ic contact//CURRENT
[INSERT DEFAULT INBOX VOICE MESSAGE/EMAIL GREETING HERE]
email: ENABLED (will go unanswered)
text: ENABLED (high probability these will go unanswered)
phone/audio: ENABLED
video: ENABLED
latest status update 3/6/2018
[INSERT DEFAULT INBOX VOICE MESSAGE/EMAIL GREETING HERE]
email: ENABLED (will go unanswered)
text: ENABLED (high probability these will go unanswered)
phone/audio: ENABLED
video: ENABLED
latest status update 3/6/2018
[Originally, D33 was going to send Marty a text message. Then, of course, he remembered the the entire reason for his contacting Martin was in regard to the fact that the boy can't read.
[D33 finds this predicament so frustrating that he nearly forgoes contacting him at all. But, eventually, he resigns himself to using his voice - that way Martin won't see the irritation on his face while they're speaking.]
Good evening, Martin.
Have you continued to practice your reading skills since our last meeting?
[D33 finds this predicament so frustrating that he nearly forgoes contacting him at all. But, eventually, he resigns himself to using his voice - that way Martin won't see the irritation on his face while they're speaking.]
Good evening, Martin.
Have you continued to practice your reading skills since our last meeting?
[EVER GET HEART PALPITATIONS FROM JUST HEARING SOMEONE'S VOICE?? Marty has. though D33's no villain, he sure does pack a lot of unpleasantness in memory, and just the start of that message puts the Darkov on edge. what did he do wrong now.
give him a couple minutes here: responding directly to a voicemail is still kind of tough to do on purpose.
there we go:]
He-hello? Uh, um. About the reading? Right? Yes, um. I...I still practice...
give him a couple minutes here: responding directly to a voicemail is still kind of tough to do on purpose.
there we go:]
He-hello? Uh, um. About the reading? Right? Yes, um. I...I still practice...
[ In the coming days, Martin will be shown a corner of the cupboard closest to the back door, the cupboard clearly labeled MARTIN'S THINGS. In it, there are:
- Two glasses
- A medium-sized bucket
- A bag containing the following small items: toothbrushes (4), toothpaste, sugar-free gum, wet wipes, tissues, bandages and a small stopwatch
He'll be instructed that this will be here for when he needs todo that gross shit summon his weapon, particularly if he's doing so in Rex's absence. If any of the items require replenishing, he is to notify Rex. ]
- Two glasses
- A medium-sized bucket
- A bag containing the following small items: toothbrushes (4), toothpaste, sugar-free gum, wet wipes, tissues, bandages and a small stopwatch
He'll be instructed that this will be here for when he needs to
Edited 2018-05-30 21:18 (UTC)
hello!
this is deku again, from before
how are you and your friend doing?
i hope rex-san is feeling better
this is deku again, from before
how are you and your friend doing?
i hope rex-san is feeling better
[to Marty's credit, he does actually notice he's got a written message. he can even read it! mostly. "deku" trips him up, and he doesn't know what a "san" is, or whether or not Rex has one.
and because the universe is kind, he doesn't have time to get up and go ask Rex about it, because Martin just fiddling around with the device hits the call back function, which sets Deku's own device to ringing.]
Call...Calling? [...
??
...OH...] Uhh...!
and because the universe is kind, he doesn't have time to get up and go ask Rex about it, because Martin just fiddling around with the device hits the call back function, which sets Deku's own device to ringing.]
Call...Calling? [...
??
...OH...] Uhh...!
[ Once the crowds have been settled down and Rex breaks free of his duty, the first thing he does after tending to his wounds is give Martin a call - a proper one this time. ]
Hey, kid. It's Rex.
[ REX, HE KNOWS IT'S YOU. ]
How're you holding up?
Hey, kid. It's Rex.
[ REX, HE KNOWS IT'S YOU. ]
How're you holding up?
Hey, Martin. [here's riptide in his natural form! the voice is the same, at least, though it has more of a metallic twinge to it.] Is everything okay? Maurtia Falls is getting pretty wild...
[there's a shout. riptide looks down. unimpressed.]
Tch. Check out this idiot that thinks he can even chip my paint! Anyway, let me know how you're doing!
[there's a shout. riptide looks down. unimpressed.]
Tch. Check out this idiot that thinks he can even chip my paint! Anyway, let me know how you're doing!
[ When she doesn't hear a response, she wonders if the text didn't go through properly. She opts for a voicemail instead. Nobody misses those, right? ]
Hello again, Martin. I don't know if you saw my previous message, though I am sorry to leave now two messages.
[ Her tone is warm and friendly as always. ]
I was wondering how you have been. I would like to talk to you when you have a chance.
Hello again, Martin. I don't know if you saw my previous message, though I am sorry to leave now two messages.
[ Her tone is warm and friendly as always. ]
I was wondering how you have been. I would like to talk to you when you have a chance.
[ This is foolish.
Rex knows it's foolish. He could call Martin, try to explain to him what had happened, and leave it at that. But the more he ruminates on it, the worse it feels. Would he tell a brother that he'd never see a beloved friend again over the comms if all he had to do was go through a day's travel to tell him in-person?
(Yes. He doesn't get days off to go travel.)
Scratch that - would he ever tell a brother that he'd never see a beloved friend again over the comms if he had any other choice available to him that didn't overlap with his duty? Absolutely not. And why should this be any different? It's more than likely that they'll never see Anderson again. That's not something to be delivered callously, remotely. Rex is unfortunately aware of the fact that if he explained out loud what he was going to do, others would call it foolish and excessive, but the most likely person to point that out is Anderson and she's not here to call him out on his more... dramatic inclinations anymore.
He's got a day off anyway. And he could use the fresh air. And the exercise. So really, the trek over there isn't so wasted after all.
Martin may see a figure making its way towards him just as the sun begins to set. Then, slightly winded, a familiar voice: ] Martin?
[ When Rex is close enough to see properly, it's clear that he didn't escape from the riots unscathed - there's some bruising creeping down beneath his collar, a butterfly bandage along his jaw and some additional bruising on his face - but he looks otherwise unharmed, as hale and hearty as the last time Martin had seen him. ]
Rex knows it's foolish. He could call Martin, try to explain to him what had happened, and leave it at that. But the more he ruminates on it, the worse it feels. Would he tell a brother that he'd never see a beloved friend again over the comms if all he had to do was go through a day's travel to tell him in-person?
(Yes. He doesn't get days off to go travel.)
Scratch that - would he ever tell a brother that he'd never see a beloved friend again over the comms if he had any other choice available to him that didn't overlap with his duty? Absolutely not. And why should this be any different? It's more than likely that they'll never see Anderson again. That's not something to be delivered callously, remotely. Rex is unfortunately aware of the fact that if he explained out loud what he was going to do, others would call it foolish and excessive, but the most likely person to point that out is Anderson and she's not here to call him out on his more... dramatic inclinations anymore.
He's got a day off anyway. And he could use the fresh air. And the exercise. So really, the trek over there isn't so wasted after all.
Martin may see a figure making its way towards him just as the sun begins to set. Then, slightly winded, a familiar voice: ] Martin?
[ When Rex is close enough to see properly, it's clear that he didn't escape from the riots unscathed - there's some bruising creeping down beneath his collar, a butterfly bandage along his jaw and some additional bruising on his face - but he looks otherwise unharmed, as hale and hearty as the last time Martin had seen him. ]
[Martin has it in his head that walking on and far out from the resort, on until he can't see nor recognize where he is, is a pretty good idea. it sits heavily in his head and does a good job of smothering any anxieties that dare try to counter it -- all those what-ifs and second-guesses and logical reasons to turn around before doing something stupid like getting lost in the mountains.
it's a cozy kind of gloom, because it alleviates some of the pain that comes with being on edge in a new place, estranged from his familiar supports. some of which haven't shown their faces in some time, or...decided to not ever show up again anyway. so this is fine. it's the kind of gloom and sad where it can almost be mistaken for numbness -- but to be numb is to feel nothing, and he has yet to escape feeling altogether.
it's why instead of jolting in alarm as the crunching of sticks and dead leaves becomes clearly not of his own doing, Martin thinks a dim oh and comes to a stop, staring about. his eyes fix on the figure tromping up toward him, just as dimly wondering if it's some stranger, or perhaps one of the others who accompanied them. he does hope it's not Ryo...
...and he definitely didn't expect it to be Rex. that does cause a little flutter in him -- distant, but still there.]
Rex...? [he slowly begins to frown, his eyes narrowing as he realizes how little this actually makes sense. he even goes so far as to rub his eyes and check again, and lo, he's just closer than before.]
...What...?
it's a cozy kind of gloom, because it alleviates some of the pain that comes with being on edge in a new place, estranged from his familiar supports. some of which haven't shown their faces in some time, or...decided to not ever show up again anyway. so this is fine. it's the kind of gloom and sad where it can almost be mistaken for numbness -- but to be numb is to feel nothing, and he has yet to escape feeling altogether.
it's why instead of jolting in alarm as the crunching of sticks and dead leaves becomes clearly not of his own doing, Martin thinks a dim oh and comes to a stop, staring about. his eyes fix on the figure tromping up toward him, just as dimly wondering if it's some stranger, or perhaps one of the others who accompanied them. he does hope it's not Ryo...
...and he definitely didn't expect it to be Rex. that does cause a little flutter in him -- distant, but still there.]
Rex...? [he slowly begins to frown, his eyes narrowing as he realizes how little this actually makes sense. he even goes so far as to rub his eyes and check again, and lo, he's just closer than before.]
...What...?
[It's been a while since they last spoke, and though D33 would prefer to pretend that he doesn't care one way or another how Martin is faring after last month's triple threat shit show, the truth is that he kind of does. It isn't necessarily because Martin contacted him while he was being affected by the age event, but being thirteen again did bring back a sense of vulnerability and fear that D33 hadn't even realized he'd forgotten. It's had him thinking about Martin - a lot. So, he checks in.
[Or, he tries to.]
Good afternoon, Martin.
[After he receives no response...]
Martin. This is D33. Do let me know that you have gotten this message and that you are in good health.
[Suddenly #concerned?]
[Or, he tries to.]
Good afternoon, Martin.
[After he receives no response...]
Martin. This is D33. Do let me know that you have gotten this message and that you are in good health.
[Suddenly #concerned?]
[the longest, most pained internal no. no to this. if anyone comes close to resembling Alex in his mind, this person does — and not even very much through intent! just unfortunate tones of voice, disposition, stares...
he wishes D33 could just not be bothered to ask; it makes no sense to him as to why.
...and just ignoring the messsge and sleeping doesn’t seem to do it. is he really going to keep asking?
Archie’s shown him the keyboard on this thing probably a dozen-plus times, but this’ll be its first use.]
i herd it
he wishes D33 could just not be bothered to ask; it makes no sense to him as to why.
...and just ignoring the messsge and sleeping doesn’t seem to do it. is he really going to keep asking?
Archie’s shown him the keyboard on this thing probably a dozen-plus times, but this’ll be its first use.]
i herd it
THAT SAME THING HAPPENS ON MY PHONE WTF I know how to fix it tho
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
d33tached
- 2018-08-17 02:26 (UTC) - Expandedit a comment u did on a computer and copy the code from there
d33tached
- 2018-08-17 02:41 (UTC) - Expand[it doesn't take a genius to figure that losing rex - the very backbone of martin's life here might result in some bad habits reforming.
he leaves martin a message at around... 6pm. nothing too late. just checking in.]
Hey, Martin. I'll bring Mightynea over tomorrow. Is that okay?
he leaves martin a message at around... 6pm. nothing too late. just checking in.]
Hey, Martin. I'll bring Mightynea over tomorrow. Is that okay?
Backdated a little to mid january look don't @ me: voice;
flightforfreedom
2019-02-04 02:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Hey, Martin, it's Poe.
You at home? I've got something for you.
You at home? I've got something for you.
[ Everything happens in order. First, he and Andy had taken Cassandra down. Then there had been no time for mourning. The proper authorities had to be called, and reports had to be made. They had to do it right. Rex knows all about that sort of thing - no matter what you lose or what you go through, you have to do what needs to be done. Everything else can wait. If you let things just happen, you've got the recipe for a constant breakdown - and for reconditioning. It's what he's always done, and it's what he intends to continue to do.
He wouldn't call it easy, exactly. But it's not as difficult as you'd think it'd be either. Rex has always been good at compartmentalizing and shoving things down so that he can deal with them when he's well and truly alone.
But there's one way in which this isn't at home. He doesn't get to go to the Captain's quarters and try to collapse into something resembling sleep, nursing his wounds and keeping everything for tomorrow. No. He's going home to someone who will be expecting one of the moons of his life to be returning with him. Before he can tell anyone else, do anything else, he needs to tell Martin.
He doesn't want to. But, like everything else, it must be done. He lets Andy go off, nurse what wounds remain from the battle, change out of her bloodied clothes. It's up to him to call out, ] Martin? Come here. We need to talk.
[ He's as steady as he always is. He has to be. Someone's got to be, and it won't be Martin. ]
He wouldn't call it easy, exactly. But it's not as difficult as you'd think it'd be either. Rex has always been good at compartmentalizing and shoving things down so that he can deal with them when he's well and truly alone.
But there's one way in which this isn't at home. He doesn't get to go to the Captain's quarters and try to collapse into something resembling sleep, nursing his wounds and keeping everything for tomorrow. No. He's going home to someone who will be expecting one of the moons of his life to be returning with him. Before he can tell anyone else, do anything else, he needs to tell Martin.
He doesn't want to. But, like everything else, it must be done. He lets Andy go off, nurse what wounds remain from the battle, change out of her bloodied clothes. It's up to him to call out, ] Martin? Come here. We need to talk.
[ He's as steady as he always is. He has to be. Someone's got to be, and it won't be Martin. ]
[the creak of a door upstairs precedes footfalls down the stairs. Martin stops on the last step, catching himself by the banister to lean forward and peer out from kitchen to foyer to spot Rex, eyebrows raising.]
You're back...
[he hops off the step and heads over, only relieved for a beat before he realizes Rex is alone. where's Andy? where's Cass?
he hesitates at the look on Rex's face, slowing to a stop just a few steps shy. he doesn't know what, precisely, but he can feel something's wrong. it can't be his imagination.]
You're back...
[he hops off the step and heads over, only relieved for a beat before he realizes Rex is alone. where's Andy? where's Cass?
he hesitates at the look on Rex's face, slowing to a stop just a few steps shy. he doesn't know what, precisely, but he can feel something's wrong. it can't be his imagination.]
[ Cassandra's been gone for a few days now. Everyone who needed to be told has been told, Woden's house has been cleaned and cleared, and the investigation is well on its way to a close. Everything that has to be done has been done. All that's left is to clean up Cassandra's things. Not to get rid of them - he's going to wait a good month before delving into any of that; he still hopes that she'll come back any day now - but to tidy up. When she comes back, it ought to be to clean sheets and folded clothing, making sure everything is neat and tidy and as it should be in health, not the wild disarray of her illness. It's the same thing he'd done for Andy when she had gone. For all that he'd gotten on Andy's case for bringing up the laundry all the time, she's right in at least a little of its significance; for someone as undemonstrative as Rex, it's one of the many small ways for him to show that he's there to take care of them.
So she'll know, when she's back, that -- well, she'll know that she was missed. Of course she knows. Rex doesn't know what he's trying to prove here. Maybe it is just laundry. Maybe it's just wanting her to come to something that feels decent when everything else has changed. Who the hell knows if she'll even want to stay, after everything? He'd shot her. Wanting it theoretically and having it done in practice are two very different things.
He scrubs at the counter a little more fiercely, getting rid of the dust that had gathered in nooks and crannies - not because of her absence, but because Cassandra is a truly atrocious duster in Rex's esteemed opinion - before getting started on folding her clothes and putting them back in her dresser. He remembers the first time he'd done this for her, how peeved she'd seemed at the whole affair, how much she'd tried to stop him from simply helping. She turned away his help whenever he'd offered it, every time he offered it. It had never stopped him. He thought that perhaps Cassandra needed someone like him in her life, who would want to help her no matter how many times she turned them away. Not that it seemed to amount to much. But she helped him, in ways that he couldn't quite put words to. She wasn't always kind, but she was always good. Decent in a way few others were.
The problem with maintaining the philosophy that he can shove everything to the side until he's alone and can break down in peace is that in this world, in this place, he's rarely alone. Maybe that's why grief hits him now of all times, as suddenly and as insidiously as though someone had just slipped a knife through his ribs. He raises his hand to his mouth, bent over as a sob escapes him. Not now, he thinks, but the unwelcome answer is, if not now, then when? The more pragmatic answer is, too bad. Either way, he can't stop it after it hit, a pile of half-folded laundry behind him, the bed rid of its old bedsheets but not yet changed, and there he is hunched over her dresser, trying to dam the inevitable.
He hadn't been expecting this. And maybe that's why he hadn't remembered to close the damn door. ]
So she'll know, when she's back, that -- well, she'll know that she was missed. Of course she knows. Rex doesn't know what he's trying to prove here. Maybe it is just laundry. Maybe it's just wanting her to come to something that feels decent when everything else has changed. Who the hell knows if she'll even want to stay, after everything? He'd shot her. Wanting it theoretically and having it done in practice are two very different things.
He scrubs at the counter a little more fiercely, getting rid of the dust that had gathered in nooks and crannies - not because of her absence, but because Cassandra is a truly atrocious duster in Rex's esteemed opinion - before getting started on folding her clothes and putting them back in her dresser. He remembers the first time he'd done this for her, how peeved she'd seemed at the whole affair, how much she'd tried to stop him from simply helping. She turned away his help whenever he'd offered it, every time he offered it. It had never stopped him. He thought that perhaps Cassandra needed someone like him in her life, who would want to help her no matter how many times she turned them away. Not that it seemed to amount to much. But she helped him, in ways that he couldn't quite put words to. She wasn't always kind, but she was always good. Decent in a way few others were.
The problem with maintaining the philosophy that he can shove everything to the side until he's alone and can break down in peace is that in this world, in this place, he's rarely alone. Maybe that's why grief hits him now of all times, as suddenly and as insidiously as though someone had just slipped a knife through his ribs. He raises his hand to his mouth, bent over as a sob escapes him. Not now, he thinks, but the unwelcome answer is, if not now, then when? The more pragmatic answer is, too bad. Either way, he can't stop it after it hit, a pile of half-folded laundry behind him, the bed rid of its old bedsheets but not yet changed, and there he is hunched over her dresser, trying to dam the inevitable.
He hadn't been expecting this. And maybe that's why he hadn't remembered to close the damn door. ]
[things don't feel really real right now. time is broken and so is routine, and Martin has no means in himself to get a handle on either. he's always relied on others to do it for him, to tell him what to do, when to wake up, when to bathe...
with what's happened, that routine has crumbled. that's not to say Rex has let the place go to shambles -- quite the opposite, really...but it's his routine, his work. no one else's. Martin's left to his room, save to eat or feed the fish, and he hardly makes a move to change that.
it's slowly climbing the stairs from minding the fish that has him passing by the bedroom when he hears the sound, and it halts him. the heavy, chilly fog that's settled in his head and heart is not ready for the pang of alarm that rattles him, and dread quickly follows.
he faces the room, staring without seeing until his eyes fix on the hunched shape at the dresser. fresh, hot fear spikes as he realizes that back is Rex's, and all he can think is something new is wrong. someone else is in danger.
faster than he can think, Martin's padded into the room, hands reaching out to grab at his back, his arm.]
Rex--
with what's happened, that routine has crumbled. that's not to say Rex has let the place go to shambles -- quite the opposite, really...but it's his routine, his work. no one else's. Martin's left to his room, save to eat or feed the fish, and he hardly makes a move to change that.
it's slowly climbing the stairs from minding the fish that has him passing by the bedroom when he hears the sound, and it halts him. the heavy, chilly fog that's settled in his head and heart is not ready for the pang of alarm that rattles him, and dread quickly follows.
he faces the room, staring without seeing until his eyes fix on the hunched shape at the dresser. fresh, hot fear spikes as he realizes that back is Rex's, and all he can think is something new is wrong. someone else is in danger.
faster than he can think, Martin's padded into the room, hands reaching out to grab at his back, his arm.]
Rex--
[a very small, very dark part of archie regrets offering to come over. he's bought some artisanal cheeses for martin to try-- even already knowing they likely won't go down or won't be noticed; he doesn't care about that. the part of him that regrets it is already weighed down by so much and knows taking this on is too much for him.
he does it anyway, though, because no matter his own bad feelings about it, his love for martin and care for his family outweigh them.
he's brought mightyena with him, of course, and knocks gently on the door, holding the box flat. part of him feels like he owes this to them all after failing to heal her, after running from the failure instead of trying something else. because cass would want martin to be looked after in her absence, because no matter the grief, martin deserves some reprieve of an empty house.]
he does it anyway, though, because no matter his own bad feelings about it, his love for martin and care for his family outweigh them.
he's brought mightyena with him, of course, and knocks gently on the door, holding the box flat. part of him feels like he owes this to them all after failing to heal her, after running from the failure instead of trying something else. because cass would want martin to be looked after in her absence, because no matter the grief, martin deserves some reprieve of an empty house.]
[it takes a few minutes of intermittent knocking for Martin to realize that it's not in his head...nor is it going to stop until he moves. unhappily, he slides off the couch, blinking around blearily: the TV is on, sound almost muted, the curtains are pulled dark, and the rest of the house is silent save for that knocking. a little bit of him wonders if he ought to be worried -- no one else is home, after all...]
...Oh...
[it's Archie. he peeks out through one of the curtains before approaching the door, unlocking and opening it, already stepping out of the way for him (and to brace for dog impact).]
Hello, Archie.
...Oh...
[it's Archie. he peeks out through one of the curtains before approaching the door, unlocking and opening it, already stepping out of the way for him (and to brace for dog impact).]
Hello, Archie.
[ The usual ritual, and a comforting hint of normalcy despite all the tumult and tragedy of the past month: Andy sits and lets Martin braid her hair up all neat and tidy for her. Makes her look less frazzled than she feels, anyway. And ordinarily, she wouldn't feel the need to say much — part of it the ritual is leaving the boy to focus on his task — but Lester had texted her earlier asking about...
Well. Father's Day. A holiday she's aware of but obviously hadn't had cause to celebrate.
But now she's adopted a child with her partner, and even if they haven't used the words explicitly, Rex is... A father of sorts to Martin, isn't he? And she herself, she's... But maybe that's neither here nor there. In any case, it might be worth the conversation, considering all that Rex has been through lately and will go through soon. So. A bit unceremoniously: ]
I was thinking maybe we could do something for Rex today. [ Today. ]
Well. Father's Day. A holiday she's aware of but obviously hadn't had cause to celebrate.
But now she's adopted a child with her partner, and even if they haven't used the words explicitly, Rex is... A father of sorts to Martin, isn't he? And she herself, she's... But maybe that's neither here nor there. In any case, it might be worth the conversation, considering all that Rex has been through lately and will go through soon. So. A bit unceremoniously: ]
I was thinking maybe we could do something for Rex today. [ Today. ]
[it takes almost a proper minute for Martin to react outwardly, because the comfortable rhythm of combing through and braiding her hair is the sort of thing he easily gets lost in, and comfortably so. her voice is just part of the process, and words only become more than sounds after-the-fact; he always apologizes for his absentmindedness when this happens, but she's always patient in waiting for him to engage.
much the same now: once he realizes she's talking to him, especially about Rex, his pace slows to a stop so he can focus.
something? for Rex? did she say more?]
...Sorry. Do what?
much the same now: once he realizes she's talking to him, especially about Rex, his pace slows to a stop so he can focus.
something? for Rex? did she say more?]
...Sorry. Do what?
[ She's been sitting on the question a while now — though the gods only know why. It shouldn't be a big deal really, not when she's been practically doing it the entire past two months without making things official. Almost every day, she's been there. Living out of Rex's room. More constant than she'd ever been before. So why does the idea of breaching the subject make her so restless? Why is it so hard to just ask?
"Do you want me to live with you?"
That's all she'd have to say.
But it still takes her days before she works up to it. Finally, she comes to find him. ]
Martin?
"Do you want me to live with you?"
That's all she'd have to say.
But it still takes her days before she works up to it. Finally, she comes to find him. ]
Martin?
[Martin is currently in the living room...upside-down. one of the bead bracelets he's making is taped on one end atop the coffee table, and he's laying on his back on the couch, legs propped up on its back cushion while he's puzzling out a knot. it's about as eccentric and comfortable as he's gotten, though this is usually reserved for when he's alone.
thankfully, hearing her doesn't cause him to startle and blast his forehead on the table, instead just looking about to find her feet.]
...Hello, Andy.
thankfully, hearing her doesn't cause him to startle and blast his forehead on the table, instead just looking about to find her feet.]
...Hello, Andy.
1st letter
V
s-e•-:-g-r
o-g•-s•
w-f•-h-a
o•-h-o
t-a-’-t-e
g-c-o-s-r•-r-a
c-h-h-h-m
c-o
V
s-e•-:-g-r
o-g•-s•
w-f•-h-a
o•-h-o
t-a-’-t-e
g-c-o-s-r•-r-a
c-h-h-h-m
c-o
Martin? Are you there?
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