in French when she brings the nachos and he grins when he sees Duela get her own as well. He takes a moment to enjoy the 'shitty nachos' while the others talk, and takes a few sips from his beer.

"Baseball about the experience, huh?" He then asks. "Buncha drunk people shoutin' at da losin' team and cheerin' at da winnin' one? Mmm… think I just stick with dive bars and live music shows." There's a ghost of a grin on his lips then before he looks back to this Holden fella going on about the food.

"You get all dat goin' for this place and you're gonna make me a regular here, Mon ami." His glass is raised up for another drink before he shakes his head. "Ya know what they say about rice. It the perfect dish when you're feelin' like eatin' two thousand'a somethin'."

His odd looking eyes go up to Anya then and he points to the nachos. "You all are payin' me t'eat these, right?" He asks her, teasing of course.

"De nada," Anya tells Remy, before eyeballing him during his prosecution of baseball. "That's exactly why you go. It's classic, Grade-A American Entertainment!"

The response from Hod is… exactly what she expected. She's stifling a laugh, but can't help but widen her eyes and make a face that suggests she does in fact approve of his ideas. "Pink. It's like… well, imagine the color of candy. Si? It's on the hotter side, not the cool side. Like a nice, mellow sunset freebased a line of blow while listening to an all girl Sex Pistols cover band." Hey. It's the best she could do.

"Anya," she tells Duela, also serving to sort of answer Remy's question from earlier. "My name's Anya." She then casts a smirk toward Remy and says, "Hell no, but I won't charge you. I can probably dig up some Tums from the back room, if that helps?" She finally looks back to Hod and collects his empty glassware. "You ready for another round, Hod?"

"I haven't got anything else to wear," Duela replies to Remy's comment. "It all looks like this. I mean my other jacket has tails. And some of em have a bit of lace, just here." She gestures to the outside of her hip, where the corset ends and pale white skin begins." She tilts her head to the side, with a half-amused look, and lifts a shitty nacho toward her lips.

That's when Holden leaves in protest of her nacho eatin' noises. She lowers the shitty nacho back to the plate and says softly, half (or completely) to herself, "I'm a quiet eater." Her new friend having left her there to fend for herself against what promises to be the shittiest nachos east of the Pecos, she looks dismally down at the plate for a moment, and instead takes a mouthful of her lemonade. She stares at them for a moment, but hunger is a fickle beast, and beggars can't be choosers. She lifts the shitty nacho to her mouth, and stuffs it all in, closing her mouth before she crunches it. A look of relief crosses her face when it, in fact, does not crunch. She chews it ravenously and swallows the quiet nacho. Then she stuffs another in her mouth, and another, chewing enthusiastically now, and thankful that maybe the sound won't annoy anyone. "These are SPECTACULAR!" she comments with her mouth full. "The best shitty nachos I have EVER had the pleasure of masticating. Anya."

Hod noeyes Anya for a long moment, "You started that explination with the words 'imagine a color'." he points out evenly before grinning, "But keep working at it. Explaining color to a blind man has been the philisophical equivilent of Fermi's paradox for over two millenia, you crack that you'll be famous." he says with, what for him passes as, an ecouraging nod. Soggy beard and all. Oo! Booze! "Yes." he adds, "Yes I am." hey long as she's offering…

He immediately returns to his previous chair with the promise of more bourbon, having never gotten more then a step away from the stool to begin with. "I'm blind, /no ones/ a quiet eater to me." he quips to Duela. "Don't take it personal." But of course she has to ruin it by loving the nachos, and true to his word, Hod's expression instantly becomes crestfallen, "You poor poor creature." he laments.

Beer and nachos is pretty much exactly what Remy wanted when he saw this bar down the street from where he'd parked, so he's sitting here smiling at the added bonus of some amusing conversation to boot. "Maybe I go to a game then, maybe I shout at one'a the teams too, and maybe throw some peanuts around also. Who knows."

Remy lets his eyes go over the other three of them and he starts motioning toward one individually after the other. "We got ourselves a pink haired mohawked barkeep. We got ourselves a blind chef… and we got a…" His fingers wave around in Deula's direction. "Whatever that is… Game'a Thrones meets Star Trek Cosplayer." He teases the girl with the pale skin. "Who really likes the shitty nachos."

Another sip of his beer is had and he sets the glass down again. "This Luke really knows how t'draw in a diverse crowd, so it seem. Plus, it gonna be Luke's BBQ and Bar soon? Very good place. I'll leave a positive review on the internet… soon as I figure out da wifi password back 'ome."

Anya immediately gets to filling Holden's drinks, but as she does, her eyes are upon Duela. One of them is angled in an odd way, but she seems genuinely entertained by the strange patron. "He's sensitive," she mock whispers in Duela's direction. The exclamation of sheer bliss over those nachos, however… that certainly takes her by surprise.

"Wait 'til she tries the ribs," Anya tells the boys, before setting Hod's fresh drinks down in front of him. "Here I thought your new kitchen was gonna help make me famous," she quips, and throws the man a wink even though she knows he can't see it. "I'll have it figured out by the time I'm your age."

Turning, Anya collects the spent glassware and takes a moment to plunge it into the old three spot. Wash, rinse, sanitize. Boom, Bam, Bop. "If you're really lucky you'll catch a foul ball or something," Anya tells Remy. She then follows his observation with looks to Hod and Duela, before spinning her attention back to the Cajun. "So what's that make you, Pierre le Diable?" There is good natured jesting in her voice; she does dig the red eyes. "Don't count on it. Gut tells me 'Luke's' is always gonna be just 'Luke's'."

"I'm not poor. The whole city's my home. Bigger than any mansion," she expounds. She stuffs still more food in, careful to chew quietly, but efficiently, seemingly hell bent on eating the entire plate of nachos by the end of the scene. Or maybe she's just starving.

"Green is the smell of rain," Duela offers brightly between bites. "Red is burning, intense heat. Yellow is the warmth of sunshine, and purple is the sound of a girl eating shitty nachos with Zydeco playing in the background." Maybe there's no music here, but that doesn't mean she doesn't hear it. Especially with a Cajun in the room. "Black is sorrow. And grey is the heavy feeling in the air before a storm." She's clearly given this a good amount of thought. "Orange…well that's easy. Eat a tangerine. It's bright and cheerful. And white's the frozen smell in the air when it snows."

She shoves another nacho in her mouth, having wasted too much time already, exuberantly giving meaning to color, and likely to no avail. "Sometimes I think people who can't see are lucky. They can't see how horrible people are to one another. But God says that I shouldn't envy anyone, cause we all have our own battles. And God knows things like that."

Hod is sliding his fingers across the bartop cautiously even as Anya finishes pouring, until they gently tap glass. Then he's raising it's contents to his lips, "My age." he makes a noise as if he were chuckling, but it's swallowed up by the bourbon. He was about to say something to Remy or Anya when Duela speaks, and he goes shockingly still. Not like normal people still. Still like dead people. Still like stone. Still enough that it's hard for the normal mind to spot that and not immediately equate it with 'inanimate' in some way. People always move. They breath, they shift, they constantly adjust their ever chaning balance, their heart beats and blood causes the skin to flush or gently tick, a thousand tiny ways people move all the time without knowing it. And for a moment, Hod has none of them. Just a moment. Then he's setting his glass down on the bartop and he's silent.

The two glasses come up, each in rapid succession, each drained dry in a pair of heavy audible swallows, "I hear tell I wear a lot of black and white." he offers with a smile, but it's not a happy one. It's seen to many miles on it and he suddenly looks much older then he did a second before. "You're right, we don't get to see it." he says as he once more climbs off his stool, his hand cupping the silver head of his cane, "We have to feel it." As he walks past he reaches out to tap a fingertip atop the bar next to Duela's nachos, "You're wiser then your years child, becareful with that. Wisdom is seldom appreciated in it's time." he continues then towards the end of the bar and the kitchen doors beyond, "I should get back to work. You kids enjoy the nachos."

Remy continues to sit, listen, enjoy his food and drink. He does smirk at Duela's colorful poetry'ish rundown though. "I like that, cept Orange. Orange is da summer sunets that make us all feel better inside." He tosses in his own small adjustment there before his eyes go to the cook and he pats the bar softly twice. "Well, I come back by soon, see if you got this place in full BBQ mode or not, maybe got them southern dishes you spoke'a too. I'm curious t'see, t'say the least."

Remy starts to dig some money out of his jacket's inside pocket and he glances over to Anya and smirks at her question. "What does that make me?" He asks her. "That makes me the Ace'n the Sleeve, a'course." He tells her then, slyly pulling out a card from his denim sleeve to lift it up and show it off to her and Duela both.

… Its not an Ace, its a five of spades.

He holds it up there for a moment then lowers it back down and glances at its face. "Wait, that not the right card… Hold up." He pulls another one out. "That makes me the Ace'n the Sleeve…" He says again and flashes another card.

.. its not an ace either… its a two of diamonds.

He more quickly spins that one around and curses under his breath. "Damnit. That worked this mornin'." With a heavy sigh he drops some money on the bar, twice the value of what he ordered and stands up.

"Ah well. Time t'mosey along." His phone is picked up and put back inside his jacket then. "Thanks for the shitty nachos and chat, ya'll. Was memorable, t'say the very utmost least." With a grin, Remy makes for the doorway.

… If Anya checks the cash register, there's an Ace card tucked away in the center of its tray. All the money is still there too of course!

For all of Anya's smirking and jibing, she seems momentarily caught up in the conversation between Duela and Holden. Her motions slow, and she watches as Duela explains color in a way she's never quite thought of it before. Her attention then turns to Holden, and she becomes unnervingly quiet. She's normally quite the chatterbox, after all.

As Holden makes to get back to work, Anya just stands there, looking after him. A young woman that couldn't be older than 22 shouldn't have such a weight on her face, but the alt girl facade bleeds away to show just that.

Fortunately, it's short lived.

Her eyes turn back toward Remy and they are absolutely rolling. She's about to give him lip, but when his clever moment falls apart, the annoyed eye roll becomes humored. Humored changes to a big grin, and then she giggles aloud. "Keep trying, hombre. You'll get it."

She turns around to collect the money and goes to put it into the till. But just before she can close it, she catches sight of something that draws her eyebrows high upon her head. "De ninguna manera!" she whispers, and spins around to watch as Remy departs, before spinning back around to check the til. Not once, but twice. A soft sigh of relief escapes.

"… mierda."

"Frozen sorrow," Duela observes quietly as Holden exits to the kitchen. She frowns slightly, turning to Remy. "He can't see sunsets."

As she shoves the last nacho on her plate into her mouth, there is a knock on the front window. When she looks, all she sees is a shoulder disappearing out of view. "I gotta go! Can't keep God waiting," she says hastily, gathering her pouch up, considering, and then pouring the last things she owns of any value out onto the bar. "Play sometime. It's good for the soul," she says to Anya. The tokens bear the name of the Arcade, with a star imprinted in the center. With that, she stands and looks around to everyone, and tilts her head. Seeming to hear something the others don't, she calls out, "I'm coming!!"

Seconds later she is dashing out the door. The unfamiliar bell rings again. Maybe she has one tucked away somewhere. In the end, it doesn't really matter. Nothing does.

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