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Blood is Thicker [M] [Nix]

Started by nephero, April 21, 2017, 04:11:59 PM

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nephero


Blood and sweat.

The cell reeked of it.

Sadir moved to the far side of his cage, to where a small barrel of terribly stale water sat. He scooped up a handful of the dusty fluid, slurped it up, swished it in his mouth, and spat it onto the sandy floor.

The sand was considerably redder than it had been a moment ago.

Not as red as it had been outside, of course. Sadir tongued at the side of his mouth-- still sore from where a blow had caused him to bite into his own cheek. He could still taste copper, but it was a bit less so now. A molar wiggled rather worryingly, however. Seeing no point in hoping it might correct itself, Sadir reached into his mouth and yanked the offending tooth out.

He stared down at the bloodied enamel, turning it in his fingers and scowling. That was aggravating. Less so the loss of the tooth and more so the fact that his opponent had gotten a swing in in the first place. Let alone one hard enough to have sent him to the ground, his helmet knocked off and rolling some far distance away.

His nose had been broken. Again. His protection was several feet away. It hadn't left much room for thought. Which was just how Sadir worked best.

It had been a bloodbath after that. He only usually went into deathmatches as a rule-- he didn't play nice in those hoity toity playacting bouts-- but for the low, low price of one crack of a club to Sadir's head, his opponent had earned an agonizing death via the exceptionally gross application of Sadir's thumbs.

Sadir grinned, spat another gob of blood out, and went back to pacing his cell. Now that the adrenaline was flowing, he was getting antsy-- he was tired of being the last resort, just another caged up animal to throw at the dregs of humanity at the bottom of bloodied sands.

"Come on, come on." he muttered, going back to the barrel for another long drought of water.


VIGILANCE WALKING THE TOAST
Characters here!

__guilds, yo__
The Territok Orcs // The Oratok Orcs // Fausteth // The Ashmen

Nix

It was rare that one of the gladiators of no standing caught Mahvash's eye like this. Criminal and ruffian matches were entertaining, especially for Mahvash's tastes, but these gladiators rarely found patrons; even if they were skilled. It was more a matter of not stooping to scrape from the bottom of the barrel. Fighters of this caliber needed to prove themselves and work up the rankings in the general populace before private owners would seek them out.

It was rare to even see a merchant prince visit the holding cells on a day like this. Perhaps it was because he did not find any of Hespu's new gladiator slaves to his liking. Mahvash was still in the market for a new champion but he was far from desperate.

"You seem antsy." Mahvash said softly but loud enough to be heard by the fighter whose cage he stopped in front of. Sadir, that was the gladiator's name wasn't it? "Anxious for your next fight?"
Amalendu Somadev // Arkyn // Ayvya // Brynjar Eir // Cijii // Demaraen Astarthos // Jaibah
// Kaavi Klkrin // Kevinth Arik // Khavanri Jalmuur // Kiaal Ethyarion // Lahvi // Mahvash Samara // Maram-Jinan // Robin // Runeha // Siiraia Ethyarion // Sureya Anelise // Tryggvi Vilhjal

"FEELING GREAT ABOUT YOURSELF IS NOT A JOKING ISSUE, iT IS HEAVY DUTY BUSINESS, aND NEEDS TO BE GIVEN ALL THE SERIOUSNESS THAT SAD THINGS GET" ~American Sports Legend, Charles Barkley

nephero

The sudden voice behind him had been... surprising. Sadir was used to "surprises" of all sorts down here below the colloseum, and none of them were ever what anyone would call good. It was amazing what desperation could turn into a weapon-- he'd been stabbed no less than five separate times, and all with these ad hoc monstrosities that had to have been scraped together over a long time.

It was almost flattering, if it weren't utterly infuriating.

And so it was on no small measure of instinct that Sadir curled his fingers around his own tooth, and turned with the full intention of sinking the root into whoever had spoken's face. He gave pause, and only just, upon seeing that this person was neither guard nor gladiator. Moneyed, certainly, judging by all the little ornaments in the young man's hair, the fineness of his clothes. There was a decided softness to his features, almost overly so in some places, the telltale mark of someone who had never done anything even resembling hard physical labor.

Sadir's mouth quirked at the concept of hard physical labor and this soft, sweet-looking thing, and he enjoyed a myriad of mental images in the short walk over to the cell bars.

He knew better than to put his hands through them, not quite yet, not with watchful eyes and ready swords so close-- he'd seen less patient men lose their hands that way, and all without leaving a scratch on their intended victim. And not leaving a scratch was entirely outside of Sadir's modus operandi.

And so he leaned forward, tooth against palm against cell bar, fingers spread to give the illusion of non-threat, of safety. An illusion that utterly failed to meet his eyes, which all but sparked with malicious glee.

"Anxious, that's a fancy word. Ready's a better one. Unless you feel like giving me something to tide me over, sweet fig."


VIGILANCE WALKING THE TOAST
Characters here!

__guilds, yo__
The Territok Orcs // The Oratok Orcs // Fausteth // The Ashmen

Nix

Mahvash made sure to stay just out of arm's reach of the cell. He knew most of these men were criminals, but he found he rather liked most criminals. He found himself watching Sadir's hand's closely. The splayed fingers, the slight curve to the one hand as both of the gladiator's palms pressed against the bars. Experience told him that the man was concealing something between the bars and his palm. Mahvash had spent enough time watching killers' hands to notice small things like the slight forward curve of those fingers...

As long as he stayed out of reach whatever the other was concealing was of no consequence to him. His eyes trailed to Sadir's thumbs though. Those digits had done sure heinous work... how much force was necessary for that? There was no fear or dread in Mahvash's gaze, but a shiver of excitement ran down his spine and a small tug at the corner of his lips said everything. "Ready indeed. I just wanted to congratulate your win. It was a truly inspired match."

There was no need to comment on the 'sweet fig' remark. It neither phased nor upset him, and he was still a bit transfixed by those powerful hands.
Amalendu Somadev // Arkyn // Ayvya // Brynjar Eir // Cijii // Demaraen Astarthos // Jaibah
// Kaavi Klkrin // Kevinth Arik // Khavanri Jalmuur // Kiaal Ethyarion // Lahvi // Mahvash Samara // Maram-Jinan // Robin // Runeha // Siiraia Ethyarion // Sureya Anelise // Tryggvi Vilhjal

"FEELING GREAT ABOUT YOURSELF IS NOT A JOKING ISSUE, iT IS HEAVY DUTY BUSINESS, aND NEEDS TO BE GIVEN ALL THE SERIOUSNESS THAT SAD THINGS GET" ~American Sports Legend, Charles Barkley

nephero

Well, now, this was something new. He had seen merchants come down here before, of course; it seemed like it was every other day some plush would-be prince stepped their dainty little feet down these halls and tried to pretend the stink of humanity didn't affect them.

It was usually one thing or another-- but mostly Sadir found it some kind of wild self-inflicted dare, the soft little merchants trying to prove that they were more than some sheltered lamb, that they could get down into the dirt as much as the next man.

Desperation and ego. Sadir could always smell it on them, and scaring the ever-loving fuck out of them was one of his favorite mid-bout games to play.

This one, however... Sadir smelled nothing but gentle perfume, the kind that pushed through the dry dust of sand and old blood. And then there was the way this little prince smiled, that barest hint of one that only seemed more genuine as his gaze ran up to Sadir's hands, and more specifically, his thumbs.

Thumbs that were still crusted dark, small strings of gore stuck beneath blunt and ragged fingernails. Sadir glanced sideways, back at this soft little sweet fig, at the way his pupils were wide with delight.

'A truly inspired match'. Oh. Oh, really, now. That was sure a pretty way of saying he had pulped a man's skull with his bare hands, a pretty way indeed. The gladiator tongued at the side of his mouth where there was now a bloodied gap, before his mouth twisted into a slow, predatory grin.

"Yeah, well," he drawled, long and lazy and absolutely the hallmark of a lion playing kitten, "an eye for a tooth, or however the fuck that goes. Here--"

He pulled his hand back, and flicked his molar through the bars and at the merchant's feet.

"A souvenir for my adoring public." His grin widened, and it was with completely unrepentant laughter that he moved away from the bars and back over to his barrel of water, splashing it up over his face and head before shaking himself out again.


VIGILANCE WALKING THE TOAST
Characters here!

__guilds, yo__
The Territok Orcs // The Oratok Orcs // Fausteth // The Ashmen

Nix

Mahvash moved to the side just a bit as the tooth was flicked at his feet, but there was no fear to the movement, no jump of surprise. The grace with which he side stepped the molar gave away his fancy background in dance. He eyed the tooth for a moment before kneeling to pick it from the dirt, eyes on Sadir the entire time. As he rose he turned the tooth over in his palm while the other returned to the bucket. The root was sharp and just a little bloody still. "You sure you don't want to keep it for the next match? It could make that bout more interesting too."

The smile had left the merchant's lips but his eyes still gleamed with delight as he watched the gladiator. This man had no idea who he was other than his apparent status, and it was wonderful. There was no pandering or trying to appeal to Mahvash's favor. This man was a beast, caged but untamed, who hungered for carnage. And how Mahvash wanted him...

"I highly doubt you are a slave. Criminal or indebted?" He said, not leaving even though the gladiator seemed done with him for now. All the dregs that were fighting in today's bouts were fodder slaves who no one expected to make much of themselves in the arena, criminals and those in debt trying to earn wages- either voluntary or compulsary.
Amalendu Somadev // Arkyn // Ayvya // Brynjar Eir // Cijii // Demaraen Astarthos // Jaibah
// Kaavi Klkrin // Kevinth Arik // Khavanri Jalmuur // Kiaal Ethyarion // Lahvi // Mahvash Samara // Maram-Jinan // Robin // Runeha // Siiraia Ethyarion // Sureya Anelise // Tryggvi Vilhjal

"FEELING GREAT ABOUT YOURSELF IS NOT A JOKING ISSUE, iT IS HEAVY DUTY BUSINESS, aND NEEDS TO BE GIVEN ALL THE SERIOUSNESS THAT SAD THINGS GET" ~American Sports Legend, Charles Barkley

nephero

Using his own molar as a weapon.

That had gotten Sadir's attention.

He stopped splashing water up and onto his face, and turned to regard his visitor once more. Still dripping, he slowly prowled his way back over to the bars. He reached up to grip two of them, one in each hand, and leaned forward, mimicking boredom but otherwise watching this merchant's every move.

"Interesting for those who'd see it. You'd have to be real close, close and personal, sweet fig. Closer than your box seat would get you." He shot the merchant a slashing smile as he spoke, his voice dropping to a raw sort of growl. It was rare that he was allowed to run his mouth for this long, and in true to form fashion, he intended to push his luck as far as it would take him. "Keep it. Save it for a... private match."

As for his legal status, well... If he was honest, Sadir wasn't entirely sure himself anymore. He hummed a bit, let his hands slide down the bars, rapping them here and there in an overly nonchalant 'I am absolutely not checking this door for stability' kind of way.

"First one, then the other, and then the third." He shrugged, leaving it to the merchant to figure out which followed which. He glanced to the side, where the armed guard still stood. Still readied, still tensed, and still far closer to Sadir than Sadir was to this pampered little dove.

"Want to know how I got from second to third?" he all but purred, still grinning wide.


VIGILANCE WALKING THE TOAST
Characters here!

__guilds, yo__
The Territok Orcs // The Oratok Orcs // Fausteth // The Ashmen

Nix

A private match. That was an interesting idea.

Mahvash tucked the tooth into the pocket like folds of his clothing. He watched this beast examine the cage, he wondered what the creature's first move would be if he were freed. Perhaps the idea should have scared him but it only excited him; something he concealed well.

That purr and wild grin were both so appealing but he could not be reeled in so easily. "Tell me after you win you next match. If you lose and die it will leave me to despair the rest my days not knowing your story, Sadir." Mahvash smiled sweetly back at the gladiator before looking over at the guard. "Give this one fresh water." He instructed the guard as he moved to leave the gladiator pens, stealing one last look at Sadir's hands as he thumbed the tooth in his pocket.
Amalendu Somadev // Arkyn // Ayvya // Brynjar Eir // Cijii // Demaraen Astarthos // Jaibah
// Kaavi Klkrin // Kevinth Arik // Khavanri Jalmuur // Kiaal Ethyarion // Lahvi // Mahvash Samara // Maram-Jinan // Robin // Runeha // Siiraia Ethyarion // Sureya Anelise // Tryggvi Vilhjal

"FEELING GREAT ABOUT YOURSELF IS NOT A JOKING ISSUE, iT IS HEAVY DUTY BUSINESS, aND NEEDS TO BE GIVEN ALL THE SERIOUSNESS THAT SAD THINGS GET" ~American Sports Legend, Charles Barkley

nephero

Sadir couldn't, nor wouldn't, hold back an amused snort. He tongued at the injured side of his mouth, the action somewhat marred by a wry, knowing grin. If he had seen how the merchant's gaze had lingered on his hands, he didn't make mention of it, though he did take an exceptional liberty in watching his visitor depart.

'Win your next match'. Pah. As if Sadir did anything but. He spat on the ground again, though there was far less blood this time, and shot his guard a look.

"Well? Where's my water?" he grinned, that breaking into vicious laughter as the guard huffed and walked off to do as he was told. It was a task that utterly, visibly grated, and all because that little prince had said so. If the reward for winning was having a leg up on people who otherwise ran every minute of his life, well...

Sadir lived to please.

Just as the barrel was finished being changed out, came the call of the next match of names. For many, it was a death sentence. These matches were the dregs, after all, the ones made for pure carnage and the vague sense of justice being served. After all, the worst of the worst deserved the worst, and the worst was Sadir.

Not even giving his refreshed water barrel a second glance, Sadir stepped out of his cage, flanked on all sides by heavily armed guards. Not that they necessarily need bother-- it was never a struggle getting him into the ring. The challenge had always been to get him out.

Sadir breathed deep as he stepped through the final gate, taking in the earthy tang of dust and sand and sweat and blood. The crowd roared, and with them Sadir's pulse quickened. The stands were like a beast unto themselves, breathing, frothing, worked into a frenzy like a crocodile with its jaws around some poor bastard's neck.

'Win your next match', the sweet fig had said. Sadir pulled studded, spiked knuckles over his fingers, wrapped them firmly in place with thick, coarse cloth. 'Tell me after.'

Sadir turned his gaze to the stands, searching the thousands of distant faces. Hefted a spear, a shield. And, in the far distance, spotted the glisten of beads and glass set into coiling, dark braids. Perfect.

The horn blew, once, twice, and then a long, angry third note. Sadir turned to the opposite end of the arena, where his opponent was already charging, his sword gleaming in the late, red sunlight. Sadir took aim with his spear, threw it, and cussed as the other prisoner rolled to avoid being skewered like a boar.

They met in a clash of metal soon after; his opponent brought down his sword, and Sadir smacked the blade away with his shield. His opponent brought up his own shield to smash into Sadir's jaw, and Sadir jumped back to avoid it. Another wide swing of the sword, and Sadir twisted to his opponent's right, grabbing at the shielded arm with one hand while he brought his own shield down onto the other prisoner's extended elbow.

The crack was inaudible against the backdrop of a roaring crowd, but his opponent's agony was apparent. The man was screaming, his arm bent and limp, twisting grotesquely under the weight of his shield. He swung, wildly, furiously, with his sword at Sadir, attempting revenge for his shattered arm, but caught only air.

Sadir pulled back, circled left, and then doubled back right. He was pacing, keeping his distance as if from some wounded prey, and it was probably at that moment his opponent realized that was exactly what he was: prey. A final, desperate jab brought the other prisoner too far forward, and Sadir swung upwards with his fist, his knuckles catching cruelly at the underside of the other man's jaw. It sent his opponent to the ground in an arc of blood and spit and fractured bone, where he lay twitching.

Before the other prisoner could recover, Sadir stepped over to him, and planted a foot firmly on the other man's chest. Took his time, even hummed, as he undid the buckles that held his shield to his own arm. The other man tried, weakly, to raise his sword again. Sadir smacked it away like one might do a particularly annoying fly.

Sadir raised his shield in both hands, gripped the edges tight--

and brought the full force of it down onto what remained of his opponent's mouth. He pulled the shield back, wetly, stickily, and then brought it down again. And again. And again.

He didn't stop until the horn blew, signalling the match's end. Panting from exertion, he turned to the stands, and caught sight of his visitor once more.

Raised his hand in salute and grinned.


VIGILANCE WALKING THE TOAST
Characters here!

__guilds, yo__
The Territok Orcs // The Oratok Orcs // Fausteth // The Ashmen

Nix

Once he stepped back up from the underground pens Mahvash was met by his own guard who he had requested wait for him there. He barely acknowledged the taller man as he made his way back to his box in silence, smiling softly the whole way.

His thoughts remained on the beast; on his hands, on the crusted blood and flesh under his thumb nails. Mahvash sat down in his seat and folded his hands on his lap. He ran his thumb over his own hands, too soft too small. He wondered what Sadir's hands felt like in his own. They were clearly more brutal than Hawk's and just as deadly, maybe more so. Still... he wouldn't be able to lie on Sadir's bed and hold his hand. No. Hawk was under his control, Sadir would never be; but it hardly stopped him from wanting the gladiator.

He stopped tracing his own thumbs when the names for the next bout were called, and he was pleased that his bribe had not gone to waste. He sadly did not have the whole day to spend here, and he wanted to make sure he saw another of Sadir's fights.

Mahvash noted Sadir scanning the crowd and his head tilted as an amused smile spread across his lips. It was not lost on him that Sadir stopped searching when his gaze fell on Mahvash. "You won't disappoint me will you beast?" Mahvash muttered to the privacy of his empty box.

The match was a thing of beauty. The way Sadir moved, predatory, hungry. It was different from the way Mahvash's champions moved out of pride and a sense of accomplishment, or fear and desire. Sadir relished this. Not to be the best... but for the kill itself. It was so poetic. He longed to be closer. To hear every beat of movement and every breath from that twisted mouth. He needed this beast to be his.

It was taking all of Mahvash's will power not to enjoy this match too much. He certainly wished he had brought Jinan along today. Sadir was making him ache. As the opponent fell to the ground Mahvash knew it was over. It had been over long before, but this was where he would get to bask in Sadir's creativity. Many would simply retrieve the spear and stab the poor bastard. But instead Sadir was unbuckling his shield...

Mahvash's breath hitched in his throat and his member twitched beneath the sheer cloth of his loosely wrapped clothing. Sadir didn't stop until the whistle blew and the crowd was roaring with hunger, frothing at the mouths at the beautiful carnage. Mahvash could see how satisfied and tired Sadir looked now, as if the beast had reached completion. He stood and pressed his lower half against the brick of his box to try and urge it away as the gladiator turned to him and saluted. The merchant prince smiled sweetly and applauded Sadir.

He certainly did not disappoint.
Amalendu Somadev // Arkyn // Ayvya // Brynjar Eir // Cijii // Demaraen Astarthos // Jaibah
// Kaavi Klkrin // Kevinth Arik // Khavanri Jalmuur // Kiaal Ethyarion // Lahvi // Mahvash Samara // Maram-Jinan // Robin // Runeha // Siiraia Ethyarion // Sureya Anelise // Tryggvi Vilhjal

"FEELING GREAT ABOUT YOURSELF IS NOT A JOKING ISSUE, iT IS HEAVY DUTY BUSINESS, aND NEEDS TO BE GIVEN ALL THE SERIOUSNESS THAT SAD THINGS GET" ~American Sports Legend, Charles Barkley

nephero

The sun was baking. The sand beneath his bare feet, blistering. Every muscle in him ached, head to toe, and he could feel rivulets of his own sweat mingling with the drying remains of a dead man's blood. His mouth and nose were filled, caked with dust, and he spat the grainy feeling out as best he could.

Sadir had never felt so damn good in his life.

That's how it always was, the boneless satisfaction, the ebb of adrenaline leaving him feeling shaken and delighted. And what was even better was he could still see his visitor, that little sweet fig, up there in his high tower, and he was applauding. Sadir tongued at the side of his mouth, at the gap where there once had been a molar, and firmly decided he knew exactly how he was spending the rest of his evening.

Once he was back in his cell, of course. Which reminded him...

Sadir turned, looking over at the great gates that had been his entrance into the arena. They had opened, just long enough to admit a team of guards, each one gripping a section of rope and a long, prodding stick. He laughed, dryly, to himself, knowing full well that he was entirely too overstimulated to indulge in anything further at that exact moment. But the guards were not privy to that piece of information, just the knowledge of the fuss he occasionally made in leaving the arena.

No one liked being on the end of his "fussing."

Not really in the mood to be hogtied, Sadir raised his hands, clasped them behind his head, and allowed himself to be led out of the arena and back into the dusty dark of his cell.

His first stop was his new water barrel. Sadir gripped the edges of the curved wood, and dunked his head below the water's surface, drinking deep of the fresh water there until his lungs burned.

Dripping and exhausted, he pulled off what little clothing he had, unwrapping the dark cloth from his hips and cringing a bit where it stuck messily to skin. He dunked the lot of it into the barrel, pulled it up, and dunked it again, getting the worst of the sand and varying drying fluids off of it. Used it as a rag to wash the rest of himself, and then dunked it again. He wrung it out once it was decent enough, and set the length of it to dry from one of the higher bars that made up his cage, just as a plate of... something was pushed through a lower opening.

Sadir never realized how hungry he was until dinner was right there, and so he didn't even bother with letting himself dry or anything close to dignity and modesty. Instead, he moved over to the plate, scooped it up, and promptly dug his fingers into what seemed to be mostly lentils with a few chunks of meat.

A few good chunks of meat.

Well, well, well.

He saved those bits for last, letting himself enjoy the rarity of such a treat, and what had most likely caused it. Once more, his thoughts wandered to that private box, to the glint of glass and the flutter of soft hands in softer applause.

Something stirred as he considered just how soft his visitor's hands were-- and really, quite a bit more. But only stirred, his prior exhaustion winning out over any other, more personal activities. He tossed his empty plate down next to the slot it was pushed through, sucked the last juices from his fingers, and promptly dropped onto his sleeping mat with the full intention of enjoying some rather potent daydreams involving merchant princes and prison bars.


VIGILANCE WALKING THE TOAST
Characters here!

__guilds, yo__
The Territok Orcs // The Oratok Orcs // Fausteth // The Ashmen

Nix

Mahvash rolled the tooth in his palm as he waited for his excitement to ebb before leaving his booth. Even though most of the other boxes were empty today he didn't need to wander out into the halls to have another errant merchant prince notice the propping of his garments. The back halls of the upper levels were quiet today, those who had come were watching the next match. Mahvash's personal guard was the only one in sight as he passed through the curtain that separated his private booth. There was no doubt that these familiar halls could be easily traversed even with closed eyes, the paths had been paced so often. Even as a child he had run them, back and forth stopping only to try and peek a glimpse of the bloodshed through the curtains.

His father hated the arena, but it was often a good setting for business. Besides, anyone who was anyone had a private booth. His father was a fool of a man.

As he became lost in glimpses of nostalgia Mahvash gripped the tooth he still clutched in his hand a bit too tightly and the root stuck him. He opened his clenched fist and peered down at the tooth and the small trickle of blood. It should have hurt, but it only made him smile. How strange.

He wanted so badly to visit the beast again but that would have to wait for another day. Unfortunately he had business to attend to but he would make arrangements. After all the beast would be his. It would be a meager matter to purchase his debts and own him. By the morning the beast would be placed with the other owned gladiators. The barracks, while still guarded, would be a step up at least from the holding cells. Though Mahvash's gladiators rarely were housed there. It wouldn't be wise to bring someone like that man to his home. Champions were different, they were often giving private quarters if they performed well. Mahvash Samara was known for being extra accommodating to his gladiators as well. Rumor had it they were kept in the same quarters as his concubines.

The rumors weren't quite true, though Hawk was in a room across from Mahvash's harem. He wanted to lie in Hawk's bed and hold the man's calloused hands after his matches. There was no risk in that situation however because the foreigner could not disobey him. Sadir however...

Mahvash thought back to Sadir's hands as he licked the blood off his own palm. Would he ever be able to hold the beast's hand?
Amalendu Somadev // Arkyn // Ayvya // Brynjar Eir // Cijii // Demaraen Astarthos // Jaibah
// Kaavi Klkrin // Kevinth Arik // Khavanri Jalmuur // Kiaal Ethyarion // Lahvi // Mahvash Samara // Maram-Jinan // Robin // Runeha // Siiraia Ethyarion // Sureya Anelise // Tryggvi Vilhjal

"FEELING GREAT ABOUT YOURSELF IS NOT A JOKING ISSUE, iT IS HEAVY DUTY BUSINESS, aND NEEDS TO BE GIVEN ALL THE SERIOUSNESS THAT SAD THINGS GET" ~American Sports Legend, Charles Barkley

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