tushanshu | ten : not just anybody [video]

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ten : not just anybody [video]

[Hayley rolls her eyes, appearing distinctly nonchalant about the whole thing. The nervous twitches of her muscles and constant movement will belie this calm to anyone paying close attention, revealing her deeper anxiety.]

Don't talk to him. It's just what he wants.

[100% Encrypted to Sharon Carter]
Thanks. Without you.. [She trails off.] Seriously. Thank you.

[100% Encrypted to Bruce Banner]
I want it back. [The box, the rock.]

[100% Encrypted to Kon-El]
I have a favor to ask and, I mean, obviously you don't owe me anything. Really, I should owe you, but.. will you at least hear me out?

[100% Encrypted to Clark Kent]
[When she finally messages Clark, her attitude is anything but casual. She's tense and frowning.]

I'm sorry I blamed him- you. [She correct quickly.] It wasn't your fault. I didn't realize how much the killing was bothering me until- [Hayley cuts off and shakes her head.] There's no excuse, I know. But I'm sorry, okay? That's all I wanted to say.

[100% Encrypted to Bart Allen]
[Hayley just looks at the screen, dropping her head onto her hand. She's clearly miserable, but there's a certain underlying stability in her that she hasn't had for as long as she's known him.]

Hey.

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There is a slight time difference in the appearance of her post and his arrival. Bart was distracted by Evandau and Hannibal, doing precisely what Hayley had asked them all not to do.

The feed was over as soon as he saw this, though, and he's at her door as soon as he can manage. He knocks twice, much less than his usual tattoo, and doesn't waste time in calling for her. Bart doubts he'll be the only one to head this way, but, given what she's said about her number of friends on the Turtle, he might stand a better chance of being let in. "Hayley? 's me. Bart. I know you're there, the feed's not that old and you're slow. Sorry."

Hayley glances up at the knock, immediately tensing, worried it's Superman or Kon or someone else she's not quite ready to face. At the sound of Bart's voice, her muscles relax and she sighs a little, dragging herself out of her console chair and moving to open the door. She simply stands there once she's opened the door, waiting for him to lead, not entirely certain what to do or how to deal with what she's feeling right now.

"Hey." She doesn't have to wait long for him to do something first. No one ever does. Immensely relieved that she answered the door and isn't stubbornly deciding to tough this all out alone, Bart takes a step in the house and goes to hug her. He doesn't pause to ask permission, but the movement is slow enough that she's got every opportunity to put a hand up or step away.

As soon as Hayley sees Bart moving for the hug, she takes the half step forward to close the distance between them, meeting him a little less than halfway. Her arms immediately snake around and up the back of his chest, perpendicular to each other with her balled hands only just touching, and she turns her head to tuck against the base of his neck.

There's a certain level of eagerness in her movements, one that she tries to suppress, but some measure of desperation is gone from them.

"Hey," she mutters against his neck, in reply to his greeting.

Hugs are the one time that he'll let people take as long as they need, without complain. There is just something solid and relaxing and real about them. Even here, where no one can be sure if they're real, with their souls in borrowed bodies, this much human contact makes everything feel more genuine. It grounds him, and he likes that.

Bart has both arms wrapped around her tightly. He wishes he could tell her that it's OK now. That she's safe. But he's unsure of that himself - Hayley is proof that death isn't permanent here, so Hannibal's upcoming execution doesn't eliminate him entirely. He suspects that Evandau will see that it doesn't happen. The man killed the Emperor. But the uneasiness continues. He ducks his head down when he talks - almost pleads - to her. "Think you can re-think the crashpad offer tonight? I'd sleep better."

Knowing that there was a resurrection, security system, and himself to get past before her - he could sleep. It doesn't matter that there are likely people above her on whatever hit list a reincarnated killer would have. Right now, she's the youngest and easy to get to of all the people that Bart knows could be irrationally blamed. The thought makes him want to hold her tighter.

There's a part of Hayley, however small, that wants to stay there forever. The rest of her, however, is distracted by the open door, by his words, by the truth she knows she needs to share, and, strangely, by the sudden realization of just how physically close the two of them are right now.

She withdraws, sliding her arms around to his sides and then breaking contact entirely. Hayley moves wordlessly to close and lock the door behind him. Then she turns to face him. Her hand lifts for a split second, as if she might reach to take his. Then she seems to think better of it and simply moves forward into her own apartment, taking a seat on the very edge of the couch and gesturing that he should join her.

"I talked to him," she says pretty much immediately after sitting, knowing Bart hates long pauses. "Before he was arrested or whatever. I can't say who helped me or what happened, but- I tied him up to a chair and I had ten minutes alone with him and I.. I wanted to do really awful things to him, Bart."

She can't bear to look at her friend as she speaks, her voice just beginning to crack near the end. She feels better about everything, having been able to look him in the eye, but she resents that he never received the personal brand of justice she wanted for him. That he was too unflappable, that her death was nothing more than a science experiment to the man.

She's avoiding the question, and he hates it when people do that. It doesn't matter how good the reason is. If he's asking, Bart wants to know now. Pulling away doesn't fill him with confidence, although locking him in with her is reassuring. Hayley is accepting the company, if not the offer.

Following her over to the couch, Bart takes a seat in the middle. At first, he's leaning forward as he listens, hunched over with elbows resting on splayed knees, to Hayley describe what's surely the lead-in to an interrogation scene. Straight out of a cheap spy novel, by someone who thinks he's the next Ian Fleming. No seatless chair and knotted rope?

He can't figure out what to make of this. She doesn't seem to have any concept of self preservation. He knows that it's the most hypocritical thought ever thunk, but Bart can't shake it. He wants to shake her. He has to settle for exhaling slowly through his teeth as he leans back onthe couch. There's no point in asking the universe what he did to deserve this. He knows.

"OK," he starts slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he tries to balance areyoucrazy with whathappened. As he goes on, he gesticulates as needed, waving his hands around and occasionally pointing. "You. Went and found your killer. You got him tied up and I am not asking how because plausible deniability. You wanted to hurt him. Didja?"

The slurred sentence and ceiling staring can't keep the weight out of the sentence. Up until that as-yet-unspoken answer, she has done nothing he wouldn't. Bart can't be sure what he would do in that situation. To be honest, he's afraid to imagine, but, as he's pretty sure his actions are going to go down in superhero training books as what not to do, doing as he would is the 'well intended yet ill planned' route.

"No," she answers immediately. She straightens and looks back over at him, part of her surprised he's taking it so well. "I didn't find him exactly. I wanted.. I kept imagining what I would do to him if I ever found him and then there he was and.. He said he just wanted to test his powers. It had nothing to do with me."

She looks out at her apartment again. "He's a sociopath. I knew that everything I wanted to do to him wouldn't make a difference."

Hayley's not entirely sure why she's telling him all this. She held off on accepting his offer to see how he would react to this, wondering if her propensity for violence might make him second guess his forgiving her. But there are little details there she didn't mean to share, slips of her tone into sadness that she hadn't planned on. It's more of that raw truth she hates so much.

He's taking it well because, given the current location and brief future of one Hannibal Lector, it didn't sound like she had or would have the chance to do anything that she might come to regret. The whole imminent demise thing… neither Bart nor Hayley can do anything about that. The downside of an autocracy. Maybe it's the upside. There weren't going to be any appeals on technicalities here. Once the only person that matters makes up their mind about it -

Oh my god, what was he even thinking? Just because this execution was a 'freebie' death - Bart believed that Hannibal would emerge unscathed, in a new body here or his old one back home - didn't make it less gross. "When in Rome" is fine, until Rome starts killing people off because they're inconvenient. There is a jail right under the palace. There were other options. It's revolting. Worse than revolting, because he almost condoned dying on one man's say so.

And now he's done a 170 (a 180 would involve breaking him out of prison to ensure the government did the right thing), because he finally took a moment to appraise the situation without clinging to 'but he killed Hayley'. Something had made him remember his mother unbidden and what men with power can do. He can't let himself rationalize this.

Working through his opinions on this, as muddled as they still are, has cost him some of the conversation. He tunes back in on the word sociopath. There's no uncertainty about who she's talking about. The complete lack of remorse, refusal to call his victims by name - the statement was all about him. "You still didn't do it. He's a sociopath - you think he'd care if it would make a difference in you if the tables were turned? You're a better person than him."

"I know," she admits. Hayley has no questions that, even with her willingness to engage in violence and some of the things she's done being terrible outside of context, she's still a much better person than Hannibal will ever be. She doesn't kill people. And contrary to what the Bat Man seems to think, there's a huge difference between murder and allowing someone to embrace their guilt themselves, giving them the power of choice. That's the mistake she made with Superman. No choice.

Then she cringes slightly and turns back to look at him again. "I asked Tony for an anti-speed gun, after I attacked Clark. It's totally defensive. I was worried some of his super friends might come after me and I just wanted to feel safe again, you know? Or try. I'm not going to go attack anyone with it or whatever, but we don't know if the same thing could happen again, with the power swapping."

Her eyes search his face for a reaction, wondering if he'll understand or assume it's another way for her to attack. Hayley doesn't entirely know why she's being so honest with him. It's almost like testing him at every turn, waiting for the piece that will be the breaking point and turn him against her, so she can say 'I told you so' and go back to isolation.

An anti-speed gun. Well, there's not much doubt about who the top targets for that would be. One of them is one this couch. Hint: it ain't Hayley. "Right. Cause we're clearly all terrible people who are going to be evil and ask you questions like why."

He doesn't sound angry. Dismayed at her continued, excessive lack of faith in humanity; frustration that she's hid this as well - didn't she learn anything the last time? - but his reaction is 75% disbelief. "An anti-speed gun."

Bart simply looks at her with an amused, Willy-Wonka-Internet-meme expression. "That you aren't constantly holding on me, so advantage: speedster there. I don't even have to worry about it because even if I spotted you the time to get it, draw it, and fire it - I'm faster than whatever projectiles or beams it's gonna shoot at me. So, really, you'd need my back turned. At that point, you don't need to shoot the gun at all cause coldcocking me with it will work just fine. It's that easy. Don't make it complicated."

He sits up again, finally, pulling his legs onto the couch and settling into a cross-legged position. "Stop obsessing about powers. Yeah. Someone with powers hurt you. He didn't have any when he killed the Emperor. It's not the powers. It's the person. Actually, it can be the powers in a way. The guy who wound up with mine spent half the week trying not to cause structural damage with his face. Your problem is with assholes, who don't have to be meta human. We've had this argument."

Hayley hadn't thought about the speed being a disadvantage in terms of being able to steal the weapon. She tries not to focus on it, telling herself that there's no relevant threat right now. The gun doesn't need to be perfected. It can be left as an emergency Plan B. She opts not to mention that it creates a field rather than a projectile or how easy it is to mistake for something else. Instead, she gives him a frown.

"I told you I asked for it after I attacked him, not like, way later. I didn't know how you or Jor-El or whoever would react and I was more worried about the killer than anyone else. I know it wasn't Superman, but it was still his powers and if it happens again.." Her expression darkens slightly. "I can deal with assholes. I can't deal with powers. Not without help."

Help like the Tony Stark gun kind, not help like the Superman kind. She's had her fill of heroes lately. Even Bart, who gets a major pass for being her friend, can aggravate her need to get away from all the hero crap sometimes.

Hayley shifts and flops back onto the back of the couch, similar to his posture, beside him but with plenty of space between them. She looks over at him, tired more than anything else. "Why are you here right now?"

Rolling his eyes at the question seems the best response. "I'm here because you opened the door."

OK. Now that the obvious is dealt with, it's back to trying to hack away at her anti-Bart gun. Clearly, talking about this in terms of metahumans isn't working. Time to try another tact. "Nuclear proliferation and deterrence. Your world has nuclear weapons, right?"

He doesn't break for a response. "So the US makes the atomic bomb, drops two of them and kills a quarter million people. Gone like that. Everybody freaks out because there has never been anything like that in the history of war. It's too much for one country. So every other country goes scrambling for bombs of their own. First it's enemies; then it's allies who feel caught in the middle geographically and metaphorically until everybody's sitting on silos of nuclear weapons like they're waiting for Godzilla to hatch. Because if any get fired at them, everybody wants to know that they can take as many people as possible with them. Only these aren't a-bombs anymore; they're h-bombs and go off with a thousand times more force. And the first two little a-bombs killed 250,000."

Bart hopes she's following him through this increasingly long allegory that he swears isn't a massive tangent or hippie rant on the dangers of nuclear power. "So now they're slowly trying to get rid of the things, because everybody and their crazy despot next door has them, and it was about when they realized there were enough to halve the population that they figured out that nobody had - or wanted to - repeat Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This guy has this, so I'll get that. This girl has that, so I'll get this. The only thing you're doing is making the arsenal bigger. If Darkseid shows up, what's next? Strap a warhead to your back? Push it around in a wheelbarrow all day?"

She was being ridiculous. She couldn't have a guarantee against every possible power. It wasn't realistic, and Hayley is worrying about the wrong people. "What about the girl who turns people into guinea pigs? Did you stockpile lettuce?"

She listens to his rant with an ever growing expression of frustration. By the end, she's sitting up and looking away from him again. Originally, she thought maybe he just wasn't getting it. Now she's not sure it's possible for him too. Their views might just be too far apart to ever really overlap.

"Bart," Hayley sighs. He's being ridiculous.

Then she turns on him, weariness suddenly replaced with anger. "Fine, you're right. I shouldn't take any precautions at all. I should just talk to whoever wherever with no regard for my personal safety. Oh, and well I'm at it, I guess I won't bother staying with you - or anyone else for that matter - since there's nothing you can do and no way to prepare for anything."

She stands up, moving away from him without any real direction.

Now she's being stubborn and stupid to prove she's right. Well, tough cookies, cause she's not. "Did I say any of that? You aren't seeing this right. You want to have a gun? Fine. I don't like'em, but they're legal where I'm from. I can't tell you you can't have one so long as it's legal. But that's not how you're doing it. You're going after weapons that target less than 5% of the foreigner population. Even if it counted the kedan, I'd still be asking you why the heck you're not worried about the 95% first. It. Doesn't. Make. Sense. They could kill you, too."

Bart has followed her to her feet, but he's not following her around the room, merely pacing in front of the couch. "You keep telling me you've got things that are really only any good against me and my friends, and then you act like I'm being the unreasonable one. Why don't you tell me how I'm supposed to feel here, cause I thought we were fine. I came over because I was worried, alright? How'd you like it if I had a magic wand that only fired curses on teenaged brunettes whose name start with H? It's not a good time, knowing you're in someone's crosshairs.

"And don't give me some crap about how it's not for me. I'm not dumb." He has been pretty laid back about this latest secret, but he's out of Zen. "You attacked Supes because someone else used his powers. You think he's his powers. So I'm mine. Fine with me. But that means I'm on the short list of targets. "

She stops when he stands and continues speaking, turning around to face him but maintaining the several to few to several feet between them with his pacing. Every time it seems like he can't get any more frustrating, he manages to. Only, the more she listens, the more she begins to actually understand. It's less about her having a gun and more about her having a gun that works against him.

"It wasn't about you," she snaps back. "It was for whoever wanted to attack me faster than I knew they were there in an alley. I thought if I had something like that, then maybe it would be enough to help me get away next time! And that was all I wanted. To get away! It's just supposed to slow them down!"

'Them.' For once, her words that don't include Bart in the list of potential targets is unintentional. It crossed her mind that he might be affected, of course, but it has never been meant for him. Now, she doesn't even think about excluding him from that list.

Hayley takes a deep breath, watching him. If it was anyone else, she would have tried to kick him out at the first sign of this fight. Only Bart gets to stay, gets to argue so much so long so often and still come back. Because he always comes back. Then again, if it was anyone else, she probably wouldn't have told him. Her voice is more calm again.

"It wasn't random. I attacked Superman and then I did what I could to get ready, in case his friends came after me. It's not like I'm trying to fight the whole turtle. I don't even care if I have it anymore. I didn't know what they would do and so I tried to be prepared, but now I know they're not like that. Or- maybe Clark isn't. I don't know. You want it? I'll give it to you. I don't care!"

She's practically seething by the end, because it's such a non-issue for her and he's making it out to be another Kryptonite. Then again, maybe it is like Kryptonite for him. But she means what she says, about handing it over. She's too tired of fighting to fight for this.

"You didn't see him coming anyway! I don't need to ask you for the damn thing cause I have been trying to get you to get that if all the ifs fall into place and someone ends up with superspeed again, depending on a thing isn't going to do you any good so you better go apologize to Superman if it's got you this hepped up because he's the only person that I can promise will hear you if call his name."

Scrubbing his hands against his face, Bart doesn't know when this got off track. He had wanted to come over, try and make her feel better when she had reason to be upset. All he seems to be doing is getting her more upset, but he can't stop whacking on the big, red 'Do Not Touch' button. "Because you can slow them down now, if you see them coming - which you won't if they don't want you to - but even slowing someone down to your speed doesn't get you out of the fight, Hayl."

He doesn't want to point out that she's kinda tiny and, if she's got moves like Tim, Cissie, or Mia, she's never given him any inkling of being able to fight.

"I'm not trying to make you feel vulnerable or whatever. But have any of his friends come after you? Besides me and Kon, has anybody given you any shit at all about this? Cause I know that we didn't threaten you or try to attack you. I've tried to be your friend. Still trying." Bart wouldn't mind her not making him jump through hoops to pull it off though.

"I said I didn't know them!" She shouts, nearing her peak tolerance for their fighting right now. Then she's back to normal volume, but her tone remains clipped. "But you two aren't the only ones who know or have criticized me for it. Don't act like you are."

She huffs, the anger draining out of her with that, hands lifting to wrap around her neck in her usual tentative pose. When she speaks again, it's quiet and with much of the emotional fatigue she feels behind it. "You're right, okay? There's nothing I can ever do to be safe, but I'm not sorry for trying. I don't think it's so ridiculous to want to be safe, even if I'm a little.. misguided about it sometimes."

"I'm already trying to apologize to Clark and I'm so tired of being wrong, Bart. It's not like I try to be? But I'm not like you. It's exhausting trying to figure out what I'm doing even without a half dozen people pointing out every mistake all the time."

Know what makes it abundantly clear that the cheer-up-ee isn't getting cheered up or supported? Shouting. Shouting isn't easily ignored.

Their conversations always do this. There's highs and lows and streams of talking and then suddenly someone slams the brakes and pulls this conversation over to wander away with a new topic. No wonder Hayley has to rub her neck all the time. Conversational whiplash.

"That's not - I didn't - ugh!" Time to think doesn't ever guarantee knowing what to say. Bart never meant that she shouldn't aim for safety. He simply doesn't know what that means for someone normal, having never managed to be normal himself. Not even when he was trying. Everything is an approximation - an imitation of his normal friends. And fake chocolate doesn't hold a candle to the real thing.

Only the normal people that he knows, none of them have taken such umbrage with superheroes. They just. Didn't. Maybe they're more used to them. Maybe they're jaded. Who knows? Actually, who cares because none of them are here. Hayley is. So he needs to fix this, before he puts his foot in his mouth again. Worst. Comforter. Ever.

Bart is next to her, then, and rests a hand on her near shoulder - not around her, but set there to be shrugged off or accepted. "Hey, I. I'm sorry. I didn't mean don't try to be safe. Nobody's telling you to… to… move into a crack house in Detroitle. Wouldn't let you. But I'm not used to blurred lines, OK? I'm used to civilians. Heroes. Rogues. You can get almost everyone under those unbrellas. You start packing weird rocks and guns, and I dunno where that fits in. I don't wanna fight. Sooo not why I came over."

For the first time, she doesn't tense when he's suddenly beside her. His hand causes her to drop her arms and look at him, wary even as she shifts almost imperceptibly into his comforting touch. His words help to keep her anxiety at bay. After he finishes speaking, she moves forward to sit back on the edge of the couch where they started, hoping and expecting that he'll follow.

"I know nothing with me is ever easy. It's part of why I didn't have that many friends, you know? It was too hard." Her tone is free from self pity, said instead as if talking about her favorite movie. She gives him a smile, both sincere and exaggerated simultaneously. "If the offer's still good? I wouldn't mind staying at your place tonight."

Not yelling is good, right? She's not yelling, and she's not doing that jumpy thing he's seen her do a few times, when he gets too close. Walking away, though... that throws him. Hayley certainly gets bored with places quick, for someone that isn't a speedster. She only just got over here, and now she's sitting back down over there. Bart's grateful for the chance to move around in a conversation, but, grife, that must get annoying for people that can sit still.

He's a few seconds behind in following her, waiting for her to start talking and prove that, yes, they stopped fighting. Or whatever that was. Venting in each other's general direction. Bart heads over to the couch again, too fast but still followable, and takes a seat on the arm nearest her. He doesn't agree at all - friendship is a cinch. It's not hard to like people.

But how do you tell someone that, when they're opening up and saying they have trouble making friends? Hayley is trying. Don't crush that. He puts his palms on his thighs and pushes down until his arms are straight, lifting and locking his shoulders into an exaggerated shrug. "'s not. You're hard. Like a sour apple tootsie pop. Ok, maybe not that bad. A tootsie roll isn't worth all the nasty sour apple, but you are, I think. And yeah. Offer's still good. I can add you to the security system. Er. Don't break any windows just to be safe on that one."

Hayley looks up at him as he sits beside her on the arm, watches the exaggerated nature of his movements. She wonders if the visible motions are conscious or if he's practiced enough that it's automatic now, wonders if his default is the speedster or the awkward teenage kid. Not that he's all that awkward.

His comments about her being hard and sour make her drop her gaze, but she looks back up when he says she's worth it. It's such a strange sentiment. Hayley knows she's hard and defensive, mostly because she wants to be. She doesn't want to be hurt again like she's been hurt before and detachment makes that easier. Yet while she doesn't view herself as lacking in worth, someone else seeing that kind of worth in her is entirely uncommon.

"I won't break any windows," she agrees distractedly. Even without focusing on his humor, she still manages a skeptical tone.

Then a glimmer appears in her eyes and her smile widens to something almost sinister. Hayley leans over to rest her head against his extended arm, ensuring she can still awkwardly look up at him as she does. "So I get your bed and you get the floor, right?"

Slow has never been, and possibly can never be, his default setting. If she asked him, he'd tell her that it's somewhere between conscious and automatic. His cousin, Wally West, had commented on the day they met that he had always suspected superspeed was more of an instinctual power, and it's true. Bart can push himself faster, and he can focus on someone moving and speaking at a normal rate to try and match it. That's the limit of his control; there is no speedometer. There is no kill switch. He is always on. Take away other people - put him in an empty warehouse, and he's convinced that he'd be unable to gauge time or set a 'natural' pace.

So long as there are other things moving, he has a sense for the right speed. It's not always without thought - excitement throws a spanner in the works - but it's without obsession. "Good, cause I've already broken three. Replacing them is getting old."

Her leaning on him like that makes him smile, because it's just. Relaxed. Warm. So much better than the way Hayley had looked when she posted to the Network. He had been afraid that coming over was a bad idea, but it's hard to argue with a big grin. Totally the right call. "Uh. My place is the size of Metropolis. Why're either of us on the floor? There's a couch. And more than one bedroom. "

Only the briefest expression of disappointment flashes across Hayley's features before she sits up straight again. It's not that she's upset exactly. The girl isn't trying to share a bed with him and she doesn't mind the floor. It's just that she forgets sometimes how Bart's obliviousness to her subtly can be as much a bother as a blessing.

She makes a point of rolling her eyes at him, adopting a more sarcastic tone rather than venture down the path of vulnerability again. "And here I thought the whole point of staying with you was so you could play superhero protector."

Her lips pout into mock dismay. "Maybe I should go back to sleeping on one of the office couches at Stark. I'd bet their security system is a little better."

And here they are, bouncing the conversation off in yet another direction. Hayley is like ping pong. Bart's got a good idea of the angles the topic ball can take, but then she gives the ball a little spin and makes it chaotic.

"I'm not playing." Chagrined, he has to fix that presumption first, and the only reason he doesn't start a symposium on how it used to be a game until everything got serious, with perhaps some self debate on when the flip happened, is that she asked that they not talk about hero stuff. They don't see eye-to-eye on yet, so he will (mostly) let it go. Mostly. "I get it now. You think closer is safer. We have different definitions of close, y'know. But I can drag another mattress in and take the floor, no sweat."

Bart thinks Tony, if he's got the correct one in his mind, is good with gadgets - they both are, really. One of them drunk-dialed his console, though, so he's not quite protection. The security system at Bart's is stolen/borrowed/saved from Tim Drake's place that he has re-installed. He trusts it more, as its creators (who he suspects includes Batman) are from his own world. He is also certain that it's bugged to alert others if it's set off, and he's A-OK with that. "The one I've got works fine, and, bonus, no robots. And it's kinda weird, you sleeping alone in some old guy's office. My place has things like a kitchen and a full bathroom. No contest."

Edited 2014-01-17 14:36 (UTC)

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