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HG: Rites of Fall, Chapter Five - The Phantom Librarian
Spewing out too many words since November 2003
HG: Rites of Fall, Chapter Five
Violence warning.

Chapter Five
Kay Donner sniffs. "Sorry, Haymitch. We didn't wait for you. We're already doing it."

"You're already getting whipped and taxed and beaten and stuck in the stocks," Haymitch says. "It's time to start fighting smart. Which will put us a few steps ahead of Beckett."

"She's been doing pretty well so far," Elmer Parton says. "Got us… doing things. Making private apologies."

Haymitch pauses for a minute as that sinks in. "How many?" he asks. "No… don't tell me. One is too many. I'm sorry. I think that might be…" He shakes his head. "Point is, that's a dumb risk for her to take."

"You want one of us to kill her while we're 'apologizing'?" Morell Hooker asks. "'Cause I'm up for that. Even know the right move to do it on. I've been thinking on the subject since my last apology."

"No more apologizing," Haymitch says. "From anyone. If she wants apologies, she can try to take 'em from me."

I look up. "What?"

"Don't worry," he says. "She knows better." He takes a deep breath, and another draw from his flask. "Thing is, she doesn't know we're not dumb enough to kill her, and she's still dumb enough to put herself in a position where it'd be pretty easy to do it. We're not exactly dealing with an evil genius here."

"That's all well and good," Kay says. "But she makes them apologize to stop hard whippings and sitting in the stocks with rocks under them."

"So don't get yourselves sent to the stocks!"

"We're not going to stop fighting!"

"I'm not telling you to stop fighting, Maysilee. I'm just saying, do it smarter."

"I'm Kaydilyn."

He blinks blearily, then shakes his head. "Right. Sorry. You have to stop getting caught. Do things, but… don't let them see your faces."

"Mostly, they catch hold of us," Glen says. Ruth looks at him and smiles. "Peacekeepers. They'll figure out who we are pretty fast if they get hold of us."

"Then you don't let them get hold of you." He looks around. "That's the first thing we're doing. If you want to fight, learn to fight. I'll teach you stuff they taught me in training. And stuff I just know because I had to get away from… well, quite a few of you over the years."

There's some uncomfortable shifting at this, but Haymitch doesn't seem poised to start lobbing individual accusations around. Instead, he breaks us up into groups of two and starts teaching us to get out of a bunch of different ways people might grab hold of us -- by the hands, the arms, in a headlock. There are a lot of ways to get slippery. When he's helping Ruth and me, I get a solid whiff of him. The fumes make me dizzy.

"What if they pull their guns?" Ruth asks. "Clever little tricks aren't going to help if they do that, and I don't know many ways to cure a gunshot."

"If they pull a gun, you're going to get shot," Haymitch says coldly. "Sooner or later, they'll get around to that, but for a while, I think we can skate. They don't like shooting us because it's less workers in the mines if we die."

"I'm sure that's comforting for bakers," Ruth says. "And you smell like a still, Haymitch Abernathy."

He narrows his eyes. "Sorry I'm not meeting your standards," he drawls. "And as for bakers, I got other plans for Danny." He looks at me. "You're going to keep your nose clean. I'll explain why later."

Without giving me time to answer, he moves on to help Merle Undersee get away from Glen. This doesn't seem like a fair match, but I guess the Peacekeepers aren't all that likely to be fair.

"He's going to get alcohol poisoning," Ruth says. "What's he trying to do, drink himself to death?"

This sticks in my mind, starting to make a picture there. I think of him this morning, nodding and saying, I didn't come out here to burn the tree.

I reject it. Haymitch didn't fight as hard as he did to survive just to finish the Gamemakers' work for them.

Ruth has to leave after twenty minutes. She reminds me that we have a date tomorrow, and disappears upstairs, stopping along the way to share a joke with Glen Everdeen. They laugh together. I don't know what they're joking about.

I work with Haymitch for the rest of the session, but we don't talk.

When people have to start drifting out, Haymitch holds me back. He also signals to Merle Undersee. Once everyone else is gone, he says, "This is the last time I want to see either of you at one of these."

"Like hell," I say.

He ignores me. "Merle, as far as anyone knows, you're just the gardener who keeps waking me up too early. Let's keep it that way."

"I led the fire brigade," Merle reminds him, puffing out what little chest he has. He's only a year younger than Haymitch and me, but at the moment, he looks about twelve, posturing to be allowed to hang around with the big boys. I hope I don't look the same. "She'll remember that I was the one who set the whole thing up."

"And did a fine job of it," Haymitch says. "Which is why you ought to be a shoo-in for her little emergency team."

"I don't want to -- "

"We need to know what she's saying to people she thinks are on her side -- "

"Mir's applying," I say. "Mirrem Murphy, from drama club. She could --"

Haymitch wrinkles his nose, and I stop talking. He looks back at Merle. "We need someone we can trust in there. You talk to Ruth about plants. Slip her information, and she can tell Kay, and Kay can tell me."

"Or I could just tell Kay," Merle says. "We're kind of getting to be friends, and -- "

"Kay's got almost as much attention on her as I do. Back off."

Merle sighs. "Guess I never had much chance with her, anyway."

"What? Haymitch, you can't tell people not to -- "

"And you," he says. "I don't care what your parents have to do. Tap dance and carry the national flag. Sing the anthem in the square. Do whatever you need to, but get back on their good side."

"Look, Haymitch, I know you feel bad about Mom getting whipped -- "

"It's not about that. Merle, are we on the same page here? Will you get on the response team?" He holds up the application.

Merle takes it glumly. "If you think it will do any good."

"It will. Go on." He waits for Merle to leave, then says, "Danny, I wish it was because I wanted to protect you. But I need you to do something really dangerous. A lot more dangerous than putting firecrackers in the Peacekeepers' toilets, or whatever this bunch is doing. And you need to keep your out-district shipping license to do it."

"The license?" I shake my head, trying to make sense of it. "Why would you care about that?"

"When you ship a cake, it's got paper under it. I've seen it."


"So, I need to get word to Chaff and Seeder in District Eleven, and not on my bugged phone."


"I think Beetee in Three, too. Not sure, not until I talk to Chaff. I'm a little out of my depth here, in case you didn't notice."

I let this sink in. He's not kidding about the danger, and some of it won't come from the government. My neighbors will think we've turned on them. But he's asking us to be couriers… and not just in our little local tantrum. "You're going to war," I say.

"I'm at war. I've been at war since the Reaping. Right now, the other side's winning." He turns. His eyes don't quite focus on me. I'm not sure if that's because he's drunk, or because his mind is back in the arena. "They'll have the bakery bugged by now. Sorry about that. Guess you shouldn't have taken me in."

"Yeah, right. That's your fault."

"So talk to your parents somewhere else. And find a way to get word to me. Maybe Merle -- he is still doing the yard work. But you'll have to be careful. I don't want them watching him too much, either."

"I can still come out to see you. You're still my friend."

"I don't think I should be anybody's particular friend. Gia knows you're my friend, but I don't think anyone else would think it was weird if you stopped coming around. And Gia's not here." He drinks.

"Haymitch, are you okay?"

"Peachy. You?"

He shuts me out without even turning away from me.

I take the cue and start to leave.


I turn halfway up the stairs. "What?"

"You've always been my friend."

"I still am."

He nods. "So, whatever I have to do -- "

"Yeah," I say, and turn again.


I look over my shoulder. "What?"

He's standing at the bottom of the stairs, shifting around uncomfortably. "Um… thanks."

I nod. I have no idea what, exactly, he's thanking me for, but I say, "You're welcome."

I leave.

The days are getting shorter now, and with a building cloud cover, it's almost dark when I get outside. I go back to the bakery and help my parents, none of us talking to each other. For once, it doesn’t bother me.

I go to my room and do my homework. It seems strange to worry about math, and instead of doing the problems I've been assigned, I find myself sketching -- very wastefully -- in my school notebook. I doubt I'd ever be good enough at it to make a living, but I guess I do it well enough, and it helps me think.

I draw Haymitch on the stone bench this morning, his hands clasped behind his neck, his curly black hair sticking out every which way. I also draw him before the Games, when he was just a restless kid with a few too many brains leaking out of his ears. He's laughing in this picture.

I draw Ruth on the next page, her thick, soft hair spread out in a halo around her delicate face. Her eyes are closed and she's biting her lip. She looks like an artist's dream, something untouchable, no matter how well I know she likes to be touched. I erase her eyes and re-draw them, slightly open, ringed with soft lashes. I try to make her smile, but I've already managed to make a mess of her mouth, so I can't. I let it be.

I turn the page and draw Mir, her clouds of curls tumbling around her shoulders and cascading almost to her waist, held in check only by the tiniest clip at the top to keep it out of her face. I give her a sharp little smile. I have a hard time with her eyes. The thing that always strikes me about them is that they're reflective -- not just the way anyone's eyes are, but in a way that you always see what you most want to see in them. I give up and just give them a little mischievous twinkle.

I turn another page and draw Merle Undersee, looking young and hurt, and Kay Donner, haranguing the cafeteria workers, her long blond hair flying around her as she moves. I fold the paper over and rub it, leaving a ghostly mirror in smudged pencil -- Maysilee, trailing beside her, the ghost she can never shake. I draw Elmer Parton crying in the stocks, his wide miner's shoulders slumped, tears streaming down his square-jawed face.

I draw Glen Everdeen, singing "The Hanging Tree." I think about the way people join him when he sings, like mockingjays waiting for a tune to copy. I think of the way Ruth perks up when she hears him, even when she's gone somewhere inside herself.

I stare at this drawing. Glen isn't particularly good-looking, though I guess I'm not the best judge. He has straight black hair in a longish cut and gray eyes, and a typical Seam build -- strong and wiry -- and a square face that somehow seems older than he is, even though it's not particularly care-marked. He must still be growing, because his clothes are perpetually a size too small, and he spent all summer barefoot until the charity shoes came around. He obviously tries to shave with something, but it's not a proper razor, because he's always got little cuts on his face, and tiny patches of hair left over. It's not his looks that make people stop and look at him. It's his voice. It's the way even the birds stop singing to listen.

It's the way my girl smiles at him, tells him jokes that I can't hear.

I turn back to the picture of Ruth, and wish we could afford a telephone. And that she could, since it would be pointless to have the only one. It would be bugged, but I somehow doubt the Capitol would care if I called to see how she was, since we barely talked today.

It's probably nothing.

I tear the sketches out of the notebook and shove them in my desk drawer, then make myself go back to math problems. I finish up and go to bed an hour or so later. Bakery work comes early.

I get up in the pitch dark when my parents' alarm goes off, and we go downstairs for our usual routine. Beckett comes in to test us.

I sell her a cinnamon roll.

Mom looks at me, shocked. I grab a piece of packing paper and scribble, "Haymitch needs us clean. I will take care of what he needs, but it could be trouble if I'm caught. Okay?"

They read it and nod -- I'm grateful that they aren't the sort to make a scene -- then I "accidentally" grab it with a bread pan, and it goes into the oven. Dad makes a show of chastising me for wasting materials.

School is tense, with Peacekeepers visiting several classes, never explaining themselves. I see Ruth run up to Glen in the hall once. They laugh about something, then go on to their next classes. I try to remember if Ruth ever runs up to me.

She rolls her eyes at me when I bring this up and says, "Why would I need to catch you between classes? You're in my classes… I just see you when I get there."

"Maybe you just couldn't wait to see me?" I suggest.

"Then I rush to class and hope you'll be there early, too. If it happens that we're not walking there together in the first place." She kisses my cheek. "Danny, please remember where I plan to be this afternoon. It's just fun to have a new friend. That's all." We get into the history classroom and she takes her seat. "Thanks for finally getting jealous, though. I was beginning to worry that you didn't care."


She grins, but I notice that it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, with all those drama club meetings and running up to Victors' Village, I've been thinking I might have to start fighting for you."

"Yes, you caught me, Ruth. I'm having a crazy affair with Haymitch. We're going to announce our engagement any day. Sorry."

"I knew it," she says lightly, and turns around for class. I bend over and kiss her head, then go to my own seat.

I spend the rest of the day looking forward to our date, and I'm glad that there's no ninth period rehearsal today. She skips chorus practice. We meet out front after eighth period. Her face is flushed, and she's been biting her lip, which is a little bit swollen. I kiss her properly.

This gets the first real smile I've seen in a while, and she slides her arm around my waist as we start walking. My goes comfortably over her shoulder.

"Don't you need to pick up your tessera grain?" she asks.


"It's the twenty-third. If you miss your pick up, you can't get it, and old Mr. Fife will be awfully hungry this month."

I have entirely forgotten about this, but of course, she hasn't. "I guess we could swing by there," I say. "Do you want to go before we…?"

"Danny, I do not want to rush our… shopping… so you can get out on time to run to the Justice Building. Let's take care of that first."

"Oh. I can fully support those priorities."

"Yeah? Good."

I lean into the turn around the next corner, almost dancing with her. She laughs.

I decide that we're going to be okay.

The justice building looms up beside us, and we go in, heading right when we go downstairs. I glance at the Peacekeepers' office, across from the tesserae office. Mir is there, probably trying to get a letter to her father again. I don't mention it. It seems wise to keep Mir out of things this afternoon.

There's a small line at the tesserae office, all Seam kids who look at me like I'm some kind of alien, even though they've seen me here before. Across the hall, I can hear the muffled sounds of laughter. I can't imagine what it is.

They finally call my name. Mrs. Bragg, who works the desk, pretends not to recognize me when I sign for my grain. She knows perfectly well that I'm not taking it to my family, which means I'm distributing it illegally. It's easier for everyone if she doesn't acknowledge that.

We're heading out, and my brain is already halfway to the secondhand clothing shop, when the laughter comes from the Peacekeepers' office again. Without the tesserae office door closed between us, I can hear now that it's a cruel sort of laugh. The Peacekeeper Cray is waving a piece of paper around behind the counter, and Mir is trying to grab at it. She's weeping. I have never seen her cry off stage, and this is nowhere as picturesque.

I stop.

Ruth looks in. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and says. "Okay. Go in."

"It shouldn't take -- "

"Just go."

I open the door.

"Give it to me!" Mir screams, and I realize that her tears are, more than anything, from rage. "Just give it to me, it's mine!" She tries to climb the counter, but it's just a little bit too high.

Cray laughs and scoots backward. He's reading something on official Peacekeeper stationery. "…and," he continues, "I suggest you stop writing to me. I'm not going to start caring about some District brat -- "

"It doesn't say that!"

" -- who could've come out of a dozen or more men, for all I know, given what a whore -- "

"It doesn't say that!" Mir screams again. "You give it to me!"

"Oh, it says it, and more," Cray tells her. He crumples the letter and throws it over the counter.

Mir dives for it in a corner, pulls it out flat, then throws it away. "It's a lie!" she says. "This isn't from my father."

"Apparently not," Cray says. A few more Peacekeepers come in. Ruth slides in with them and tries to pull Mir back from the counter. This is a fruitless exercise, but I do, quite suddenly, see why -- Mir's fingers are flexing, and her usually almost angelic face is twisted with murderous anger.

I pick up the letter. It has all of the words Cray read, and more besides, insulting Mir's mother and telling her that she's nothing but a worthless bastard girl, and suggesting that she find a more productive line of work, which shouldn't be hard for her if she looks as tasty as her mother used to and… I scan to the bottom. It's all the same hateful stuff. It's signed "Justinian Benz, Head Peacekeeper, District Eight."

"You tell me where that really came from!" Mir screams. "You lied! Admit that you're lying! That's not from my father!"

Cray laughs merrily. "You asked if there was word, little miss. You got word, didn't you?"

Mir grabs a flower vase from the counter and smashes it, taking a vicious swing in Cray's direction.

"Get her out of her, Ruthie!" I yell. "Now."

But Ruth can no more control Mir than she could control a tornado. Mir is tiny, but she's full of rage. She leaps at the counter.

The new Peacekeepers grab her. They're laughing, like Cray, and I wonder if they can even see her face. One of them flips up her skirt. She kicks out, but Ruth manages to drag her back far enough that the kick doesn't land anywhere.

Cray comes around the counter to join the merriment. He grabs at Mir's knee. "You got any of those special talents dear old Dad mentioned your mom having? Want to give us a show?'

Mir yells and tries to get at him. Ruth barely holds on. I try to get to her, but Cray shoves me aside easily.

He grins at Mir, hands outstretched. "You look like you got talents. Assets, anyway." He reaches out and grabs at her breasts.

I grab him and shove him as hard as I can, away from her, and for the first time, he takes actual notice of me. He sneers. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What am I doing? Let her alone."

He laughs. "It's just in good fun."

"Yeah, I can see how much fun she's having."

Ruth has grabbed Mir in one of the holds Haymitch taught us to get away from yesterday. Mir is biting her arm, trying to get away. Her hand is stretched out, the broken vase still making sharp, short arcs in the air.

Cray turns away from me and takes another step toward her.

I grab him again, and I pull my fist back. I've been in a few fights in my life -- who hasn't? -- but this is the first time I'm consciously aware of wanting to kill someone. I drive my fist into his face, and I hear his nose break. Hot blood flows over my knuckles, and I think, Good.

The laughter stops.

Cray puts his fingers to his face and feels the blood. "Take him," he orders the others. "Twenty-five lashes."

"No!" Ruth cries. "No, please!"

Crazily, as I'm grabbed by four Peacekeepers, I think that Haymitch will kill me for not keeping my nose clean. I try to slip away using what he taught me, but nothing he taught us would get me away from all four pairs of hands.

They drag me outside, the girls coming along behind. Ruth has let go of Mir, and I have a vague sense that they're trying to fight with the guard around me, to no great effect. I do hear one of the guards say, "Swing that again, miss, and you're up there next."

I'm shoved roughly to the whipping post, and I feel the shackles go around my wrists. My arms are raised to the top of the post.

Someone rips off my shirt. There is a cold October rain falling.

I am really expecting someone to stop it. I don't know why. I've seen and heard enough whippings in the last couple of months that I have no right to expect anything, but I am sure, completely and utterly sure, that something will stop it.

Until the first lash burns across my back.

I hear the girls screaming louder than I hear myself, but I know I'm screaming. It's… surprising. There's no other word for it. You can't see it coming. It flies in out of nowhere, stinging like a lick of flame across my flesh. I can feel the first one. It goes from just under my left armpit to the bottom right part of my ribcage. The second one crosses it like an X.

After that, I can't tell where they land, because my whole back is a wall of agony, and the thuds of impact disappear into the greater pain. My muscles spasm, and I can't seem to get a really good breath to scream with. By the sixth lash, the world is going dark and red. I see Ruth from the corner of my eye, throwing herself against the wall of guards. I can hear my mother yelling. Someone else is shouting obscenities. Mir is shoved into the stocks across from the whipping post.

Ten lashes.

I manage to pull in a long breath, but it stretches the whip marks, making them come alive. I can see my blood on the ground.

Somewhere after the fourteenth lash, I pass out.
9 comments or Leave a comment
From: queen_bellatrix Date: November 28th, 2013 05:05 am (UTC) (Link)

Typos and Review

Haymitch pauses for a minute as that that sinks in. I think you have an extra that there, unless that was meant to be a different word?

Point is, that's a dumb risk for her take." I think there should be a to before take?

"I'm not tell you to stop fighting, Maysilee. I think the tell there should be telling?

"And as for bakers, I got other plans for Danny." I'm not sure if the I got there should be an I've got, or if his grammar's slipping because he's drunk?

Haymitch you can't tell people not to -- " I think there needs to be a comma after Haymitch?

the broken vase still make I think the make there should be making?

I adored this chapter; the story is really starting to gain momentum, and your Haymitch just crackles. From him telling them that Beckett could try and take the appologies from him to the way he's orkestrating the rebellion...I just rather want to draw little hearts around most everything he says and does. And oh God, the way he keeps mistaking Kay for Maysilee *sniffles* Also: you set up the messages on the cakes! And I love that he tells Danny straight up that it's "really dangerous" I don't know why, but the addition of that really felt incredibly important to me; he's not pulling any punches here, and he got everyone out, both, I couldn't help thinking, to keep the plan secret, and so that if Danny backed out, he didn't get a bunch of pressure from zealots? Damn, watching this rebellion fail is going to hurt.

I love the other characters too, but you've made me fall in love with Haymitch with all your fics, and this one's no different. The way you take a character that I really didn't pay much attention to in the books and make him one of my favorites through the way you get in his head is just astounding.

And Danny, I love Danny so much right now. And does Haymitch's comment in the challenge ficlet where he's talking to Peeda about his strategy for Kattniss make sense now.

I love all the foreshadowing you do with the sketches; not only contrasting Ruth and Meer, but giving us a glimpse at how, if I'm not misreading, Danny's beginning to almost feel as though he knows her better than Ruth, or at least has a better handle on her.

Ruth's reaction to the situation, especially the way she's falling for Glenn without knowing it, is just fantastic. I love where you're going with this; the idea that niether of them "did something wrong", but just drifted apart without really realizing, even as they thought they were moving closer together.

I'm really interested to see Beckett's reaction to Danny "reforming" especially after that stunt in the office; though, perhaps the whipping will give his act more validity? Something along the lines of him starting to cave by selling her the roll and then the whipping finishing the work?

Your description of the whipping is one of the most chilling I've ever seen, while never becoming gratuitous.

And Kay; I'm very worried about Kay. The points Haymitch made were damn good ones, and her bravado almost seems to be blinding her to them, and that is just not good with a woman like Beckett in charge.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: November 28th, 2013 05:13 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Typos and Review

Thanks for those catches! (The "I got"/"I've got" is casual drunkslur -- he tends to slip into less than textbook grammar when he's drunk -- but the rest were exactly the kind of annoying typos I tend to miss when I'm writing fast.)

I'm a little worried about Kay myself. Something happens to her that takes her from teenage firebrand to docile, possibly morphing-addicted political wife.

I think Danny finds it easier to make Mirrem smile. He's really jealous of the fact that Ruth smiles around Glen all the time, and he has a hard time teasing real ones out of her.

Edited at 2013-11-28 05:26 am (UTC)
sonetka From: sonetka Date: November 28th, 2013 09:59 am (UTC) (Link)
Ouch. I've been reading all of these religiously but don't comment as much as I should because I usually need to decompress a little first. This is really good; I love the world-building, and the way Danny and Ruth are both heading in different directions without really intending it -- his going full knight-errant for Mirrem is just putting the lid on something that was pretty nearly done. Cray must have mellowed somewhat in his old age; he wasn't QUITE that bad in THG, was he? Of course, the manager tends to set the tone, and if the manager is like Beckett, well ...

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: November 28th, 2013 04:15 pm (UTC) (Link)
Well, he was still sexually exploitative in THG, though he offers money to starving girls to service him instead of just threatening them like Beckett does, at least as far as Katniss sees (which is probably right enough -- even a sixteen year old girl as weirdly innocent as Katniss would be made aware of it if there was someone out there outright preying on young girls).

I just wanted to not to do the expected love triangle break-up scenario that's assumed for Danny and Ruth. While I think the break-up is one-sided, I also think they didn't start their subsequent relationships until after this one fell apart. (All the stuff with Peeta's dad seemingly admiring Katniss's dad suggests someone coming to grips with an old flame's new life more than someone who's been cuckolded.)
sonetka From: sonetka Date: November 28th, 2013 05:40 pm (UTC) (Link)
Oh no, Cray was definitely a sleazebag in THG -- what made me sit up was how much he was taunting Mirrem about her father (gah, poor girl -- did Justinian Benz even know the truth or did he just think this was a way to get her off his back?). That seemed more gratuitously nasty than the Cray in THG. Of course, as you said, Katniss is weirdly innocent in many ways and there's a lot she just may not have noticed -- and of course, mocking Mirrem would no doubt gain Cray style points with Beckett, so part of it may have been sucking up to her a bit.

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: November 28th, 2013 05:42 pm (UTC) (Link)
Truth? Justinian had long been fired, and was in jail for fraud. He never even knew she was trying to reach him.
sonetka From: sonetka Date: November 28th, 2013 06:26 pm (UTC) (Link)
Oh, I see! I remembered your backstory about Mirrem's real father and Peeta's unexpected discovery of his relatives, but I'm horrible about remembering character names and didn't realize that was his. I read too fast and thought Mirrem had sent an inquiry to some official department or other asking them to find her father and that the letter-writer was some random official messing with her for the hell of it. Now facepalming on the realization that of course her letter never made it anywhere and the reply was written by Beckett and her merry men.
sonetka From: sonetka Date: November 28th, 2013 05:41 pm (UTC) (Link)
Oh, and Happy Hanukkah! (Or, as a friend of mine puts it, Gobble-Tov!)
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: November 28th, 2013 05:44 pm (UTC) (Link)
Gobble-tov! I like that, and must use it soon.
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