Lmae
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I went back and added a training chapter because I felt like the story needed it.
Do the timeskips work?
“I almost forgot about this. Yet another strike on the Salamanders.” Casimir's fingers traced over the photo of the news article, dated almost two years ago. It was a young man with dark brown hair under a flat cap, posing in front of a bike. His corduroy pants and matching jacket were modest but of good quality. Casimir frowned at his smiling face. Peter Pendergass. Another dead, common-born Weaver student tied to W.I.T. Academy. But this incident was before Jett showed up. An accidental poisoning within the Alchemy department.
He cut the article out of the newspaper and pinned it to the bulletin board he kept next to his desk. Numerous photos, news clippings, and notes he gathered from his Uncle and others hung on the board, tied together with thread. Casimir wrapped a string around the pin and glanced over at the mug shot of Jett. No, it can’t be tied to him. Not how the academy tried to cover it up by cremating the body without his sister's knowledge.
He attached the other end of the string to a pamphlet school. It was an impressive feat of architecture. An octagonal high-rise fashioned from mirrored glass and steel beams. Within the sunlight, it sparkled like a fine crystal. Nestled within the forest, far away from any settlement, it was a perfect little hideaway for Weaver students to practice their Aether without fear of hurting someone. A perfect place to get away with murder. There are also some more students missing who don’t seem to be tied to Jett.
Casimir frowned, and his gaze drifted to the photo of the school’s new chancellor, Hadrian Salamder. I should write a letter of interest to him.
A knock rattled on his door, and his eyes darted to the stack of pattern books thrown across his bed and on the floor, over at his time clock, and down at his clothes from the day before. Blast it, it’s 7 am already.
Before he could flip the board around and tidy up, Whitley entered his room and locked his gaze onto him. “You missed breakfast again. The
Lady is beginning to think you are trying to avoid her.”
The image of a woman with magenta ringlets framing perpetually stunned eyes appeared in Casimir’s mind, and he refrained from shaking his head. That woman is so sensitive.
Casimir smoothly rolled the board against the wall and began tidying up his bed. “No, of course not. I was busy studying. I’ll make sure to apologize when I see her.”
Whitley was scrutinizing him with the same razor-sharp gaze that tore apart his Weaver patterns and stances over his past weeks of training.
“Hmph, I hope so. I want to teach you how to weave a pattern without an Aetherian Loom today. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Whitley’s lips shifted to the left as a sideways frown, and he gestured over to the ten-by-fifteen-inch metallic contraption Casimir left on his desk.
“Show me.”
“As you wish.” Casimir sat at his desk and flexed his fingers. Knowing him, he would chastise me if I did anything too simple.
Casimir felt the subtle beating of his Aether heart and Aether warming his core. He hit the button on the loom, gathered the Aether into his pointer finger, and alighted with a bright yellow glow.
Steady. He placed it on the metal prong of the device's grid and attached an Aetherian thread to the metal prong.
Now, maintain control. His fingers traced against the device’s metal prong grid, interlocking threads of Aether and plotting them on the grid. He noticed earlier threads from before begin to lose their thickness, and Casimir moved accordingly. More Aether. Faster.
When he was finished, the pattern of an Aether storm shimmered on the loom. Great, a stable pattern.
Whitley rubbed his chin. “Your speed needs some work. And there is so much wasted Aether… but your control seems fair enough. You won’t accidentally blow up your hands at least.”
“Thanks.”
Whitley's gaze drifted downward, and by his grimace, Casimir could tell he saw something he did not like, but he headed for the door. “I’ll be in the training room. Make yourself presentable and meet me down there by 8.”
After Whitley left, Casimir groaned, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes, then turned to the board. “Later.”
***
Casimir found the halls of the Mindrattler estate drearily cold and empty, even more so the closer he got to the training room. The electrical lighting switched to torchlight when he reached the stairs. It’s like entering a mausoleum dedicated to a dead king who favored marble and snake motifs too much. But I guess this is fitting since there are only five Mindrattlers left. Six if you include Lady Mindrattler through marriage.
When he got to the bottom, he saw Whitley reading an extremely dry law book on one of the stone benches positioned between the columns that enclosed the training area. He swapped his usual housecoat for a loose-fitting shirt, and behind him was a middle-aged manservant standing attentively, just in case he needed a refill on his tea and refreshments.
“Whitley?” Casimir asked.
His cousin abandoned his book to give Casimir a once-over before leaving his seat. “We will start with the basics, come on.”
Casimir followed Whitley to a row of Weaver training dummies made from Aether-resistant material located on the far left wall. Whitley aimed his pointer finger at the dummy. “Casimir, what is the first step of weaving?”
I should expect he would quiz me. Casimir cleared his throat and said in an even tone, “To draw out Aether from your Aether heart and divert a safe amount to your pointer finger.”
Whitley swatted his answer away like a fly. “Before that.”
Casimir scratched the back of his head. “That is what I have always done, and you never corrected me for it.”
After a long, drawn-out sigh, Whitley asked, “Alright, on the rare occasion you run out of Aether while practicing your patterns on the loom, what do you do?”
“Ah, I gather Aether from the atmosphere first.”
Whitley continued without missing a beat, drawing Aether into his pointer finger, and causing it to glow cool blue that shimmered like an eerie beacon in the dim room. Then he shot Casimir a look and snapped, “I hope you are watching.”
“I am,” Casimir said, crossing his arms. Why is he treating me like I’m a dumb child? He is barely ten years my senior.
“No, not with your eyes. Better yet, just close them. With your level, sight will be just a distraction.”
You don’t have to say it that way. “Alright.” Casimir closed his eyes.
“Do you sense it?” Whitley asked in a calm, quiet voice. “My Aether. Focus on the quiet pulse of your Aether heart and follow the threads of Aether outward, then find mines.”
Casimir focused on the steady beat of his Aether heart. It's warm Aether drawing in and out like a breath. Then he sensed the threads of Aether extending outward, entering, and exiting his pores. He followed that thread out of his body and sensed the field of Aether. It was like feeling around in the dark, but he sensed a pulse of energy that glowed like a cool blue flame. He extended this Aether into that direction until he ran into a steady stream of Aether rushing in and out of a mass of glowing blue energy in human form. He felt his own Aether being pushed back against his cousins like two polarizing magnets. “Wow. I see it.”
“When threading Aether, you must make sure every movement is purposeful, while maintaining the right amount of Aether, ” Whitley hand moved, tracing a blue threads that form interlocking circular patterns. “Drawing in too much at your level and wielding it carelessly can lead to an injurious effect on your body.”
Casimir sensed a fast-moving energy blast shot through the air, next came the sound of running water slamming into the stiff padding of the training dummy, and the Aether disappeared. Was that Water Bullet?
“You may open them now.”
Casimir opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the training dummy that was now dripping wet.
Whitley stepped aside. “Your turn.”
Casimir gathered Aether to his pointer finger and traced his cousin’s steps. His finger moved more slowly in some parts, wandered slightly away from the lines, but the pattern held, and Casimir shot out a steady stream of water into the training dummy’s center mass. A sudden pain radiated from his pointer middle finger.
Blast it. I was too careless. He shook the pain out of his finger.
Whitley clicked his tongue. “Focus on maintaining the right amount of Aether around the bends. Again, but faster this time.”
***
Over the course of several weeks and many sore hands later, Casimir fell into a stance and readied himself for another sparring match against his cousin.
“Try to last a bit longer this time,” Whitley said as plain as white bread, and it stung Casimir’s pride more than usual.
“Alright. I will!” He answered sharply, hiding his anger and fronting a confident demeaner, but he could not help but glance over at the Pennyroyal doctor, enjoying a finger sandwich, and the manservant held a mop and bucket.
He could feel his stomach flipping already, his bile flowing, and a metallic taste rubbing against his tongue. Focus. It didn’t happen yet. This is just part of the process. Casimir shook his head. “I’m ready!”
Whitley threaded Aether, drew a diamond shape pattern, then, sequentially, he raised his glowing hand over the ground and pushed downward, creating an ‘X’ intention on the stone floor. He then stood firmly on its center and placed his right hand behind his back. “Make sure your first move counts. Begin.”
Iron Sinew. Casimir weaved a square pattern, strengthening his muscles and encasing his body in blue Aether. He stringed another pattern. First, a Shadowstep, sending him to Whitley’s right at a safe distance, then weaved several Aether Arrows in quick succession. The luminous projectiles zipped through the air towards Whitley’s chest.
In return, Whitley spun on his heels and, with a hand that moved faster than Casimir’s eyes could follow, sent all three Arrows back to Casimir’s with additional speed.
The first arrow shattered Casimir’s body shield like a glass hurled into concrete. The force knocked him backwards, and he narrowly evaded the remaining two arrows with a roll.
“You are getting a little better at stringing your patterns, but you need to do better than that.”
Casimir sensed Whitley’s Aether spike, so he got onto his feet and bolted. Blast it!
At the speed of a snap of a finger, Whitley sent a jet of water with the size and speed of a sedan. Casimir dove out of the way, but it clipped his legs and carried him across the arena. He was utterly soaked when he rolled to a stop. Casimir clenched his teeth.
“Tch.” He fought through the pain in his legs and stumbled onto his feet, but his cousin kept weaving.
A compressed air pellet struck Casimir, three in the chest, stealing his breath, and two in the legs, causing him to fall to the ground.
He is relentless. I need to find cover.
Casimir scrambled to his feet and Shadowstepped behind a pillar.
“Oh, finally, you are using your head.” Whitley's usually dry voice was lightened with amused mockery.
Casimir leaned against the stone and caught his breath. I need to get closer and then maybe–
Whitley curved one of his air pellets and struck Casimir in the shoulder, forcing him to his knees.
“Ow! Damn it.” He seethed and kept low to the ground.
“Casimir, you know I can get you there too, right?” Whitley teased.
Why is the only time he seems to be in a good mood is when he is torturing me?
Casimir clenched his teeth and, through the pain, weaved Iron Sinew again, then Shadowstep to another pillar. He did it again until he reached the closet to Whitley and Shadowstep behind Whitley and diverted the bulk of his Aether into his palm.
I’ll get him with this. Body Blow. His palm struck Whitley’s back and aimed to inject into his opponent. But Whitley was impenetrable, and his Aether tore through Casimir’s and shot right through him.
He was sent flying along with the rest of his Aether landed hard on the stone floor. The only thing he could manage was to empty his breakfast, and darkness overtook him.
***
I’m already getting sick of this. Casimir lay in bed, bandaged up and with a weak stomach.
He sensed a presence near him and saw Whitley reading in an armchair next to the fireplace.
I know that I’m no match for a Master Weaver, but that was pathetic. Casimir sat up.
“You’re awake, good.” Whitley put his book away. “Now we can talk about business.”
“Shouldn’t you get the doctor first?”
Whitley handwaved his suggestion away. “He already checked you. And I can sense that your Aether is stable.”
“Very well, what is it?”
“I believe it is time that you apprentice under the Pennyroyals,” Whitley said plainly.
“What?”
“I taught you enough, and I have business to do at the capital.” He rose from his seat and stretched. “Lady Pennyroyal has agreed to receive. This will be good for your development, and you might meet someone there. You're what, twenty, and without a betrothal. Ridiculous.”
“I can still do all of that at—”
“What W.I.T?” Whitley scoffed. “Casimir, it is tradition for our two houses to train each other's apprentices, and I’ll be damned if a Mindrattler goes to a Weaver academy with filled commoners.”
Telling him I want to solve a murder isn’t going to work… I have to convince him another way. Casimir looked at his cousin confidently and spoke in a steady voice, “I still want to go. I could forge new connections, and the Salmanders are quickly rising to be a formidable family. They could be useful.”
“They are too uppity for my tastes. Boasting that they are one of the top four Noble Weaver Families. Swallowing up minor Weaver families to extend their reach. It is best that you avoid them. They are the type to knock you down to usurp our position. We have enough problems. ”
“Well, shouldn’t they be watched?”
Whitley raised an eyebrow. “You want to spy on them?”
“Yes. Or at least make them think they owe us a favor.” Casimir smiled. “As the head of my late father’s side branch, I am willing to take more risky ventures if it benefits the family. Let me go, and I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
Whitley stroked his chin in thought and then cracked a devious smile. “Alright. I will give you my blessing and help you draft a letter to Hadrian Salamander.”
“Thank you, Lord Mindrattler.”
“Also, telling me that you want to air out the Salamander’s dirty laundry would have had the same outcome. It was a nice lie, but you need to do better with me.”
Do the timeskips work?
“I almost forgot about this. Yet another strike on the Salamanders.” Casimir's fingers traced over the photo of the news article, dated almost two years ago. It was a young man with dark brown hair under a flat cap, posing in front of a bike. His corduroy pants and matching jacket were modest but of good quality. Casimir frowned at his smiling face. Peter Pendergass. Another dead, common-born Weaver student tied to W.I.T. Academy. But this incident was before Jett showed up. An accidental poisoning within the Alchemy department.
He cut the article out of the newspaper and pinned it to the bulletin board he kept next to his desk. Numerous photos, news clippings, and notes he gathered from his Uncle and others hung on the board, tied together with thread. Casimir wrapped a string around the pin and glanced over at the mug shot of Jett. No, it can’t be tied to him. Not how the academy tried to cover it up by cremating the body without his sister's knowledge.
He attached the other end of the string to a pamphlet school. It was an impressive feat of architecture. An octagonal high-rise fashioned from mirrored glass and steel beams. Within the sunlight, it sparkled like a fine crystal. Nestled within the forest, far away from any settlement, it was a perfect little hideaway for Weaver students to practice their Aether without fear of hurting someone. A perfect place to get away with murder. There are also some more students missing who don’t seem to be tied to Jett.
Casimir frowned, and his gaze drifted to the photo of the school’s new chancellor, Hadrian Salamder. I should write a letter of interest to him.
A knock rattled on his door, and his eyes darted to the stack of pattern books thrown across his bed and on the floor, over at his time clock, and down at his clothes from the day before. Blast it, it’s 7 am already.
Before he could flip the board around and tidy up, Whitley entered his room and locked his gaze onto him. “You missed breakfast again. The
Lady is beginning to think you are trying to avoid her.”
The image of a woman with magenta ringlets framing perpetually stunned eyes appeared in Casimir’s mind, and he refrained from shaking his head. That woman is so sensitive.
Casimir smoothly rolled the board against the wall and began tidying up his bed. “No, of course not. I was busy studying. I’ll make sure to apologize when I see her.”
Whitley was scrutinizing him with the same razor-sharp gaze that tore apart his Weaver patterns and stances over his past weeks of training.
“Hmph, I hope so. I want to teach you how to weave a pattern without an Aetherian Loom today. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Whitley’s lips shifted to the left as a sideways frown, and he gestured over to the ten-by-fifteen-inch metallic contraption Casimir left on his desk.
“Show me.”
“As you wish.” Casimir sat at his desk and flexed his fingers. Knowing him, he would chastise me if I did anything too simple.
Casimir felt the subtle beating of his Aether heart and Aether warming his core. He hit the button on the loom, gathered the Aether into his pointer finger, and alighted with a bright yellow glow.
Steady. He placed it on the metal prong of the device's grid and attached an Aetherian thread to the metal prong.
Now, maintain control. His fingers traced against the device’s metal prong grid, interlocking threads of Aether and plotting them on the grid. He noticed earlier threads from before begin to lose their thickness, and Casimir moved accordingly. More Aether. Faster.
When he was finished, the pattern of an Aether storm shimmered on the loom. Great, a stable pattern.
Whitley rubbed his chin. “Your speed needs some work. And there is so much wasted Aether… but your control seems fair enough. You won’t accidentally blow up your hands at least.”
“Thanks.”
Whitley's gaze drifted downward, and by his grimace, Casimir could tell he saw something he did not like, but he headed for the door. “I’ll be in the training room. Make yourself presentable and meet me down there by 8.”
After Whitley left, Casimir groaned, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes, then turned to the board. “Later.”
***
Casimir found the halls of the Mindrattler estate drearily cold and empty, even more so the closer he got to the training room. The electrical lighting switched to torchlight when he reached the stairs. It’s like entering a mausoleum dedicated to a dead king who favored marble and snake motifs too much. But I guess this is fitting since there are only five Mindrattlers left. Six if you include Lady Mindrattler through marriage.
When he got to the bottom, he saw Whitley reading an extremely dry law book on one of the stone benches positioned between the columns that enclosed the training area. He swapped his usual housecoat for a loose-fitting shirt, and behind him was a middle-aged manservant standing attentively, just in case he needed a refill on his tea and refreshments.
“Whitley?” Casimir asked.
His cousin abandoned his book to give Casimir a once-over before leaving his seat. “We will start with the basics, come on.”
Casimir followed Whitley to a row of Weaver training dummies made from Aether-resistant material located on the far left wall. Whitley aimed his pointer finger at the dummy. “Casimir, what is the first step of weaving?”
I should expect he would quiz me. Casimir cleared his throat and said in an even tone, “To draw out Aether from your Aether heart and divert a safe amount to your pointer finger.”
Whitley swatted his answer away like a fly. “Before that.”
Casimir scratched the back of his head. “That is what I have always done, and you never corrected me for it.”
After a long, drawn-out sigh, Whitley asked, “Alright, on the rare occasion you run out of Aether while practicing your patterns on the loom, what do you do?”
“Ah, I gather Aether from the atmosphere first.”
Whitley continued without missing a beat, drawing Aether into his pointer finger, and causing it to glow cool blue that shimmered like an eerie beacon in the dim room. Then he shot Casimir a look and snapped, “I hope you are watching.”
“I am,” Casimir said, crossing his arms. Why is he treating me like I’m a dumb child? He is barely ten years my senior.
“No, not with your eyes. Better yet, just close them. With your level, sight will be just a distraction.”
You don’t have to say it that way. “Alright.” Casimir closed his eyes.
“Do you sense it?” Whitley asked in a calm, quiet voice. “My Aether. Focus on the quiet pulse of your Aether heart and follow the threads of Aether outward, then find mines.”
Casimir focused on the steady beat of his Aether heart. It's warm Aether drawing in and out like a breath. Then he sensed the threads of Aether extending outward, entering, and exiting his pores. He followed that thread out of his body and sensed the field of Aether. It was like feeling around in the dark, but he sensed a pulse of energy that glowed like a cool blue flame. He extended this Aether into that direction until he ran into a steady stream of Aether rushing in and out of a mass of glowing blue energy in human form. He felt his own Aether being pushed back against his cousins like two polarizing magnets. “Wow. I see it.”
“When threading Aether, you must make sure every movement is purposeful, while maintaining the right amount of Aether, ” Whitley hand moved, tracing a blue threads that form interlocking circular patterns. “Drawing in too much at your level and wielding it carelessly can lead to an injurious effect on your body.”
Casimir sensed a fast-moving energy blast shot through the air, next came the sound of running water slamming into the stiff padding of the training dummy, and the Aether disappeared. Was that Water Bullet?
“You may open them now.”
Casimir opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the training dummy that was now dripping wet.
Whitley stepped aside. “Your turn.”
Casimir gathered Aether to his pointer finger and traced his cousin’s steps. His finger moved more slowly in some parts, wandered slightly away from the lines, but the pattern held, and Casimir shot out a steady stream of water into the training dummy’s center mass. A sudden pain radiated from his pointer middle finger.
Blast it. I was too careless. He shook the pain out of his finger.
Whitley clicked his tongue. “Focus on maintaining the right amount of Aether around the bends. Again, but faster this time.”
***
Over the course of several weeks and many sore hands later, Casimir fell into a stance and readied himself for another sparring match against his cousin.
“Try to last a bit longer this time,” Whitley said as plain as white bread, and it stung Casimir’s pride more than usual.
“Alright. I will!” He answered sharply, hiding his anger and fronting a confident demeaner, but he could not help but glance over at the Pennyroyal doctor, enjoying a finger sandwich, and the manservant held a mop and bucket.
He could feel his stomach flipping already, his bile flowing, and a metallic taste rubbing against his tongue. Focus. It didn’t happen yet. This is just part of the process. Casimir shook his head. “I’m ready!”
Whitley threaded Aether, drew a diamond shape pattern, then, sequentially, he raised his glowing hand over the ground and pushed downward, creating an ‘X’ intention on the stone floor. He then stood firmly on its center and placed his right hand behind his back. “Make sure your first move counts. Begin.”
Iron Sinew. Casimir weaved a square pattern, strengthening his muscles and encasing his body in blue Aether. He stringed another pattern. First, a Shadowstep, sending him to Whitley’s right at a safe distance, then weaved several Aether Arrows in quick succession. The luminous projectiles zipped through the air towards Whitley’s chest.
In return, Whitley spun on his heels and, with a hand that moved faster than Casimir’s eyes could follow, sent all three Arrows back to Casimir’s with additional speed.
The first arrow shattered Casimir’s body shield like a glass hurled into concrete. The force knocked him backwards, and he narrowly evaded the remaining two arrows with a roll.
“You are getting a little better at stringing your patterns, but you need to do better than that.”
Casimir sensed Whitley’s Aether spike, so he got onto his feet and bolted. Blast it!
At the speed of a snap of a finger, Whitley sent a jet of water with the size and speed of a sedan. Casimir dove out of the way, but it clipped his legs and carried him across the arena. He was utterly soaked when he rolled to a stop. Casimir clenched his teeth.
“Tch.” He fought through the pain in his legs and stumbled onto his feet, but his cousin kept weaving.
A compressed air pellet struck Casimir, three in the chest, stealing his breath, and two in the legs, causing him to fall to the ground.
He is relentless. I need to find cover.
Casimir scrambled to his feet and Shadowstepped behind a pillar.
“Oh, finally, you are using your head.” Whitley's usually dry voice was lightened with amused mockery.
Casimir leaned against the stone and caught his breath. I need to get closer and then maybe–
Whitley curved one of his air pellets and struck Casimir in the shoulder, forcing him to his knees.
“Ow! Damn it.” He seethed and kept low to the ground.
“Casimir, you know I can get you there too, right?” Whitley teased.
Why is the only time he seems to be in a good mood is when he is torturing me?
Casimir clenched his teeth and, through the pain, weaved Iron Sinew again, then Shadowstep to another pillar. He did it again until he reached the closet to Whitley and Shadowstep behind Whitley and diverted the bulk of his Aether into his palm.
I’ll get him with this. Body Blow. His palm struck Whitley’s back and aimed to inject into his opponent. But Whitley was impenetrable, and his Aether tore through Casimir’s and shot right through him.
He was sent flying along with the rest of his Aether landed hard on the stone floor. The only thing he could manage was to empty his breakfast, and darkness overtook him.
***
I’m already getting sick of this. Casimir lay in bed, bandaged up and with a weak stomach.
He sensed a presence near him and saw Whitley reading in an armchair next to the fireplace.
I know that I’m no match for a Master Weaver, but that was pathetic. Casimir sat up.
“You’re awake, good.” Whitley put his book away. “Now we can talk about business.”
“Shouldn’t you get the doctor first?”
Whitley handwaved his suggestion away. “He already checked you. And I can sense that your Aether is stable.”
“Very well, what is it?”
“I believe it is time that you apprentice under the Pennyroyals,” Whitley said plainly.
“What?”
“I taught you enough, and I have business to do at the capital.” He rose from his seat and stretched. “Lady Pennyroyal has agreed to receive. This will be good for your development, and you might meet someone there. You're what, twenty, and without a betrothal. Ridiculous.”
“I can still do all of that at—”
“What W.I.T?” Whitley scoffed. “Casimir, it is tradition for our two houses to train each other's apprentices, and I’ll be damned if a Mindrattler goes to a Weaver academy with filled commoners.”
Telling him I want to solve a murder isn’t going to work… I have to convince him another way. Casimir looked at his cousin confidently and spoke in a steady voice, “I still want to go. I could forge new connections, and the Salmanders are quickly rising to be a formidable family. They could be useful.”
“They are too uppity for my tastes. Boasting that they are one of the top four Noble Weaver Families. Swallowing up minor Weaver families to extend their reach. It is best that you avoid them. They are the type to knock you down to usurp our position. We have enough problems. ”
“Well, shouldn’t they be watched?”
Whitley raised an eyebrow. “You want to spy on them?”
“Yes. Or at least make them think they owe us a favor.” Casimir smiled. “As the head of my late father’s side branch, I am willing to take more risky ventures if it benefits the family. Let me go, and I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
Whitley stroked his chin in thought and then cracked a devious smile. “Alright. I will give you my blessing and help you draft a letter to Hadrian Salamander.”
“Thank you, Lord Mindrattler.”
“Also, telling me that you want to air out the Salamander’s dirty laundry would have had the same outcome. It was a nice lie, but you need to do better with me.”
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