revivalproject | Clarice's Event Catch-All

Entry tags:

Clarice's Event Catch-All | OTA

WHO: Clarice and youuuuuuuu
WHERE: Various places around Coruscant
WHAT: Exploring, investigating ... and being a bit of an art snob
WHEN: All through the event!
WARNINGS: None yet, but if anything worthy comes up I'll put it in the comment headers. <3

Starling had scarcely had time to get her bearings on Temba before she woke up on the ship, to the strange message. It hadn't taken much to wake her: she'd slept lightly, and took a speed-run of a shower, not wanting to waste the precious hot water afforded to the crew. She didn't want to step out onto new ground and make the impression of a hot mess, after all. After combing out her damp hair, she put it up in a ponytail to keep it off her neck, then shook out her only set of clothes, judiciously inspecting the cashmere sweater for wrinkles and wishing for an iron. Ah well. It was what it was. She'd been provided with credit, at least. Maybe the first order of business - after breakfast - was to get something new to wear.

A: (In Person) Everything will always be alright - when we go shopping
The amount of options were even more staggering than New York, or Paris, Clarice marveled, as the taxi dropped her off in Coruscant's shopping district. She'd counted her credits on the ship, not wanting to be tacky in counting them in public.

She starts off by window shopping, browsing from store to store to get a feel for the prices and the styles: what people consider high fashion, lowbrow, and somewhere in between. She decides a sturdy outfit, something working-class, would be the best choice for back on Temba, but there was also nothing wrong with spoiling herself a little and having something that would make her look good should a situation call for it. Feel free to find her as she's molesting various pieces of clothing, rubbing it between her fingers to check texture or thread count, or as she's sitting down on a bench to try on a smart-looking yet rugged pair of boots.

B: (Network) And you told me all your plans - how you would never let them go
New as she is, Starling takes her responsibility and her new mission seriously. The mystery of Coruscant and the many people brought to Temba from this place has piqued her interest, and so her first thought as a newcomer is to seek them out. She takes out her comm device - a new, strange thing in itself - and taps on the garish pink icon, thinking a moment before composing her message.

Hello, everyone. My name is Clarice Starling. I only just arrived in Temba the day before we were sent here to Coruscant, and I admit that I have many questions ... particularly for those of you who are familiar with this world. In the interest of helping the Agri, would any of you be willing to sit with me for a brief interview of sorts? I would be more than willing to get you a cup of whatever equivalent to coffee they have here, or light lunch, to thank you for your time.

C: (In Person) A bittersweet, evocative song... that doesn't remind us of Musetta's Waltz
After a long day of investigating and attempting to do what she was brought here to do, Clarice changes into the nicer of the ensembles she's bought for herself: a jewel-green gown with a white shawl to stave off any evening chill. The opera house is advertising a new Bith opera, whatever that might mean, and Clarice shows up to purchase herself a ticket with confidence, sliding into the crowd as though she belongs there. Anyone who hasn't met her yet may just mistake her for a native, even as she purchases a program, hoping to learn a bit more about what she's about to indulge in.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She was definitely from an at least similar Earth to Tony's, though the variance there thus far had been great and Tony was definitely going to have to warn Clarice about that, but plenty of people Tony knew and lived in his own house wouldn't be able to pick up what he was putting down as easily, making his smile soft but more genuine than it had been yet as he went back to his study. There were plenty of ways that this gig the Agrii had sprung on them was miserable, isolating and painful, and for that little bit of easy familiarity, Tony touched Clarice's elbow with a private promise to make it easier for her. Even if they didn't always work well together.

"Incidentally..." he replied, bunching his shoulders up then and already feeling like his answer was too loud and layered to be whispering into their dark opera box. Not that something like that would stop him. "I don't know if you're right, but only because they don't seem aware of it, and there's a...tension." He pressed the heels of his hands together to try to measure it, fingers ever restlessly drumming over his knuckles. "On the one hand, this level of automation that they've achieved, the level of artificial intelligence and breadth of capability, it should mean that all of that money I'm following should be meaningless. These people have created a society that can function independently of labour, and all of the people who can't afford to be here, right now, I'm pretty sure they know that. But, hey, here's the really sociopathic thing, have you talked to any of those droids? They are deliberately constructed with fully independent personalities. They can easily be defined as conscious. And that's a choice these manufacturers made, to make creatures capable of independent thought, for the express purpose of slave labour that doesn't even replace, only augments and devalues the labour of the existing population. They're their own class." Clearly, he had been stewing on this without someone to bounce it off of for a while.

"I've had a few brief conversations," Clarice agrees. "Mostly with protocol droids, the tall ones that do translations for tourists, but I've asked them a question or two."

She watches the orchestra and lets the overture thread through the silence between them, a pleasant backdrop for her to gather her thoughts against. She could have taken offense at Tony's touch, but it had been innocuous, simple, the sort of brush of fingers she and Mapp had given each other countless times passing in hallways or when one was walking by the couch on the way to their shared kitchen in the duplex. It spoke of cameraderie, fellowship, more than intimacy - and she welcomed it for what it was. As for the subject at hand ...

"You're right. It strikes me as not only odd, but a little cruel that they'd manufacture something to take the place of the lower class so completely, right down to personalities that can feel oppression. Sociopathic is a damn fine word for it ... and yet the people here look on it with the same sort of indifference that the South of the 40s and 50s did separate bathrooms and water fountains. They figure, it is what it is. They've got the opportunity to elevate themselves beyond class and politics and just focus on ... I can't even call it humanity, with artificial intelligence this advanced. On ... on the living experience, I guess? The conscious experience. But they're hitting up against the same walls of hubris every recorded society ever has."

She gestured down to the opera, already unfolding as a star-crossed lovers sort of tragedy, judging by the body language and the tone and pattern of the melodies. "But some things really are universal in the truest sense of the word, whether we want them to be or not, I suppose."

It was slightly unfair that they were speaking of the people of Coruscant as though they were so far outside of themselves, when they had such recognizable reference points between them. They weren't all that different. The reassurance that this private haven afforded, above and separate from the audience, was undermined by those recognizable themes in an artform that should have been entirely alien. At least those themes were aspirational, and Tony watched a beating heart ready to break on the stage at Clarice's direction, chin in his hand and brow knitting in sympathy that felt a lot more like anxiety. The droids were much easier to think about.

"I don't know if they can feel oppression," he murmured eventually. "Or, if they do, if they have the tools to express it. I haven't met one yet, anyway, that has the kind of...philosophical freedom as some artificial life on Earth. And--on some level that's good, because they might not have heroes, like the Torch, but they also don't have terrorists like Ultron sending the whole population into hiding. I had a woman living in my basement because she was too afraid to have a body. But that does make them easier to dismiss, not recognize as part of society because they can't articulate those needs." Separate drinking fountains didn't quite feel like the correct allegory, in effect, in part because the droids didn't seem to have their own community at all. With a hand up to try to capture the thought, Tony offered, "The forums back home weren't designed for people with cognitive impairment, effectively excluding them from participation, their issues don't even make it to the table. The droids weren't designed for the forum."

She wasn't one to break hearts if she could help it, preferring to save or mend them. Alas, this show had already been scripted: she was just as much a spectator as he was, and paying far more attention to her head than her heart, to boot. Intellectual conversation was something she always prized and appreciated, and to have one of such depth in such an unexpected place was holding her fast.

"You seem familiar with a class of artificial life that's way ahead of anything I've ever heard of," she remarked - leaving it more as an observation at the moment than a marvel. She could circle back to that later, once they'd finished the topic at hand to a point they were both satisfied with. Not only that, but he had given her just enough context cues that she was able to follow the threads of his statements without needing clarification.

"But I see your point, regardless. Maybe that span of a hundred years or so you mentioned earlier has to do more with some revelation of theirs, some growth in consciousness, than anything economic. Or - who knows, maybe it's something entirely separate. Maybe it's politics. Maybe it's disaster." She gestured lightly to each section of the orchestra in turn. The music began to swell precipitously, and she smiled a little at her unintentional perfect timing. "Maybe it's the whole orchestra."

There were many, disparate parts of the future of this place that Tony knew for certain would come to pass, littered between the tragedies Cal had told him and the images he had seen in Poe's head and none easy to link together yet into a cohesive blueprint, making him feel like they hindered more than helped his usual crystal clarity of the future to come. There were so many mechanisms in this city alone that were in delicate tension, like the tremulously held note of a string instrument Tony didn't recognize that Clarice had pointed to, that he couldn't predict which way they would break. Did any of them actually tell him anything useful about Agra 10, or Earth?

In the riotous climax of music, Tony listened to the opera more than he watched, unseeing, considering what they were meant to take away from this issue that they had both independently sensed in a population that seemed quite unaware of it, despite not even being from the same Earth. They must not have been, anyway, because it was possible she didn't recognize Tony Stark on sight, but there weren't many Americans that would recognize a Medici but not the name Ultron. "It's not a revelation the droids have to have," he eventually offered absently, still watching the swirl of the performance. "It's the people working in mines and chemical factories that, hell, might not even be necessary with the level of technological capability there is in this place, it's those people who are suspicious of the droids for devaluing their work and have been put in a position where they can't even conceive of a system where a bunch of rich guys aren't holding them by the throat. And none of the people in this theatre would benefit from that change, but it has to be one of them to put that mechanism into place." At least, that was the cleanest shot that Tony could ever see, and had seen incremental successes.

Starling's gaze swung back and forth from the show to Tony like a pendulum - watching the art, then watching the gears turn behind his eyes as another art of his own was at play. He had a sharp, bright, mind, and it reminded her of watching Hannibal think while he played his piano or harpsichord as he read the morning paper. Intellect fascinated her, not because she envied it out of any lack, but because she saw echoes of herself there, chances to engage, and was glad to see it after years of working in indoctrinated places where people thought the way they had been trained to think. When Tony began to speak again, she turned back to the music, listening as he had, placing his thoughts in a palimpsest on top of the story unfolding below: her own attempt at cognitive multitasking.

"You're right," she said with certainty, scanning the boxes and shadowed aisles more than the show. His political theory was sound, his sociological grasp firm. "Some opportunist with a heart black as molasses could absolutely wind this whole place around their finger if they got hold of enough strings attached in the right places. I ... dealt with someone like that, back home. He bought and sold senators like they were stocks, and played with people's lives like paper dolls. I spent ten years of my life catching murderers, drug dealers, and criminals ... but he was the most terrifying human being I ever met. And not because he'd had to have half his face reconstructed."

Though he hadn't be entirely present while he was speaking, Tony was ready to snap to attention at Clarice's catnip response and accept with a disarming grin, "Always am." And he was pretty sure Clarice was right, too, practically a futurist herself based on what Poe had already told them about what happened to this place, but it would have felt like a safe bet even without the insight.

Tony had been perched fairly rigidly to watch the show over the railing, but he sank into his seat on his heels then as he was turned to her, quickly losing interest in the production. He hadn't quite been able to place Clarice in her normal life yet, picturing her perhaps at the front of a lecture hall teaching a soft science, or representing the the ethics board at a Stark development meeting. The catching murderers part, that hadn't figured into the equation yet. "You don't anymore?" he asked first, not sure what to make of her choice of words. Finding out she was anywhere near retirement would be the next surprise. "S.H.I.E.L.D.," he guessed first, eyes narrowed in examination, stalling any attempt to help him find the correct answer. Nope, not quite. He knew, "Interpol," wasn't right even as he said it, smaller than that. "CI--DEA?" he really should have guessed first, 'drug dealers' was a giveaway.

"Nice tries," she said with a curious smile in her voice, sitting back to match him, her legs curling gracefully beneath her. He'd been quick to snap up her praise, almost starving for it, and she caught the first whiff of something sensitive, something wounded underneath all that ego.

"Worked with all three," she said, thoroughly enjoying the game - and being a little bit on the other side of it for once. Though for her part, she knew, they were on equal standing for this joust of wits. It was, as it had always been, fun. Exciting. There had already been fire in her eyes, but it was burning just a bit more brightly, now. "Your turn before you can guess again. What's S.H.I.E.L.D?"

That didn't really narrow it down, but not even knowing what S.H.I.E.L.D. was definitely changed the landscape, discarding plenty of possibilities for Tony as he realized, "Oh. You don't have any superheroes, either." That there could have been three different Earths that managed to survive the second World War alone without the Invaders seemed vanishingly likely to Tony, so maybe the Agrii were pulling multiple people from wherever Jon, Kyle and Clarice were coming from like they were with the Force people.

Before Clarice had to get too caught up in the hero thing, Tony shook his head to dismiss it, don't worry about it, and explained, "International spy agency. Strategic Hazard Intervention, Espionage and Logistics Directorate," very primly to hit every consonant, then took a gasping breath for the effort, rolling his eyes. "FBI," he landed on with confidence.

Superheroes was a word she'd heard from a few other people in the last few days, so it didn't surprise her to hear it from anyone else. His dismissal of it may have surprised her slightly, though. Once he'd spit out his mouthful, and given her a slight idea that this unfamiliar spy agency may have dealt specifically with those superheroes she wasn't to worry about, she winked at him.

"Yeah," she said with relish. "Not hard once you've guessed near everything else, though, is it, Tony? How long've you been involved with S.H.I.E.L.D?"

If he had to ask how she knew, he hadn't been minding himself - or estimating her perception - nearly well enough. The fact alone that he knew of such an agency by name or could guess that she had enough clout to belong to it said he knew more than the average citizen. And he said that name with something almost approaching respect, with the exception of that eyeroll. Which made her wonder if he held it in the same dubious, possibly fallen-from-grace regard that she did the Bureau, given her own treatment of her reply.

"Hey, you could have been military, there's a whole..." Tony tried to defend himself in that very challenging guessing game, hand spread to sweep across the myriad of acronyms available to him once he started delving into that well and to distract from the very immediate evidence that Clarice did not compose herself like a soldier. Tony was sure that kind of thing would have made this conversation much more difficult.

Okay, he had really narrowed down the field, and he surrendered to the accusation with his defending hand dropped limply into his lap and a wry smile. It remained as he raised his eyebrows and insisted, "You wound me," for this spurious accusation of S.H.I.E.L.D. involvement. "I try to keep to the fringes, not my scene, but..." Now that he had to think about it that way, how long he had been in this dance, he realized with some surprise, "My whole life. Kind of a family business. They pay better now than they did when I was five, that's a bonus. You didn't tell me why you stopped. "

At that first remark, she gave him a smile that said the 'uh HUNH' which would have cut him deeper with aloud. When he said she'd wounded him, she let herself be charmed, and the smile turned less teasing, more warm.

When he was five, though? Her eyes widened a little in surprise. S.H.I.E.L.D at five. Jedi at infancy. She was wondering if out there in the wide existence there was some agency that recruited people from the womb.

Then it was her turn, the invisible baton passed, and she paused, gracefully steeling herself to share something just as personal. "It wasn't my choice. Not at first. I was tracking a fugitive. One of their victims - the horrible man I mentioned earlier, in fact - wanted them for his own personal, gruesome idea of revenge. So he started pulling a lot of political purse-strings and had me framed as the fugitive's collaborator. Placed a false classified ad that had me tipping him off with details his friends on the inside got from my personal files. They called for my resignation and I gave it to them. I wish I'd told them where to stick my badge, in retrospect."

The opera below was breaking for intermission, the lights rising on the floor.

"Shall we refill our drinks? My treat this time."

Not expecting the intermission to be upon them already, the lights had Tony blinking in bewilderment and peering around at the empty stage and the audience below filtering out into the aisles. That went by fast. Tony bounced up to offer Clarice a helping hand as he said, "He must have been incredibly threatened," eyes narrowed curiously for what Clarice might have done to deserve that kind of manipulation. She had made it sound like this guy had plenty enough under his control to not be so worried about one FBI agent. "He just left you alone after that?" That was definitely not where the sordid tale would have ended for a superhero who got in the wrong person's way.

Time flies with good conversation ... either that, or Coruscant operas are short. Maybe a little bit of both. Clarice is a little amused at his surprise, even if she shares it herself, and accepts his offered hand with a smile.

"I was in the way of his revenge, and that revenge seemed to be the only thing he had left to live for," she said with a graceful shrug, rearranging her shawl afterwards. "He was a pretty terrible man, himself, but I'll spare you the sordid details unless you're really interested. The whole thing is twisted." Fascinating from a psychological point of view, yes, but definitely twisted.

"As for why Mason didn't come after me himself, well. The fugitive he was gunning for got to him first. Mason got the brunt of the punishment he was planning to mete out himself. I only heard about it secondhand, of course, but I'd imagine it wasn't pretty."

Even with that much information, Tony could imagine the details were not for the faint of heart, making him twist his mouth uncertainly at hearing any more for now. They had made it into the hall by then, and the glittering opera fans milling around them probably weren't there for that kind of story. With that in mind, he pointed a thumb back toward their box and hissed, "Did you catch any of that?" Clarice had been intent on her program and the show occasionally, she might have actually engaged on some level with the presentation while Tony was largely happily ignoring the details. The second half was going to be hard to get through if they didn't bump into another game to play with each other. Something that could help Tony mete out how much of these story was a tragic end to a promising career, or a carefully crafted version for the sake of Clarice's charm.

Starling noticed the change of subject, but with all his talk of military and secret organizations and heroes, Tony probably wasn't one of said faint of heart, and was bringing up the opera so they'd blend in better with the crowd now that they could be overheard. She appreciated his finesse, and nodded slowly, holding her program out to him and pointing to each of the pictures in turn.

Thankfully, the story itself was one that had paralells to her own life here and there that were a little hard to ignore.

"It's a little heavy on the archetypical, but all opera is at the core," she said, moving in close to his side. "The planet the opera takes place on is being beseiged by a formidable army, and only one warrior has ever been able to outsmart their tactics. He's unorthodox, and dangerous, and there are rumors that he may be one of the long-lost Sith. The only problem is, he's one of the home planet's most notorious prisoners of war. They send a Senator in to speak to him, to try and broker some sort of agreement. That number with all the amber lighting, about halfway through the first act? That's when they meet. He's courteous. Not what she expected."

A fond smile turns the corner of her lips, and her touch on the page is almost tender. She's giving herself away, but she misses Hannibal, especially here, in the sort of place he would have loved to go. She doesn't give a good god damn if Tony sees through it.

It was difficult to tell, at first, how much of the explanation was Clarice picking up where they had left off before they entered the auditorium, but the smooth delivery and the images that did seem to tell this story that Clarice was sketching for Tony were very convincing. The warmth in her conclusion must have been real, otherwise an ill-fitting fragment on the equation, so whether she knew all that much about the opera or not, she was definitely telling Tony something. She hadn't been in this situation for very long, despite her adaptability, and Tony was probably not going to be the best to talk about the trauma they all shared now from waking up on this alien planet, so unfathomably far from the people that they thought they would be waking up to. He took Clarice's hand from the page instead, holding gently against her palm rather than linking their fingers like he meant to hold her hand and continued with a barely believable absent detachment while she decided what to do with the gesture, "Is he not as bad as they say, then?" Twisting his free hand in the air to produce how he had to assume an opera like that was going to play out, "His heroic acts reveal his wrongful conviction, but he still dies a tragic, noble death in the end, blah blah, curtains."

"Well, we haven't gotten that far yet," she says, pulling herself up out of it with the touch of his hand on hers - a literal touchstone to reality. "As of the entr'acte, there's the inevitable tearing-apart for the sake of suspense: he believes she's been lying to him, they're afraid he'll manipulate her. He's moved to another prison, a solitary cell somewhere full of pain and torment. We'll probably open the act on a lot of red lights and pain symbols, if that's where they're going." That much she had judged of the opera itself, having glanced at the stage in the last few minutes, and recognized the tropes. Her own story had far less torment and pain and a lot more bureaucratic tape.

"But at least one of them is going to die on stage. It makes it easier. Cleaner. More easy to maintain the illusion of black and white."

That Clarice didn't so readily buy into Tony's hypothesis had him asking, "You think it might be the Senator?," doing his best to look aristocratically scandalized and fanning his face with his free hand for this riskier storytelling. He hoped this proposal of Clarice's wasn't still coming from a personal place, because that meant she either had a bleak outlook for her own future, or had been the dangerous warrior all along and Tony hadn't seen the hint of it. "These people don't like to be reminded that they can die," he continued, tipping his head toward the crowd that Tony had figured out long ago was 85% politicians, and the rest in their sphere.

((ooc: there is only one thing I can listen to while tagging this now))

"Heavens forbid," she said, playing along with his farce as a few heads swiveled in their direction. Tony's remark about politicians not liking to think they could die made her cover her mouth with her hand in mock dismay to hide the smile that bloomed there. "No, no, the whole point of tragedy is that the end still holds seeds of hope. I do have a feeling the poor war criminal is doomed, but as for how and why, part of me doesn't want to dig too deeply. I do still like to be surprised by a good story."

A pause. "It would really be scandalous if she freed him and they ran off together, don't you think? But that doesn't seem much of an operatic theme."

Maybe not, but it did have Tony cocking his head, intrigued in a way that the opera had entirely failed to capture him. Maybe it was his lack of opera engagement, but he asked, "You don't think so? That sounds very grand to me, I could see the flashing lights and cymbal crashes for a tense prison break, that's opera...stuff." He almost forgot the role he was supposed to be playing and smiled very charmingly at the older woman brushing by them that he did not just swear in front of. The smile dropped the moment her back was to them and Tony continued, "More of the beginning of a story than something to throw in at the end, though. The whole war thing is a meetcute. Couple of lovers on the run, that's a much more interesting adventure."

The near-slip with the swear threatened to turn her smile into a grin. "It's a story I'd much rather see, I agree. But it's a little harder to sing in an operatic manner during action scenes. I get the feeling that would be the Broadway musical adaptation." She winks. "Though they'd lose a lot of genre purists in the conversion. Not only that, but when most of the patrons are folks who like the order of things as it is, writing something about turning all that on its ear would probably go over like a lead balloon."

A pause, and a little smile with just enough tell in it to show him that her story is closer to the one not being told on the stage than the one she was recounting. "Mind you, real art happens whether the money's there or not."

Edited (you saw no typo) 2021-04-19 22:37 (UTC)

While Tony was nodding and squinting his eyes like he was definitely paying attention, he absolutely was not fairly early on; there was a fun challenge in pretending to know anything about alien culture, but this was feeling far too down to Earth anymore. Still nodding slightly, Tony waved a hand in front of his face and asked, "Did you notice when I checked out there? Me neither, it was seamless, the next time you try to talk to me about Broadway, I'm giving one of those ostrich-looking fellas over there your number, they look pushy." He looked very serious but for the teasing glint in his eye, then tossed his head to ask, "This is really your thing, huh? Have you been to Broadway? Nothing good ever happens there. I almost lost an arm, and got the worst food poisoning of my life there." Granted, it sounded like Clarice was much less likely to run into a dragon or E.Coli spraying supervillains, but that didn't make the shows any better.

He was a jokester, to be sure, and she knew it came with how much he wanted and/or needed attention. Even so, Tony’s bald-faced admittance that he checked out earned him another one of her bright peals of laughter and a roll of her eyes which may have made that pushy gentlecreature in the crowd a little jealous indeed. She knew there were people in the throng who had their eyes on either of them – they were both good-looking, effervescent people in a scene where such things were cause for note. “It’s alright, I won’t go into detail about the libretto on you. But only because it isn’t in Spanish or Italian.”

A few lights over the entranceways changed color – clearly the Coruscanti way to show intermission was nearing completion. “I’ve never been to Broadway, no, but I can’t say I envy you the experience. Some of the music is alright, but … I can’t say it was ever anything that caught my interest. The opera is … well, let’s just say I got into it because someone I’m close to is a fan.”

"It's those Romantic libretto's that you can't leave alone, really turn you on," Tony laughed in return, looking gleeful that he could tease her about something that was unavoidably nerdy, under any scrutiny. The sharp-eyed lady turning heads in the sleek gown hadn't prepared Tony for that treat. His gaze darted up and around the room's once more shifting tide like he was considering whether he would actually go back into the auditorium with Clarice, or take his chance to escape to a more lively event, but linked his arm with Clarice's again.

"I'm not often conscious of it, but it's a wonderful gift, isn't it? How much room there is in our hearts for the most surprising parts of the people in our lives. My last girlfriend, she did the whole tea ceremony thing, laying out the table and the mixing and the pouring--still not my thing, but I hated tea before that for--thirty years, then she comes along. You know?" Tony didn't know he had much good to leave in anybody else's heart, or if Clarice was enchanting enough yet to leave him wondering about librettos (probably, he had a long night ahead of him), but he patted his free hand on his chest, very aware of everything he was proud of being parts of people he still loved. "I wouldn't know what I left with anyone else. Do you?"

Clarice's Event Catch-All | OTA

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

/creative liberties ahoy!

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)

this made me LOL when I first saw it in my inbox, you win

really, Clarice is lucky, simpler times

you're not kiddin'. TY for this, it was a delight!