[For now, things had actually settled. The metal structure was still being excavated - who knows what was in it just yet. Though the great bug's demise had brought a significant windfall. The carapace made a good shelter that they now huddled in, and the meat was plentiful and rich in water. If nothing else, they had a good spot to bunker down until the rescue came.]
[ Miles, meanwhile, is anything but calm. The stress and the seizure seem to have set off something of a chain reaction in his mind. He just can't seem to sit still. So instead, he paces in a tight circle, occasionally reaching out a hand to touch the side of the carapace they've sheltered in. ]
[ Thanks, Bel. Miles would appreciate that if his brain weren't boiling in his skull right now. He stops to lean against the carapace for a moment. ]
It's not so different now, is it? We've just defeated - or maddened, I'm not sure - one army here. And we're as low on the the others as we come. And I had a seizure at the exact moment you needed me for my brain!
[As much as Miles had promised the moment they'd gotten back on board. As much as Bel had with all bravado, talked about how Miles would need half a day to get his affairs in order...
It was two weeks of mad work, communications, reorganization and flat out running across the Nexus at points, before they even really crossed paths again. It wasn't just registering the new wormhole and the new planet. It wasn't just figuring out what the HELL to tell Simon about where they'd gone, how they'd gotten there, or the driving intuition that had galvanized Quinn to take a blind hell jump through a newly found wormhole.
There was Mark to call off, ImpSec to report to, the Duronas to covertly check in with, the Barons to set back against each other, the clones to settle, the long conversations with Elena, Quinn and Baz jarring memories into Miles' brain... And the news of Miles' father, recovering from his surgery...
They were currently on the Ariel, en route to Barrayar with another mountain of problems, politics, explanations and a world to reacclimate to and hopefully make ... solid that fuzzy other life of Miles'. Bel's cabin was still Bel's, though command was being held by Elena for the moment.
From where Miles was ushered to sit, the herm hadn't cleaned out and packed their things.. yet. The strange limbo wasn't as final after the desert world and its underground chambers.]
I'm going to guess you want the usual tea. [That came with its own black humor... Mark would have gotten that dig. They really had thought he was Miles at that point.]
[ Miles has stepped back into the center of this whirlwind as best he could. It's an odd line to straddle, this thin line between command and recovery. Even setting aside his mental health - which is complicated and painful and splintered terribly even with his inner circle's help - Miles has physical recovery to do as well. Being stranded on an alien world with severely limited resources is not good for a freshly cryorevived person even before they nearly get eaten by an overgrown salad. The days have been long and exhausting. But Miles is too himself to step back for a moment.
It's a very tired Miles who finally shows up at Bel's door. Exhausted in body as well as spirit. He'd had another seizure last night in the privacy of his room. He's ... decided not to tell anyone, not even the doctors just yet. Surely it's just lingering stress from the revival and his adventures...
He still manages a smile at Bel's comment. ]
Back to business as usual, after all. [ He settles into the chair with a soft sigh of relief. He's still so very, very sore. ] I won't complain, given what our alternatives would be.
[Told or not, a certain grey malaise follows Miles in the wake of it. Bel gives him a longer look, mostly masked by the tea making process as it was. Delicate tea cups and saucers were set out, the tea in strainers set to steep, a timer set.]
It could be getting a bit more sleep. [Bel hasn't actually HAD much to do, the arrest holding, command suspended... they've just been locked with their own thoughts. Sleep hadn't been easy, but opportunities plentiful.] You look worse than when we were picked up. It's impressive.
[ Bel alone knows exactly what that gray cloud is about. Miles has been very careful with letting anyone else know what's going on - and why wouldn't he? Since this is temporary, he'll only worry people unnecessarily. Or get himself dismissed from this position entirely. No need to get into any of that.
He sits up a little straighter, reaching to take one of the empty cup and turn it slightly in his hand. ]
Are you sure about that? I thought Quinn would have a heart attack. We were half sand and dried sap by then.
[ Bel's fate decided, Miles will continue this path he's on, for now. Back to this home planet that isn't quite his anymore. The instant he steps off the shuttle and out into the Vorbarr Sultana spaceport, Miles is awash in conflicting feelings. Everything is so familiar it makes him heartsick. But at the same time ... now that he's here, the sense of being separated from his other life is even more stark. He bumbles his way through his first social interactions, torn between lighting up as he recognizes someone and shutting down when he realizes he doesn't quite remember them properly.
And then of course there's the medical exams. Miles manages to get through them without any trace of his seizure condition showing through. Which he takes as hopeful sign that maybe they really have passed off. He'll grasp at any straw right now...
Bel in the meantime is getting lots of odd looks. Mostly in the form of calling Bel by masculine pronouns, given their obvious role as Miles' bodyguard. Only a few have come close enough to realize without being told outright. (Miles' Barrayaran armsman, Roic, eyes Bel with particular skepticism. He was one the few who hadn't used either pronoun with Bel, but rather stared at them with their diminutive charge between the two of them.)
All and all, it's an exhausting first week. Mercifully, due to his father's own convalescence, it's been decided that Miles should join him at the house at Vorkosigan Surleau. Better for Miles' mental health; better too for Aral to have his son on hand. Cordelia has retired there as well for the moment, and Miles will continue to receive well-wishers and family throughout his stay.
It's all desperately uncomfortable. Keen as ever, Miles has slipped into a playacting sort of role, pretending his way through his old life while still not truly believing in it. It's a good trick. He's desperately tired of it.
He's on one of the wide balconies overlooking the lake this morning, his breakfast swiftly growing cold next to him. Instead he's leafing through a worn volume of Shakespeare, poring over all the page indentations and folded corners and childish notes written in a familiar, cramped hand. Straining, as he always does, to recognize this part of his life as his own. ]
[Bel had stayed close to Miles' side all through the day, and just in the next room through the nights. (Well, the nights they weren't up talking with Roic. Terse, the way many Barrayarans were, but WAS curious enough about what his newest charge was up to in space that he had warmed easily enough. Or perhaps was a little more open minded than the usual stock.) They'd kept their temper better than Miles might have expected, if for nothing else, than doing a good job.
Bel didn't give much on the way of corrections, just a short, dark look sent in the offending directions, enough that the keenly watchful Cordelia had added that to one of the many things she'd quietly soothed and smoothed in the background.
As it was, their pretense was ubiquitous enough to be comfortably taken for granted...
Until cold fingers press at the back of Miles' neck, suddenly.]
[ Miles yelps at that, every one of his combat instincts kicking in for a moment. He flinches forward out of the chair bodily, snagging his up his dagger and whirling to face the potential threat. His fragmented memories have similarly scrambled up his fight-or-flight instincts; the result is sometimes quick moments of panic like this that resemble PTSD.
He freezes up after a moment when he sees who's actually behind him. ]
[It was.. if nothing else, less likely to be the tragedy that it could have. By the time Miles realizes who it was... He might also notice Bel having a hand on the back of the chair and by their posture, ready to bring it up as a shield between them.
[Days slipped by into weeks. There was no shortage of things that needed to be done. Most especially - the District needed to be run while Aral was healing. Cordelia could have done it, and done it well, but with her knowing smile, said that she had enough to watch over. Why doesn't her prodigal boychick step up and see how the chair fits. Mark, of course, had gone pale and sprung a sweat on his brow at even the very thought of taking that position back up. Apparently, while Miles had been gone, no small amount of strange things had happened.
But there was much to do, besides the small dramas of listening to the District grievances, petitions, requests, arguments as merchants, minor nobles and hillfolk alike filled in and out of the Hassadar administrative building, sat on the polished wood seats next to each other and talked about the cold weather before seeing the Little Lord. There was the odd and new relationship between Mark, the Count and the Countess, there was the old and ... estranged yet not between Miles and the same.
As the days filed on, Bel sent word via tightbeam to the Ariel to cast off, break orbit and pursue an escort mission with a Komarran trade fleet to keep the income up while they were downside.
Finally, it was Winterfair. The House was in an enormous bustle, getting ready for the travel in to the Vorbarra district for the revelry. The Count was on his feet (for short, closely observed periods.) The Countess was directing the small fleet of servants and hired help like the small, well trained army they were. Mark was nervously trying on a new fitted outfit.
And Bel was draped over a settee, not having actually changed out of their civvies, expecting to greet the family as they came back.]
[ In the intervening weeks, Miles has quietly settled back into this life. It's strange for reasons over and above his amnesia, which has finally settled into being only momentary blips of confusion until the appropriate memory slips into place. He ... is not terrible at being a Count. It's only surprising to him, but he is surprised despite himself.
His seizures has not stopped, but neither have they worsened. In fact, he's gotten quite good at sensing when one is about to come on. A quick excuse, a secluded room ... and he returns after much grayer but with no one the wiser. He's coping. It's not pleasant, but he's managing something. (But that trip to Beta Colony needs to happen soon, dammit.)
Miles emerges from the next room, having detached from the family for a moment. He's looking very fine in his custom-tailored suit in Vorkosigan colors. He even has the faintest touch of silver at his temples to match the silver on his collar. ]
Catching up on the Emerald Sands. [Bel calls back, cheerfully.] These Komarran dramas are even more ridiculous than the feelies back home.
[There's a pause, as Bel looks up from the DIRE CIRCUMSTANCES OF PORTMASTER YUAN HAVING BEEN CAUGHT UP WITH THE SHIPS CAPTAIN OF THE MERCHANT CARAVAN T- ... Miles is still staring. And there's a certain look.]
Did I miss something I was supposed to be doing. I thought you put me as off tonight.
[ Miles hadn't gone to bed with Bel that night. Not after all of that. He'd retreated quietly to his own chambers and wished his former captain a good night. After that, well ... He hadn't gotten any sleep. Perhaps Bel had done better.
Either way, the next morning dawns beautifully clear (if also ridiculously cold). Anyone who isn't hungover from the revelry last night is shuffling through the morning chores with no particular hurry. Breakfast will be leftovers and cold tea, as even the cooks get a night off after all of that ...
There is a message notification blinking on Bel's comm. ]
[Bel certainly hadn't. There's a certain fitful state where one's brain simply doesn't turn off. Alternating between blazingly angry, oddly touched, and overtly frustrated, Bel spent a great deal of the night thinking about the things they should have said in varying levels of drama.
The morning finds the herm with a blanket over their head as to not stare any longer at the dress and suit folded nicely on the dresser.
One hand blearily feels for the comm after the morning notifications turn back on, and drags it under the covers to check the message.]
[ Bel stares at it blankly for a few moments, muzzily putting together what this cryptic message means before the alarm sounds in the back of their head got through the morning fog.
It didn't matter exactly what it meant, whatever was going on, it was absolute and 100% hands on deck, and by the look of things, needed to have been two hours ago. They tear out of bed, throw on the first passable sets of garments they could get a hold on and tore out into the hall. ]
Good morning! Have you see Miles? Or Roic? [ Bel doesn't even exactly SEE who they're addressing, it's just the person closest and that's what matters. ]
Well, I was positive you weren't about to get into resolving 'inheritance disputes.' [ A deplorable but lucrative service of murdering the dead... ] And it was a bit too showy to be corporate espionage in a freezer box...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Atlas, continuation/PSL
... Restless, dear?
no subject
Of course I am. When am I not?
no subject
Bel doesn't say that.]
Usually there are certain degrees. I expect this one caught between the armies of two empires and low on fuel, armaments and comms are down.
no subject
It's not so different now, is it? We've just defeated - or maddened, I'm not sure - one army here. And we're as low on the the others as we come. And I had a seizure at the exact moment you needed me for my brain!
no subject
Speaking of, perhaps you should... slow down a little bit?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
[PSL - post Atlas]
It was two weeks of mad work, communications, reorganization and flat out running across the Nexus at points, before they even really crossed paths again. It wasn't just registering the new wormhole and the new planet. It wasn't just figuring out what the HELL to tell Simon about where they'd gone, how they'd gotten there, or the driving intuition that had galvanized Quinn to take a blind hell jump through a newly found wormhole.
There was Mark to call off, ImpSec to report to, the Duronas to covertly check in with, the Barons to set back against each other, the clones to settle, the long conversations with Elena, Quinn and Baz jarring memories into Miles' brain... And the news of Miles' father, recovering from his surgery...
They were currently on the Ariel, en route to Barrayar with another mountain of problems, politics, explanations and a world to reacclimate to and hopefully make ... solid that fuzzy other life of Miles'. Bel's cabin was still Bel's, though command was being held by Elena for the moment.
From where Miles was ushered to sit, the herm hadn't cleaned out and packed their things.. yet. The strange limbo wasn't as final after the desert world and its underground chambers.]
I'm going to guess you want the usual tea. [That came with its own black humor... Mark would have gotten that dig. They really had thought he was Miles at that point.]
no subject
It's a very tired Miles who finally shows up at Bel's door. Exhausted in body as well as spirit. He'd had another seizure last night in the privacy of his room. He's ... decided not to tell anyone, not even the doctors just yet. Surely it's just lingering stress from the revival and his adventures...
He still manages a smile at Bel's comment. ]
Back to business as usual, after all. [ He settles into the chair with a soft sigh of relief. He's still so very, very sore. ] I won't complain, given what our alternatives would be.
no subject
It could be getting a bit more sleep. [Bel hasn't actually HAD much to do, the arrest holding, command suspended... they've just been locked with their own thoughts. Sleep hadn't been easy, but opportunities plentiful.] You look worse than when we were picked up. It's impressive.
no subject
He sits up a little straighter, reaching to take one of the empty cup and turn it slightly in his hand. ]
Are you sure about that? I thought Quinn would have a heart attack. We were half sand and dried sap by then.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
BARRAYAR
And then of course there's the medical exams. Miles manages to get through them without any trace of his seizure condition showing through. Which he takes as hopeful sign that maybe they really have passed off. He'll grasp at any straw right now...
Bel in the meantime is getting lots of odd looks. Mostly in the form of calling Bel by masculine pronouns, given their obvious role as Miles' bodyguard. Only a few have come close enough to realize without being told outright. (Miles' Barrayaran armsman, Roic, eyes Bel with particular skepticism. He was one the few who hadn't used either pronoun with Bel, but rather stared at them with their diminutive charge between the two of them.)
All and all, it's an exhausting first week. Mercifully, due to his father's own convalescence, it's been decided that Miles should join him at the house at Vorkosigan Surleau. Better for Miles' mental health; better too for Aral to have his son on hand. Cordelia has retired there as well for the moment, and Miles will continue to receive well-wishers and family throughout his stay.
It's all desperately uncomfortable. Keen as ever, Miles has slipped into a playacting sort of role, pretending his way through his old life while still not truly believing in it. It's a good trick. He's desperately tired of it.
He's on one of the wide balconies overlooking the lake this morning, his breakfast swiftly growing cold next to him. Instead he's leafing through a worn volume of Shakespeare, poring over all the page indentations and folded corners and childish notes written in a familiar, cramped hand. Straining, as he always does, to recognize this part of his life as his own. ]
no subject
Bel didn't give much on the way of corrections, just a short, dark look sent in the offending directions, enough that the keenly watchful Cordelia had added that to one of the many things she'd quietly soothed and smoothed in the background.
As it was, their pretense was ubiquitous enough to be comfortably taken for granted...
Until cold fingers press at the back of Miles' neck, suddenly.]
no subject
He freezes up after a moment when he sees who's actually behind him. ]
-- Bel?
no subject
More instinct than anything.]
Well... that answers that question.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Some people would have shame by now. But not us
But there was much to do, besides the small dramas of listening to the District grievances, petitions, requests, arguments as merchants, minor nobles and hillfolk alike filled in and out of the Hassadar administrative building, sat on the polished wood seats next to each other and talked about the cold weather before seeing the Little Lord. There was the odd and new relationship between Mark, the Count and the Countess, there was the old and ... estranged yet not between Miles and the same.
As the days filed on, Bel sent word via tightbeam to the Ariel to cast off, break orbit and pursue an escort mission with a Komarran trade fleet to keep the income up while they were downside.
Finally, it was Winterfair. The House was in an enormous bustle, getting ready for the travel in to the Vorbarra district for the revelry. The Count was on his feet (for short, closely observed periods.) The Countess was directing the small fleet of servants and hired help like the small, well trained army they were. Mark was nervously trying on a new fitted outfit.
And Bel was draped over a settee, not having actually changed out of their civvies, expecting to greet the family as they came back.]
NEVER US
His seizures has not stopped, but neither have they worsened. In fact, he's gotten quite good at sensing when one is about to come on. A quick excuse, a secluded room ... and he returns after much grayer but with no one the wiser. He's coping. It's not pleasant, but he's managing something. (But that trip to Beta Colony needs to happen soon, dammit.)
Miles emerges from the next room, having detached from the family for a moment. He's looking very fine in his custom-tailored suit in Vorkosigan colors. He even has the faintest touch of silver at his temples to match the silver on his collar. ]
... Bel? What are you doing?
no subject
[There's a pause, as Bel looks up from the DIRE CIRCUMSTANCES OF PORTMASTER YUAN HAVING BEEN CAUGHT UP WITH THE SHIPS CAPTAIN OF THE MERCHANT CARAVAN T- ... Miles is still staring. And there's a certain look.]
Did I miss something I was supposed to be doing. I thought you put me as off tonight.
no subject
You are off tonight. Because - I was hoping you would join me. As my guest.
[ he's playing it sO COOL RIGHT NOW ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
THE MORNING AFTER WINTERFAIR
Either way, the next morning dawns beautifully clear (if also ridiculously cold). Anyone who isn't hungover from the revelry last night is shuffling through the morning chores with no particular hurry. Breakfast will be leftovers and cold tea, as even the cooks get a night off after all of that ...
There is a message notification blinking on Bel's comm. ]
no subject
The morning finds the herm with a blanket over their head as to not stare any longer at the dress and suit folded nicely on the dresser.
One hand blearily feels for the comm after the morning notifications turn back on, and drags it under the covers to check the message.]
no subject
Stall him for me. I'm going to rescue Naismith.
no subject
It didn't matter exactly what it meant, whatever was going on, it was absolute and 100% hands on deck, and by the look of things, needed to have been two hours ago. They tear out of bed, throw on the first passable sets of garments they could get a hold on and tore out into the hall. ]
Good morning! Have you see Miles? Or Roic? [ Bel doesn't even exactly SEE who they're addressing, it's just the person closest and that's what matters. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
Well, I was positive you weren't about to get into resolving 'inheritance disputes.' [ A deplorable but lucrative service of murdering the dead... ] And it was a bit too showy to be corporate espionage in a freezer box...
So I'm stuck.
no subject
Do you know the Betan's name?
no subject
no subject
There's the key. I'd have jumped to grab her in an instant, regardless of whoever she actually is.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...