[Jack's nursing a split lip. He's having fun with sucking the blood off, though, as he watches the snow outside the café window fall. His thigh-length gold hair down from its usual plait right now, though, and is drawn over a shoulder; it's a little disarrayed. Guess how many locals have discovered how easy of a leash it is?]All this upheaval about
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Probably.
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And yet, you would if given the chance, because you have to.
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And please, call me Jack.
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