The Wit Of The Staircase 3/?
anonymous
April 8 2010, 06:37:00 UTC
*
Matthew had heard no word of the CDs coming to light the next, so he assumed that Alfred was saving them for a bigger exhibition to maximize the embarrassment. The war had simmered down into Arthur being disgruntled, and them occasionally throwing insults to each other. Which was good, except Matthew knew it wasn't going to last for long. It wasn't until he was about to leave for home that Matthew realized what he was missing. It was gone. His bag was gone and Matthew was in a state of panic. His notebook was in there, filled with various sketches of Francis like he was some crazed lovesick stalker. He'd been very careful to take the pages out and hide them after he had finished day by day. He couldn't quite bring himself to burn them, or rip them to pieces, even if that'd be the safest way. Except this time he got careless and forgot his bag. He reassured himself as he went through the halls that no one cared about him or his bag, and that this would be a close call and nothing more.
The sound of voices in the classroom he needed to visit told him otherwise.
"I'm starved."
"We'll get something to eat in a minute, Antonio."
"Oh, my books. I gotta pick 'em up here."
"And since when are you so concerned about your studies, mon ami?"
"I can't blow them up with firecrackers if they're here, now can I?" Gilbert said.
"And why were your books in the art classroom, anyways?" Antonio asked.
"..take a wild fucking guess."
Matthew heard the distinct sound of a high-five, and then some whispered comments about the girl. Matthew bit his lip. Don't let them find it, don't let them find it, don't let them-.
"Hmm...A bag?"
There was the sound of someone rifling through a bag. His bag.
"This isn't it," Gilbert said. There was the sound of the bag being tossed aside. Then the sound of someone else picking it back up again.
"Who left the mystery bag? Perhaps someone cute?" Francis said.
Matthew peeked in, his horror rising. There was Francis, with his notebook spread open, and looking at the pages. There was no word for the sheer amount of embarrassment Matthew felt at the moment. He flushed and leaned against the wall to steady himself.
"What's it filled with? Porn?"
"Drawings," Francis said.
"Of porn?"
"...They're of me," Francis said.
"Are they naked?"
"Do you want to see me naked, mon ami?" Francis said suggestively.
Gilbert lost interest for a moment when they weren't pornographic.
"A one of the lower level girls, maybe? I bet they'd be an easy lay."
Francis chuckled. "Gilbert, they're all easy lays when it comes to me."
"Does it have a name on it?" Antonio asked. His hand rested on Francis' shoulder as he peeked in at Matthew's drawings.
"I don't see anything..." Francis said. He flipped through the pages further, and turned it this way and that, looking for a signature.
"Check in the bag. Maybe there's something there."
He rummaged through the contents, and Matthew racked his brain to see if his wallet was in there. Student ID? Anything?
"...Matthew Jones."
"So much for it being a cute girl," Antonio said.
Gilbert sniggered. "Like that'd stop him."
Antonio laughed and threw his arm about Francis' neck for a friendly hair ruffle.. "You're such an equal opportunity guy, Francis."
Francis smirked. In one fluid motion, he unruffled his hair and put it right back to its former unmolested glory. Maudit, he was hotter than he had any right to be.
"That I am, Antonio. I'll be keeping this until we find this 'Matthieu'."
They muttered something else, probably vulgar as could be, but Matthew couldn't catch it, as he'd moved from the door to try and stood with his back to the cold wall, trying not to hyperventilate. The next thing he caught was Gilbert exclaiming over finding his books, and Antonio remarking that it was really time for them to get some food already. Matthew all but threw himself in the nearest broom closet.
The Wit Of The Staircase 3.5/?
anonymous
April 8 2010, 06:46:42 UTC
*
Matthew had never sought invisibility like he did now. Jones was a common name, and that had only been due to a filing mistake where he'd been yet again mistaken for his brother. It wasn't an ID, student or otherwise. Maybe, just maybe he could pass by on this mistake and keep himself from being publicly humiliated by the trio. He didn't want to be free from anonymity, only to be dubbed 'Cocksucking Jones'. - and yes, Jones, because knowing them, they'd get his name wrong. Again.
He kept his hoodie up and his shoulders down and hoped it would be enough.
*
annnd notes. I wasn't going to post this yet as I had another fill (or two) going, but I posted a fragment for someone on my flist that was having a bad day, and then I got a nice review and well. Hi guyz, obvious anon is killing herself with gigantic multifills!
Also, I should note that there was going to be a whole England/America side too, except that'd be a different story that interlocked with this one. Like Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle and XXXholic, you know?
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 3.5/?
anonymous
April 8 2010, 20:15:30 UTC
i really like this, your writing is so... casual? natural? hahah, sorry, dunno how to describe it in english, but i love it! even though i don't know much of the things mentioned (some band names? "gossip girl"?) it feels lively when you use stuff like that! and i lolled so hard at Cubanz69: HEY U BASTRED I KNO U CHETED ON COUNTERSTRIKE pfff shortly, LOTS of love for you! ♥ ♥ can't wait to read more~
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 3.5/?
anonymous
April 9 2010, 00:15:06 UTC
I've been staring at this prompt for weeks anon but couldn't come up with anything and it needed to be filled so badly, so you have just made my day! And your characterization snagged me. Not just of Matt (artistic Matt is always love), but of the trio. This is probably my favourite portrayals of them to date.
The Wit Of The Staircase 4/?
anonymous
April 9 2010, 08:22:36 UTC
The looooove. Thanks for all the commments, they made me so happy ♥ Oh, I was going to mention it, but I suppose you should thank o0litodreamer0o as her comics gave me the perfect image in my mind for teen!France and helped jump~start the plot.
* The trio lingered in the halls near his locker. Matthew thought this had to be some circle of hell, populated by hormonal trouble-making teenage boys. Antonio had a black eye, was rubbing at a bruise forming on his cheek.
"Felicano is oddly angry today..."
"West is going with Feliciano. You got Lovino. "
"That explains a lot," Antonio said.
"You're the one who grew up with him, man," Gilbert said. "You can't even recognize the guy? No wonder he punched you."
"I haven't seen them since I was a child," Antonio protested. "Felicano said he'd marry me."
He kept on rubbing his cheek. "Lovino sure has grown up....."
"....Um. Excuse me," Matthew said. He tried to slip past them. It would be great just to go off until they went away, but classes didn't work that way. Luck had never been with Matthew, and it was that his invisibility never extended to classes. Give any valid reason and they would completely forget him, but if he cut one measly time, then they'd suddenly remember his existence. Antonio stepped out of his way, and Matthew ducked into his locker as meek and quiet as could be, trying to attract as little attention to himself as possible.
"Hey, you..."
Matthew froze.
"What year are you? Freshman?"
Matthew gave a quick nod without meeting Francis' gaze. He quickly gathered his things, meaning to make his escape as quickly as possible. Francis had other ideas. He leaned in close, a hand to the metal door, essentially pinning Matthew to his locker. "Do you know a 'Matthieu Jones'? I have something of his to return."
Matthew flushed. He was sure if he opened his mouth, nothing but a squeak would come out. So he just shook his head and tried to pull away.
"Are you sure? This boy, he certainly is hard to find..."
They were advancing now. Following Francis' lead, all three of the trio had him trapped on all sides.
"You look familiar....Haven't I seen you somewhere before? What's your name?" Francis said.
Matthew shook his head and looked for an exit. Maybe he could slip under Antonio's arms, but if they caught him afterwards, then wouldn't whatever teasing, or game they had planned be even worse?
"He doesn't have a name? Look, a poor nameless boy!" Gilbert laughed.
"I'm...I'm really late for class."
"Nice to meet you really late for class. I am Francis Bonnefoy. You may have heard of me." Francis smiled, teeth flashing. It had a mean edge.
"This is hopeless. We might as well let him be for the time being," Antonio said.
"I concur, mon ami. It seems we won't get anything about of this one."
"Well, strike down another person who has no clue who he is. We should go ask those cheerleaders again. I'm sure the answer lies in their cleavage," Gilbert said.
"That, mon ami, is where you will find the meaning of life."
"I am all for this idea," Antonio enthused. Even if there was a giant Vargas tattooed over his heart, it wasn't like he couldn't enjoy some pretty girls.
Matthew scurried away off to class. His heart still raced, half from how close he'd gotten to being found out, and half from how close Francis had been. He could smell the cologne on him, feel his breath ghost over him while he talked.
Matthew was glad that the next class was one he could scrape by on, because there was no way he'd be able to focus on a thing.
The Wit Of The Staircase 4/?
anonymous
April 9 2010, 09:38:11 UTC
*
Gilbert was quite into the sports game. Antonio was looking out for the Vargas twins, while Francis was bored out of his mind. These sports games were so pointless. So artless and utterly dull Though, those cheerleaders made it reasonably worthwhile. But even they couldn't hold his interest indefinitely.
And all the while that Quarterback Alfred Jones was hamming it up and stealing the show. American 'football' hero, pah. Then came a thought, just skirting the boredom. Jones? Perhaps a connection.... He pushed the thought aside almost as quickly as it had come. There was nothing artistic or graceful about this Alfred. He certainly wasn't the artist in question. If he had any relatives, they probably were of the same ilk.
Besides, Jones was a common name.
Before he settled back to being bored out of his mind, He noticed Arthur, and saw a way to liven things up. Arthur and he were hardly strangers. In fact, their families had hated each other for generations, to where Kirkland was nearly a profanity in his household. Oh, they'd been brats back when they last met, but that didn't change much. Except that he'd grown up just as tasteless as ever. Not only that, he was an insufferable nerd, and still wore those horrid argyle sweaters. He stepped past a boy in an oversized hoodie, who gripped his notebook and laptop to his chest and leaned back like he was being physically assaulted. Francis leaned over to whisper in Arthur's ear. "So, eyebrows. Enjoying this American 'football'?"
"None of your damn business, frog!"
"Now, about these clothes...."
He picked a stray strand of something from Arthur's hideous argyle sweatervest. Was that honestly straw? He shuddered at the thought. What he didn't expect was a football to the head. As he would find out later, this 'Alfred Jones' had a good aim, and did not take kindly to people teasing Arthur.
Anyone other than himself, that was..
*
It was ridiculously hard to find him. First they'd asked around, but nothing had come up. People would first be excited, and talk about some 'Alfred Jones' but would give blank, confused glances when he corrected it as Matthieu Jones. The next step was a visit to the principal's office, which they'd orchestrated pretty easily. A few compliments thrown the way of the secretary and some distractions, and he was in to the files. All that, only to find that there was no 'Matthieu Jones.'
Before the secretary returned, he found a few other names - Alfred Jones, Kyle Jones, Jenni Jones, Philip Jones - and the cover his bases, the Matthews' as well: Matthew Smith, Matthew Reily, and Matthew Williams, and filed them away mentally to check, just in case.
The Wit Of The Staircase 6/?
anonymous
April 9 2010, 09:41:23 UTC
Prior one is 5th. For the fail. -
They'd asked half the school, and two whole weeks had gone by with no breaks. At night, when he was alone, and a little drunk, Francis would look through the notebook and his own photos which he had snapped. Most of them weren't art. It didn't take a great artist to snap pictures of easy girls with their short skirts and halter tops. When it came to that, he'd just use a digital camera to save on film. He preferred the tangible feel of a polaroid in his hands, but there was no use wasting his precious film on little more than soft-core pornography.
For as long as he had been taking pictures, he'd been pinning them on a bulletin board. He'd bought one as one of his first expenses in this land, but little had proven worthy enough to actually grace it instead of being in one of the shoe boxes under his bed.. There was a particularly nice sunset falling over an adequate lake, though he rarely did landscapes. The architecture had proved uninspiring, so other than some utterly trite and banal pictures of a park, nothing else was worth photographing. The earliest perhaps reflected his disinterest and displacement at his new location. Saying 'Exchange student' was so much easier than saying 'my father foisted me on this classless country for an indeterminate time, but at least American girls are easy.'
He blinked as he came over it again. The first picture he'd taken away from his country had been of an outsider. He was looking out at the crowd, his hands driven deep into his pockets. His expression was grim, yet it was telling. He watched everyone, while being very much apart. He remembered taking that picture, and how easily the boy had disappeared into the crowd after the first snapshot. Just a blink and he was gone.
Ah, so that was where he'd recognized the boy from. It didn't, however, answer any questions to who the boy was, only that he'd once been the basis of one of the better pictures, probably the best he'd taken during his stay that didn't involve shots of naked breasts.
He pinned the picture of the unknown boy to the bulletin board.
Re: The Wit Of The Staircase 6/?
anonymous
April 9 2010, 17:35:59 UTC
"He was looking out at the crowd, his hands driven deep into his pockets. His expression was grim, yet it was telling. He watched everyone, while being very much apart. He remembered taking that picture, and how easily the boy had disappeared into the crowd after the first snapshot. Just a blink and he was gone."
I FEEL SO DAMN SAD FOR MATTHEW AT THIS MOMENT, ANON I COULD CRY
*
Matthew had heard no word of the CDs coming to light the next, so he assumed that Alfred was saving them for a bigger exhibition to maximize the embarrassment. The war had simmered down into Arthur being disgruntled, and them occasionally throwing insults to each other. Which was good, except Matthew knew it wasn't going to last for long. It wasn't until he was about to leave for home that Matthew realized what he was missing. It was gone. His bag was gone and Matthew was in a state of panic. His notebook was in there, filled with various sketches of Francis like he was some crazed lovesick stalker. He'd been very careful to take the pages out and hide them after he had finished day by day. He couldn't quite bring himself to burn them, or rip them to pieces, even if that'd be the safest way. Except this time he got careless and forgot his bag. He reassured himself as he went through the halls that no one cared about him or his bag, and that this would be a close call and nothing more.
The sound of voices in the classroom he needed to visit told him otherwise.
"I'm starved."
"We'll get something to eat in a minute, Antonio."
"Oh, my books. I gotta pick 'em up here."
"And since when are you so concerned about your studies, mon ami?"
"I can't blow them up with firecrackers if they're here, now can I?" Gilbert said.
"And why were your books in the art classroom, anyways?" Antonio asked.
"..take a wild fucking guess."
Matthew heard the distinct sound of a high-five, and then some whispered comments about the girl. Matthew bit his lip. Don't let them find it, don't let them find it, don't let them-.
"Hmm...A bag?"
There was the sound of someone rifling through a bag. His bag.
"This isn't it," Gilbert said. There was the sound of the bag being tossed aside. Then the sound of someone else picking it back up again.
"Who left the mystery bag? Perhaps someone cute?" Francis said.
"You always think it's someone cute," Gilbert said.
Matthew peeked in, his horror rising. There was Francis, with his notebook spread open, and looking at the pages. There was no word for the sheer amount of embarrassment Matthew felt at the moment. He flushed and leaned against the wall to steady himself.
"What's it filled with? Porn?"
"Drawings," Francis said.
"Of porn?"
"...They're of me," Francis said.
"Are they naked?"
"Do you want to see me naked, mon ami?" Francis said suggestively.
Gilbert lost interest for a moment when they weren't pornographic.
"A one of the lower level girls, maybe? I bet they'd be an easy lay."
Francis chuckled. "Gilbert, they're all easy lays when it comes to me."
"Does it have a name on it?" Antonio asked. His hand rested on Francis' shoulder as he peeked in at Matthew's drawings.
"I don't see anything..." Francis said. He flipped through the pages further, and turned it this way and that, looking for a signature.
"Check in the bag. Maybe there's something there."
He rummaged through the contents, and Matthew racked his brain to see if his wallet was in there. Student ID? Anything?
"...Matthew Jones."
"So much for it being a cute girl," Antonio said.
Gilbert sniggered. "Like that'd stop him."
Antonio laughed and threw his arm about Francis' neck for a friendly hair ruffle.. "You're such an equal opportunity guy, Francis."
Francis smirked. In one fluid motion, he unruffled his hair and put it right back to its former unmolested glory. Maudit, he was hotter than he had any right to be.
"That I am, Antonio. I'll be keeping this until we find this 'Matthieu'."
They muttered something else, probably vulgar as could be, but Matthew couldn't catch it, as he'd moved from the door to try and stood with his back to the cold wall, trying not to hyperventilate.
The next thing he caught was Gilbert exclaiming over finding his books, and Antonio remarking that it was really time for them to get some food already. Matthew all but threw himself in the nearest broom closet.
*
Reply
Matthew had never sought invisibility like he did now. Jones was a common name, and that had only been due to a filing mistake where he'd been yet again mistaken for his brother. It wasn't an ID, student or otherwise. Maybe, just maybe he could pass by on this mistake and keep himself from being publicly humiliated by the trio. He didn't want to be free from anonymity, only to be dubbed 'Cocksucking Jones'. - and yes, Jones, because knowing them, they'd get his name wrong. Again.
He kept his hoodie up and his shoulders down and hoped it would be enough.
*
annnd notes. I wasn't going to post this yet as I had another fill (or two) going, but I posted a fragment for someone on my flist that was having a bad day, and then I got a nice review and well. Hi guyz, obvious anon is killing herself with gigantic multifills!
Also, I should note that there was going to be a whole England/America side too, except that'd be a different story that interlocked with this one. Like Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle and XXXholic, you know?
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Gosh,I wish I had your talent at writing.
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I'd leave a better response, but my brain's fried from work. Ciao.
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and i lolled so hard at Cubanz69: HEY U BASTRED I KNO U CHETED ON COUNTERSTRIKE pfff
shortly, LOTS of love for you! ♥ ♥ can't wait to read more~
Reply
Can't wait to see where this goes~
Reply
*
The trio lingered in the halls near his locker. Matthew thought this had to be some circle of hell, populated by hormonal trouble-making teenage boys. Antonio had a black eye, was rubbing at a bruise forming on his cheek.
"Felicano is oddly angry today..."
"West is going with Feliciano. You got Lovino. "
"That explains a lot," Antonio said.
"You're the one who grew up with him, man," Gilbert said. "You can't even recognize the guy? No wonder he punched you."
"I haven't seen them since I was a child," Antonio protested. "Felicano said he'd marry me."
He kept on rubbing his cheek. "Lovino sure has grown up....."
"....Um. Excuse me," Matthew said. He tried to slip past them. It would be great just to go off until they went away, but classes didn't work that way. Luck had never been with Matthew, and it was that his invisibility never extended to classes. Give any valid reason and they would completely forget him, but if he cut one measly time, then they'd suddenly remember his existence. Antonio stepped out of his way, and Matthew ducked into his locker as meek and quiet as could be, trying to attract as little attention to himself as possible.
"Hey, you..."
Matthew froze.
"What year are you? Freshman?"
Matthew gave a quick nod without meeting Francis' gaze. He quickly gathered his things, meaning to make his escape as quickly as possible. Francis had other ideas. He leaned in close, a hand to the metal door, essentially pinning Matthew to his locker. "Do you know a 'Matthieu Jones'? I have something of his to return."
Matthew flushed. He was sure if he opened his mouth, nothing but a squeak would come out. So he just shook his head and tried to pull away.
"Are you sure? This boy, he certainly is hard to find..."
"..p-pleaseletgoofmeineedmybooksihavetogotoclass-"
They were advancing now. Following Francis' lead, all three of the trio had him trapped on all sides.
"You look familiar....Haven't I seen you somewhere before? What's your name?" Francis said.
Matthew shook his head and looked for an exit. Maybe he could slip under Antonio's arms, but if they caught him afterwards, then wouldn't whatever teasing, or game they had planned be even worse?
"He doesn't have a name? Look, a poor nameless boy!" Gilbert laughed.
"I'm...I'm really late for class."
"Nice to meet you really late for class. I am Francis Bonnefoy. You may have heard of me." Francis smiled, teeth flashing. It had a mean edge.
"This is hopeless. We might as well let him be for the time being," Antonio said.
"I concur, mon ami. It seems we won't get anything about of this one."
"Well, strike down another person who has no clue who he is. We should go ask those cheerleaders again. I'm sure the answer lies in their cleavage," Gilbert said.
"That, mon ami, is where you will find the meaning of life."
"I am all for this idea," Antonio enthused. Even if there was a giant Vargas tattooed over his heart, it wasn't like he couldn't enjoy some pretty girls.
Matthew scurried away off to class. His heart still raced, half from how close he'd gotten to being found out, and half from how close Francis had been. He could smell the cologne on him, feel his breath ghost over him while he talked.
Matthew was glad that the next class was one he could scrape by on, because there was no way he'd be able to focus on a thing.
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Gilbert was quite into the sports game. Antonio was looking out for the Vargas twins, while Francis was bored out of his mind. These sports games were so pointless. So artless and utterly dull Though, those cheerleaders made it reasonably worthwhile. But even they couldn't hold his interest indefinitely.
And all the while that Quarterback Alfred Jones was hamming it up and stealing the show. American 'football' hero, pah. Then came a thought, just skirting the boredom. Jones? Perhaps a connection.... He pushed the thought aside almost as quickly as it had come. There was nothing artistic or graceful about this Alfred. He certainly wasn't the artist in question. If he had any relatives, they probably were of the same ilk.
Besides, Jones was a common name.
Before he settled back to being bored out of his mind, He noticed Arthur, and saw a way to liven things up. Arthur and he were hardly strangers. In fact, their families had hated each other for generations, to where Kirkland was nearly a profanity in his household. Oh, they'd been brats back when they last met, but that didn't change much. Except that he'd grown up just as tasteless as ever. Not only that, he was an insufferable nerd, and still wore those horrid argyle sweaters. He stepped past a boy in an oversized hoodie, who gripped his notebook and laptop to his chest and leaned back like he was being physically assaulted. Francis leaned over to whisper in Arthur's ear. "So, eyebrows. Enjoying this American 'football'?"
"None of your damn business, frog!"
"Now, about these clothes...."
He picked a stray strand of something from Arthur's hideous argyle sweatervest. Was that honestly straw? He shuddered at the thought. What he didn't expect was a football to the head. As he would find out later, this 'Alfred Jones' had a good aim, and did not take kindly to people teasing Arthur.
Anyone other than himself, that was..
*
It was ridiculously hard to find him. First they'd asked around, but nothing had come up. People would first be excited, and talk about some 'Alfred Jones' but would give blank, confused glances when he corrected it as Matthieu Jones. The next step was a visit to the principal's office, which they'd orchestrated pretty easily. A few compliments thrown the way of the secretary and some distractions, and he was in to the files. All that, only to find that there was no 'Matthieu Jones.'
Before the secretary returned, he found a few other names - Alfred Jones, Kyle Jones, Jenni Jones, Philip Jones - and the cover his bases, the Matthews' as well: Matthew Smith, Matthew Reily, and Matthew Williams, and filed them away mentally to check, just in case.
Reply
-
They'd asked half the school, and two whole weeks had gone by with no breaks. At night, when he was alone, and a little drunk, Francis would look through the notebook and his own photos which he had snapped. Most of them weren't art. It didn't take a great artist to snap pictures of easy girls with their short skirts and halter tops. When it came to that, he'd just use a digital camera to save on film. He preferred the tangible feel of a polaroid in his hands, but there was no use wasting his precious film on little more than soft-core pornography.
For as long as he had been taking pictures, he'd been pinning them on a bulletin board. He'd bought one as one of his first expenses in this land, but little had proven worthy enough to actually grace it instead of being in one of the shoe boxes under his bed.. There was a particularly nice sunset falling over an adequate lake, though he rarely did landscapes. The architecture had proved uninspiring, so other than some utterly trite and banal pictures of a park, nothing else was worth photographing. The earliest perhaps reflected his disinterest and displacement at his new location. Saying 'Exchange student' was so much easier than saying 'my father foisted me on this classless country for an indeterminate time, but at least American girls are easy.'
He blinked as he came over it again. The first picture he'd taken away from his country had been of an outsider. He was looking out at the crowd, his hands driven deep into his pockets. His expression was grim, yet it was telling. He watched everyone, while being very much apart. He remembered taking that picture, and how easily the boy had disappeared into the crowd after the first snapshot. Just a blink and he was gone.
Ah, so that was where he'd recognized the boy from. It didn't, however, answer any questions to who the boy was, only that he'd once been the basis of one of the better pictures, probably the best he'd taken during his stay that didn't involve shots of naked breasts.
He pinned the picture of the unknown boy to the bulletin board.
*
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Can't wait for the next update author!anon <3
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I FEEL SO DAMN SAD FOR MATTHEW AT THIS MOMENT, ANON I COULD CRY
Well done. Very, very well done Anon.
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