The week passes without anything else going horribly wrong for me. Carleton's maintenance people managed to get the heat going for the campus by Wednesday morning. Classes Wednesday and Thursday went well, though the number of assignments grew. Mid-term exams got scheduled, too, though far enough away that the assignments are more critical. I didn't see eyes in windows or mirrors, so either Lance's trick worked or I was completely paranoid. I don't know which to hope for.
Thursday afternoon had me in a co-op placement meeting, so Trish had the car to go shopping for the barbeque tonight. I hope that she doesn't wind up inviting some guy in line along because she think he's hot. The invites are out, though. Really informal, just saying, "Hey, barbeque, bring what you want." Usually works for the guys I know in res. Anything beats what gets served there, even a burger thats burnt black on the outside and still cold in the middle. Oh, and I'm not cooking tonight. I can cook for myself, but I know when to let someone else take over. Trish can go out in this weather and fulfill the role of chef tonight.
I have the car this afternoon. Makes getting the beer back home easier. A case of twenty-four Canadian, a case of Labatt's Double Blue, half Blue, half Blue Light, and I'm set. The line at the Beer Store isn't bad yet, the main reason why I came here in the middle of the afternoon instead of after four o'clock. The bottles clink as I put the cases into the Honda's trunk. I slam down the hatchback so I can begin the trip home.
My phone trills. I learned my lesson earlier this week and moved it to my backpack. I unlock and open the driver's door to my car and reach across to grab the cell out of the pack's side pocket. I flip the phone open in the middle of the third ring. "Beer delivery," I answer.
"Jackie?" Trish asks.
"I better be. It's my phone."
"Okay . . .." I think I broke Trish's brain. "Jackie, where are you?"
"The Beer Store." Not the most creative name, but that's what the government-run chain of stores are called. "The one south of Billings Bridge."
"Are you on your way home?"
Trish doesn't sound as chipper as she normally does. "In theory. What's up?"
"I need a ride."
I close the car door. "Okay. Where are you?"
"I'm still on campus. I'll meet you at the Dunton Tower." The tallest building at Carleton, Dunton is home for most of the Arts programs.
"Give me ten minutes and I'll be there. Need anything on my way in?"
"Just get here, okay?"
I hang up. Something is very wrong with Trish. I hope she and Simon haven't had a fight. Last thing I want tonight is to deal with Trish while trying to figure out Steve and keeping everyone else from trashing the apartment and the entire block. The Honda needs a second attempt to start, but the engine does roar to life. I get the car out into traffic and heading back to the university.
Trish is waiting where she said she'd be. I just have the car stopped when she opens the passenger door. I move my pack to the back seat so she can get in. Trish slams the door shut. "Is there something wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing. I want to go home." Trish buckles up, then rests her knees on the dashboard.
I put the Honda into gear. "Do you want to stop anywhere along the way?"
"Did you get the booze yet?"
"It's in back."
Trish cranes her neck to look. "Then I don't need anything."
"If it's something you want to talk about . . .?"
"I'm fine, Jackie."
"All right, just asking."
We get to the main entrance to campus from Bronson Avenue before Trish explodes. "How can he say that my idea makes no sense?" Good thing I had to stop for the red light. "What does he know? I've written essays about the subject. This is his first time tackling the problem."
"Project problems?" I venture.
"I have no problems with the project. It's that arse working in the group. Trying to take over leadership without a frigging clue of what's going on."
I've always nodded and smiled when Trish talked about her various projects. It's a silent agreement between us. We act as each other's listening post to help the other work through problems. I've managed to get some tough coding problems worked out by talking them out to her. Neither of us really understand what the other is doing, though. Sure, we've picked up bit and pieces, but not enough to comprehend the whole picture. That is working against me right now, though. I don't understand enough of Trish's current project to be of any help, assuming she isn't just venting. "What happened?" I ask, knowing I might get the full answer.
"He declared himself the project leader, that's all. He started telling the rest of us what parts had to be done and when."
"Isn't that what you were going to do? You were complaining that nothing was getting done."
Trish glares at me. "He stepped in before I could. Now things are going to be completely screwed up."
The light turns green finally. I ease the Honda across Bronson and try to keep my attention on the road. "Trish, if he can get things going--"
"Don't defend him, Jackie. God." She turns her attention to the houses we're passing. "He's not even in the same degree program the rest of us are in. My BA isn't going to be screwed over because of him."
The bottles in the back clink as I drive over a small rut in the street. The beer sounds like a great idea right now, either for me or for Trish. "Did you invite him for dinner tonight?"
Trish buries her face in the palm of her hand. "Damnit, I forgot about that. Jackie, you have to keep him away from me."
"Sure. Who is he?"
I can feel Trish's eyes bore through me. "Justin. I'll point him out when he arrives."
"Good. I'll feel better knowing which guy I'm supposed to separate you from."
"Please, Jackie. I wouldn't touch him no matter how much he begged."
"That would make you feel better, though."
Trish lets herself laugh. "I can just picture him now, bound to a chair."
"Good. Keep that picture in mind while you're cooking. Better to take it out on the burgers than on him. Less blood for me to clean up later."
"Okay," Trish starts. She grins. "But I can't guarentee anything with the condiments."
"You get to clean that up if the ketchup hits the carpet."
I stop in front of the apartment instead of continuing to the parking lot. This will make it easier to haul the two cases of beer up to our apartment. Between the two of us, we should only need one trip. Beats having to carry the cases by myself. Trish starts filling the fridge with the Blue and Blue Light. I leave the Canadian on the counter for now; I'll put a few in the freezer later so they're cold when people arrive.
Trish has everything under control in the kitchen, so I retire to my room. I want to check in with Valor Quest. The gloves are plugged back in, once I retrieved them from the car yesterday, and if I'm going to rearrange reality at the atomic level, I think some practice is in order so I don't accidentally create Godzilla if I sneeze the wrong way.
I sit down at my desk and bring my PC out of its sleep mode. I launch Valor Quest and put on the gloves. The usual screens come up; I click past the world history. Jacinda is at the inn, still in her lovely blue robe. She looks at me through the screen; her expression says, "Where the hell have you been?" I think the animators were given a little too much discretion there. If all of Valor Quest's characters act like this, there's going to be a lot of players feeling creeped out.
Of course, if I've been wearing the same robe for the better part of the week, I'd be miffed, too. Let's see if I can change her wardrobe without having to go to the merchant. I just wish I didn't have to go through the Macarena to find the right menu. I do figure it out without having to resort to a mouse slash. In fact, raising the menu requires less hand movement than sliding the mouse around. Good to know that casting spells won't attract the attention of people passing by.
I scroll through the outfits available. I just get a one- or two-word description of the costume, not a picture of what it looks like. Hoping that the developers aren't too unfamilar with what different articles of women's clothing are, I start reading the list. Several different styles of robe lead off, followed by different styles of tops. Interesting, I wasn't expecting a Sims-like approach to wardrobe in an game like Valor Quest. Mind, some of the tops are essentially bikini tops. The ubiquitous chain mail bikini is in the list. Twice, really, once for the top, once for the bottom. Men.
I do find something that sounds good, though. A halter top that leaves her back exposed and a long skirt. Naturally, no colours listed, but I know how to get around that. I select the options. On screen, Jacinda's vibrant blue robes are replaced by her brand new beige outfit. She doesn't look happy about that. I take the hint and do the finger gestures to call up the colour menu. A few clicks later, Jacinda is in her brand new dark green halter and salmon skirt.
The chat window flashes. I click on it to see who is trying to hit on me. In the window, Lance has written, /Congrats! You've been invited to a new server, Avalon./ He then types out the commands to reach it. All hush-hush from the other beta testers; this is the server for us rookie magic types. I let him know I'll be right there. Lucky Jacinda, being invited to a restricted zone. Her virtual ego should swell right up.
I enter the commands. A progress bar appears; everything behind it freezes in place. The server is moving Jacinda's data, I suppose. A few minutes later and my screen goes black for a moment, then Jacinda appears in a new town, one that is far more spectacular than the one she left. The colours are haphazard, almost like a bunch of people who found a way to change the hues of the different objects and wanted to see what they can do. My inner grafitti artist is disappointed. I'll have to find something else to deface.
Trish opens my door as she knocks on it. "Jackie, do you have to do that now? We have to get the place cleaned. And what happened to your purple mouse? It was cute."
"It wasn't working." I've been expecting the question from Trish ever since I returned the mouse to its original colours. It's much easier to let her assume I took it back to the store than to tell her that I changed its colour with a flick of a wrist and a poof.
"Oh. Just get your butt out of here so the apartment is presentable before it gets trashed, okay?"
I let Lance know I have to go, then shut down Valor Quest. The gloves come off, the computer gets locked, and I head out to join Trish with the cleaning chores. We're not slobs. All we have to do is tidy the place a little. It's a little messier than normal this week, but with Trish herding her project team and my life turning into a fantasy novel, we haven't had as much time to keep up.
Trish points me at the dining room, the only room that is a disaster. When she wants to be vindictive, Trish can be very creative. I start clearing the table, making sure not to toss anything important or school-related. Trish has taken on the bathroom in the meantime; I can hear her scrubbing away. A part of me is tempted to use my newfound magical abilities to clean the room with a twitch of my nose. Another part smacks the idea down, concerned about brooms with minds of their own. A third part tells me that I watch too much TV and to get back to work.
I wind up with a pile of papers for recycling. Since I'm going back down to the main level, I grab the car keys so I can park my car in the apartment's parking lot. The keys jingle as I try to balance the load of paper in one arm and open our front door with the other. I manage to get the recyclables down to the bin without losing anything, though the keys almost joined the paper. I keep a hold on them and go back out to the Honda.
There's a by-law enforcement officer at the start of the block. I dash to my car and jump in. The Honda gives me trouble when I try to turn the ignition over. After the third try, I pause, giving the gas a chance to drain a little before giving another shot at starting the car. I can see the enforcement officer stopped at a light red sedan parked near the fire hydrant. That should keep him busy long enough for me to park in the lot and avoid the ticket.
The engine dies once more when I try to start it. I smack the steering wheel in frustration. I don't want to deal with getting the ticket and then negotiating the maze at City Hall to pay it. Chances are, if I want to fight the ticket, the hearing will be during a final exam.
I force myself to slow down. The Honda's been acting up all week, most likely because of the change in the weather. It did the same thing last year, and it'll get worse when the thermometer dips lower. I'm sure I can get it to go. I check my rear view again. The officer is finishing up with the sedan.
I know what I have in mind is a bad idea. Even the glimmerings of the idea has the element of wrong all over it. Still, I need the damned car moving. I make sure the Honda is in neutral, just to be safe. A cleansing breath later, I close my eyes. I put my fingers through a variety of contortions as I try to make a menu for the vehicle appear. The hardest part is trying to keep the frustration from building. Magic doesn't seem to work when I'm pressured. Finally, with my hand miming the turning of the key, I see the menu in my mind. Filing the gesture away for future use, I select Ignition.
The engine roars to life. I pump my arm in victory. I wait for the motor to start revving. It should happen soon. Might happen sooner if I take my foot off the accelerator. The engine should slow down without gas getting to it. Why isn't the engine stopping? If I put the car into first now, I'll shoot down the street. I look behind me. The officer has noticed my car starting up, though he's just watching.
The engine doesn't let up at all. I must have done something when I cast my spell, but I don't know what. I'm not a mechanic, but this can't be good for my car. The motor might burn out. I need to get back to that menu. I mime turning the ignition again, hoping that it's all I need to turn off my car. The menu comes back. I scroll through it, trying to find an undo or an off option. Closest I have is Disengage. Good enough, I hope. I select it.
The engine slows down and comes to a stop. I rest my head on the steering wheel. That worked just wonderful. For my next trick, I'll flood the city by pouring water out of my shoe. On the bright side, nothing got hurt but my pride. There's a tap-tap on my window. Looking up, I see Mr. Enforcement Officer. I roll down the window. "Hi."
"Hi," he says. "Is everything okay?"
I nod. "I guess."
He smiles. "You do know that it's only one hour parking here?"
I nod again. "I'm trying to move it, sir."
"Your car didn't sound so good there."
"I'm having problems starting it."
"Pop your hood and I'll take a look."
"Okay." Unexpected, but not not unwelcome if it saves me the cost of a ticket. I reach below the dash and pull the hood release lever. The mechanism clicks and the hood rises up a few centimetres.
The enforcement officer opens up the engine compartment completely. His top half disappears from my sight. "You should take you car to a mechanic. I think you have a leak somewhere."
I sigh. Great, I broke my car. I hope the repairs won't force me to find a part-time job. "Can I get it off the street under its own power?"
The officer stands back up, some grease or oil on his hand. "You should." He slams the hood closed.
I get some paper napkins out of the glove compartment. "Thanks." I hand him the napkins. "Here."
"Thanks." He wipes his hands off. "I'll keep going down the street. If you're still having problems, I can call a tow truck for you."
"That's okay. I live here anyway. I'll go get my roommate to push the damned thing where it belongs."
"Do you think you can have it off the road by the time I get back here?"
I look down to the end of the street. It's only a few blocks before the street reaches the Rideau River. There's a few other cars parked; I figure it'll take him about five minutes a car. "Sure. Or be nearly there if I need to get a push."
The enforcement officer smiles. "Have yourself a great day, ma'am."
"You, too, and thanks again." He walks away, a little slower than he did getting here. He must be having a good day already.
I try the ignition for real, no magic this time. The engine comes to life and settles down to where it should be, a dull rumble. Much better. I shift to first gear and ease the car to its parking space. When I pass the officer, I give him a wave.
Once the Honda is parked and locked, I return back up to the apartment. Trish has finished the bathroom and has started vacuuming the living room. She looks over when I enter to make sure I'm me and not one of our guests, then returns to her work. I go into the kitchen and start putting the cans of Canadian into the fridge. I place three into the freezer to get them colder, then leave one more on the counter. I figure I earned one after what I did downstairs.
Trish and I have frosty mugs in the freezer. I take one out and pour my beer into it. The foam rises just over the mug's lip, but the entire can is emptied. I raise the mug to my lips and take a long drink. The act alone lets me relax a little. I knew trying magic on the car was a bad idea. Thankfully, I was able to fix my mistake. Things could have been far worse. I'm going to ask Lance for more lessons. A little knowledge is definitely a dangerous thing.
Over the din of the vacuum cleaner, I hear the intercom buzzing. I set down my beer and dash over to the receiver. "Yes?" I answer.
"Is Trish there?" a man's voice asks.
"Yeah, come on up." I press the buzzer to unlock the front door for a count of five. Unless he was drunk, he should be able to get inside. I try to flag down Trish.
She turns off the vacuum. "Yeah?"
"Our first guest is here."
"Crap, we're not ready." She surveys the rug. "Good enough, I guess. I have to get the barbeque going. Can you take care of him?"
"Yeah, sure. Did you invite your project team over, too?"
Trish starts putting away the cleaner. "I did. Remember, you have to deal with Justin."
"Make sure you point him out to me."
Trish puts away the vacuum and digs out the barbecue. There's a knock at our door. I go and answer it, letting in our first guest, Ryan. I met him back in first year during a meet and greet Trish's class had. Somehow, she had managed to drag me along to it. Nice guy, though I found that he tended to laugh louder than he needs to. In his hands are a package of hot dogs and a six-pack of Kirin of all things. I show him to the living room and offer to put his food and beer in the fridge.
The buzzer rings again. I get to it on my way back out of the kitchen. This time, a couple of my classmates, Vihn and Marcus. We've worked together on group assignments and did fairly well. Not a great mesh, but we didn't have the issues Trish has now. I buzz them in and wait at the door. It doesn't take them long to get up. When I let them in, I take their beverage to the kitchen, too, then make introductions between them and Ryan.
Slowly, the guests arrive. Trish makes several trips down to the backyard and back up with the food, a bottle of Blue Light always in her hand. The alcohol is flowing tonight, with half our invitees bringing their own booze. There's even a bottle of Chardonnay making the rounds. Trish's project group is relaxing, even the dread Justin, who doesn't seem bad at all. He's a lot like Trish, which is probably why they aren't getting along.
After doing a round of being a gracious hostess, I glance at the clock in the kitchen. It's five fifteen and Steve hasn't shown up yet. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or annoyed. He hasn't called either and I know he has my cell phone number. Then again, he could have run into a last minute problem at work. He's placed high enough that he might not get the luxury of leaving early even on Friday.
The intercom buzzer goes off. Before I can get to it, Ryan has let whoever it is downstairs in. I throw a glare at his back as I reach the door. At least I'll be the one to decide who comes in. I peek out the peephole; no one in the hall yet. In the living room, music starts; someone put on a hip-hop CD. I look back to see who's responsible. A knock comes from the door. I check the peephole again. Steve stands outside the door. He made it after all.
I open the door. "Steve, hi, come in." I stand aside to let him through the doorway.
Steve walks in, wearing a dark purple business suit that's impecable on him. "Hi, Jackie," he says as he steps inside. "I brought along this." He presents to me a bottle; I read "Cape d'Estaing Cabernet Sauvignon" on its label.
"You didn't have to," I stammer.
"What's a barbecue without a proper wine for it?"
"I didn't know there was a proper wine for hot dogs and burgers."
He smiles. "You'd be surprised at what this wine can go with. Good to see you again."
"It's nice seeing you." I start playing with the ends of my hair. "I'll introduce you to people. Trish is still cooking."
"Isn't she cold? It's snowing outside."
Always the way, lousy weather during a barbecue. "She'll be okay. She has a jacket and her beer. She'll be toasty."
Steve laughs and lets me take him around the room. The girls here are taken with him; he does look smart in his suit. The guys are a little rankled, but Steve puts them at ease by listening and laughing at their jokes. I take the bottle of wine he brought and put it in the kitchen with the rest of the hootch. From the fridge, I take out another can of Canadian. The ones I had in the freezer are long gone; I think Vihn and Marcus finished those off.
Trish returns with all the food she's cooked and places it out on the dining room table. A buffet line of sorts forms, with people putting together their burgers and dogs. I grab one of each, putting on tomatoes from the Market on my hamburger, then find a seat on the couch.
Steve sits down besides me with a bottle of Blue and two hamburgers on his plate. "Nice place you have. You can afford this as a student?"
"Trish and I can, yes. She works during the school year and I save a lot from my co-op placements."
"I can see how handy it is living here, being so close to your school and all." He looks around at the décor Trish and I have built up since we moved in here. "Interesting style."
"We needed to cover the bare walls somehow. Makes the place at least look lived in. I'm sure your place looks much nicer."
Steve shrugs. "I don't spend much time there, so I haven't bothered putting much up. A few paintings in my bedroom, but that's all."
Trish plunks down beside on the other side of Steve on the couch. "Hey, guys!" She sets down her beer bottle. "Having a good time?"
"It's been a while since I've been to anything like this."
"Not even with your work buddies?" Trish asks.
"We head out to bars now and then," Steve explains, "but not a get together at our homes."
"Too bad. This is a great way to unwind."
"Trish, wasn't Simon supposed to come over tonight?" I ask. It's hard to get to know someone when one's roommate is with you.
"He got called into work tonight. He might drop by later." She grabs Steve's arm. "Can you believe it? One of his co-workers called in 'sick'," Trish uses her free hand to air quote, "and only Simon was available."
"How's Justin doing?" I look around to see if he's still here.
Trish glares at me. "He's okay. Weren't you supposed to talk to him?"
"I was going to but you kept taking him downstairs while you were grilling."
"You were supposed to stop me."
Steve has been following this chat like he would a tennis game. "I'll just get out of your way, ladies."
I wrap my arm around his free one. "No, Steve, you're not in the way." I give Trish a pointed look.
"Be that way." Trish stands up and almost falls back over. I'm going to have to see how much Blue Light is left. She recovers and flounces off to join a different group.
I turn my attention back to Steve. "I am so sorry."
"Forget it. She probably will have by tomorrow morning."
I take a quick look over at Trish. She's in an animated talk with her project team. "I hope so."
Steve puts his hand on my leg. That's a lot more personal than I'd like, especially with someone I barely know. He's more open, though, from what I've seen. A natural salesman who doesn't come across as slimey, other than his hand on my leg. I smile at him. His hand is just there, doing nothing. I don't want to encourage him, but I don't want to discourage him, either. Decisiveness, your name is Jacqueline. "So . . . um, how was work?"
"It went, which is the best I can say about it right now." He laughs. "You can't want to talk about work or school tonight. It's the weekend! A time to relax and have fun."
"Okay, then, what was the last movie you saw?" I give him a smirk.
"It's been a while. I think it was the last Die Hard movie."
"You really need to get out more."
"You haven't met my boss," Steve says. "She's a taskmaster. It pays off, but everyone works hard. My turn. What's your favourite vegetable?"
I blink at the sudden change in the conversation. "I'm good for anything in a salad. But, if I have to pick just one, radishes. No, wait, tomatoes. Except they're a fruit. The tomatoes, that is, not the radishes. So, yeah, radishes." Mental note: I'm now cut off. No more beer after I finish my current one. I take a sip of it to make sure it's still beer.
Steve doesn't laugh at my ramblings. "Interesting choice."
"I wish I had some here tonight. My turn. What's your favourite colour?"
"That's easy. Red, the darker the better."
I look over his clothes. "I was thinking you were going to say purple."
"Because of the suit? Ha! I bought this because it looks good on me. Salewoman told me that herself."
"All the women love you, huh?"
"Not the way you're thinking, Jackie." Steve takes a drink of his own beer.
I blush. I wasn't thinking that way until he mentioned it. "Still, I've noticed you here. I'll bet any one of the women here would say yes if you asked her out."
"I don't know about that."
"Five bucks says the next woman you ask says yes."
"You're on." Steve shakes my hand, then doesn't let go. His hazel eyes meet mine. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me?"
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. That came from left field. "You set me up."
"I did no such thing. You left me that opening."
"I didn't mean to." Did I? I have no idea right now. I look down at my beer. Time to stop drinking tonight before my mouth gets me into something I'll regret tomorrow.
Steve looks at me, expectantly. "Well?"
"Sure. But not this weekend."
"Not a problem. I'll have to work late this week, so what about the following Saturday?"
I rack my memory to figure if I have anything that'd prevent me. Nothing I can think of. "I'm available."
"Good. I'll pick you up and whisk you away for the best meal you've ever had."
I smile. "Sounds like fun." A crash comes from Trish's bedroom. "Gotta go. Damage control time." I get up from the sofa and dash towards the commotion.
Inside Trish's room, Vihn and Sarah, one of Trish's project group, pick themselves up off the floor. Sarah's shirt is half tucked in to her jeans. Her belt has somehow become undone. I give Vihn the stink eye. "Isn't it too early for any sort of escapades?"
"He was just helping me," Sarah explains.
Helping her out of her clothes, I imagine. "Just don't destroy Trish's room, okay?" It's bad enough that I hear Trish getting her groove on through the walls. I don't want to hear two people, a classmate and a virtual stranger, having sex. There's not enough mind bleach.
I return to the living room and fall into the easy chair. Now I remember why we don't have a massive barbecue like this more often. Trish is comfortably drunk already and dinner's just now being served. At least we were able to control the number of people who are here. No extra guests and no one has crashed, at least not yet.
Steve crouches down beside me. "Everything in one piece?"
"For now."
He stands up and offers me his hand. "Want to dance?"
"Yeah, sure. Maybe if I spaz out, it'll keep everyone else watching and not getting into trouble." I take his hand.
Steve pulls me up and out into the middle of the living room. The music changes from hip-hop to techno. That's more like it. Steve starts dancing; I mimic his moves. Soon, others are joining in on the fun. Trish and Justin are the first, dancing close to each other but not together. It's odd being in the centre of the dancing. I usually stick close to the edge of the floor, away from all the attention. No one sees me and, more importantly, no one gets hit when my poor coordination causes me to fling my arms randomly. Usually I wind up smacking anyone around me with my hands and elbows. Tonight, though, I keep up with Steve and no one gets bruised. Win-win for all, even me.
The music slows to a ballad. Steve takes my hand and gives a gentle, almost playful tug. I twirl into his embrace. He holds me close during the song, his hand rubbing the small of my back I tense slightly at the touch, and he stops almost right away. Not that I don't like being touched, at least in theory, but that's more intimate than I like. Points to Steve for not continuing. I spend the first third of the song trying not to step on his feet. The next third, he tries to twirl me, resulting in me on the floor as my legs get tangled with each other. The end of the song has us laughing so hard we have to support each other.
The ballad ends. Steve leads me to the couch and helps me sit. "Want anything? Another beer, maybe?"
"Another hot dog would be good."
He disappears from my side. I look out at the crowd we have here. The two groups, Trish's friends and classmates and mine, are mingling well. Too well, if I consider Vihn and Sarah. Trish is getting along, for certain values of 'getting along', with Justin. I just hope they don't improve things to the point where sleeping tonight has to wait for them to pass out in her room.
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