[ gamora considers him for a moment, quietly, like she's actually gauging what he's capable of. ]
I doubt it'll come to that.
[ she gives a small, dismissive shrug. ]
If I didn't think you were capable of learning and improving, I wouldn't bother trying to help you. It's not that you're unskilled, Quill. You're unrefined.
This kind of training is demanding, but I think you have the ability to improve. It will just take time.
[ and that may be the closest gamora has gotten to genuinely praising quill in, well, mostly ever. ]
[ He falls quiet, eyebrows rising as she speaks. A second or two, he keeps his silence, blinking, because— ]
... I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.
[ Well, no, that’s not true—
(“He’s about the only family I have.”
“No, he wasn’t.”)
—but it’s definitely the nicest thing she’s said to him that wasn’t prompted by him going through some sort of traumatic experience and cutting the last tenuous ties with the shitty folks who raised him and kind of sort of bothered to give him the time of day, when the fancy struck.
[ He rolls his eyes at her warning. (Because of course he wouldn’t let a lackluster compliment like that go to his head. His ego is already healthy and overstuffed as it is; there’s hardly any room.)
That little challenge sticks between his ribs, as she likely knew it would, flung with the same precision as one of her daggers. He recognizes it for what it is: she’s prodding at him, goading him, trying to get a reaction.
... He kind of hates that it works. ]
We can go again. I’m good.
Peter puffs out an aggravated little sigh – directed mostly at himself – moving into position atop the mats again. He sinks back into his usual defensive position – a boxer’s stance, with both fists up, knees slightly bent. Influenced by one too many viewings of Rocky, certainly, but it’s worked out for him over the years. Mostly. ]
[ the challenge was just as calculated as the rest of the way gamora operates, because she knows quill, and she knows how to provoke him into action. ]
Try to keep up.
[ she knows that he can't truly keep up, but if he can maintain the level that she holds with him, he'll be doing well. he's bound to make mistakes, obviously, and she's absolutely going to keep knocking him down when he does, but it's a matter of practice, of refining his skills even further.
who knows, maybe she'll start teaching him more than this simple way to exercise his reflexes — if he wants to learn.
she doesn't give him any warning before she's moving in again, and then she's on the offensive. she's not trying to overwhelm him, but she's also not willing to give him proper time to counter with blow after blow, strike after strike. she alternates between crowding into his space and pulling back again, and it becomes something of— a dance.
rhythmic, to let him practice, to let him learn how to sense where she's coming from, to dodge accordingly. weaving back and forth, in and out, with something that could almost be called a beat—
[ He falls into the rhythm, once he latches onto it, clings to it like a lifeline. Because Peter absolutely is a dancer, or at least a guy who dances, and finding the beat is intuitive, by now.
And it absolutely is a dance, if he had enough leftover brainpower to think on it. The way she closes the distance between them, the way she floats back, the way he blocks and ducks and sidesteps her blows. It would almost be fun, if Peter wasn't also slightly distracted by the very real threat of taking a punch to the face.
But as all good things must, the fight comes to an end. The sparring match drags on just a little too long, and his blocks and dodges are a little looser, less precise. He moves to catch a punch, but his hand reaches the spot just a hair too late. He takes the full force (well, quarter force, for Gamora) of a fist to the jaw. It leaves him stunned and momentarily vulnerable, and he pays for that mistake, too.
The round finishes, predictably, with Peter flat on his back, grunting with the impact. ]
[ gamora is pleased by how well quill keeps up with her, that he meets her at this level to maintain the speed and rhythm of their spar. of course, her stamina outlasts his, and though she finds his sustained fight admirable, she sees him steadily losing steam, until he inevitably slips up.
her fist makes contact with his jaw, and while he's still dazed, she takes advantage. she grabs his shirt, shifts her weight, and effectively slams him into the mat, following up with her knee on his chest to keep him pinned to the ground (but without her full weight; small mercies).
she looks down at him, but there's no sneer in her expression, no derision for his loss. ]
[ The breath flies from his lungs again – from the impact, from the press of her knee against his breastbone. He just knows his bruises are going to have bruises, and he looks up, intent on complaining.
Catches sight of Gamora again, staring down at him as her hair falls around her face.
Ah, he thinks. Deja vu.
He seems content to just lie there, for the moment, a hand rubbing at his bruised jaw. ]
Was that better? [ He tests the hinge of his jaw. No lasting damage, thank God. (Or maybe that's a bad thing, because that means he can still talk.) ] That didn't feel better.
[ Considering he's still ending up down here. Not that he can complain about the view. ]
[ Actually, yes, because even as astoundingly aware of his shortcomings as Peter is, sometimes he sets the bar a little too highly for himself. Expects too much and finds himself disappointed.
(It's probably why, most of the time, he doesn't try.)
But Gamora doesn't need to know that, and he lets his hand drop from his jaw. ]
Just— figured you'd call it before, you know. [ A vague gesture to encompass the two of them. ]
even if gamora isn't going to hurt quill, that doesn't mean she won't take a provided opportunity to knock him to the floor. ]
I would think it's more motivation for you to keep up with me.
[ another moment of hovering over him, and then she finally pushes off of his chest, getting to her feet. she watches him, a hand absently on her hip as she gestures to his prone form. ]
Maybe you can consider it progress when you don't get thrown down.
[ He lets out a relieved sigh when she doesn't immediately retaliate, though it's not a huge comfort; if she really took offense, then she was fully capable of showing her displeasure later, when the moment was right.
(Gamora is scary that way.) ]
Lookin' forward to it.
[ he says, with all the enthusiasm of a guy getting called for jury duty. But he takes her hand, all the same, pulling himself to his feet. ]
[ which is a completely serious response to his bit of sarcasm. ]
Have you reached your limit for the day?
[ this time, it isn't a challenge to push him into sparring again; she's genuinely curious, because as important as she thinks this training is, she doesn't want him to stress his body too terribly.
[ He carefully tests his joints, tilting his head one way then the other to stretch his neck. ]
Think I've got one more in me.
[ Truthful, for once, though he probably would've said the same thing if he was at the end of his rope. Sometimes he can push himself too hard, force himself past his limits due to that need to prove himself, to show he's not the useless lump the Ravagers accused him of being. It's a shitty habit, he knows, and he's trying to get better about it. ]
Unless you're getting bored of tossing me around like a sack of potatoes.
[ pushing himself too hard — it's a habit of his that gamora has noticed. of course, she's hardly one to cast stones when she does the exact same thing. she, at least, has the benefit of taking far longer to tire than quill.
in response, she just rolls her shoulder, inclining her head back towards the mat. ]
It does get predictably easy, after a while.
But I can manage at least one more.
[ she steps away from him, putting some momentary distance between them. ]
You can just say you wanna get this over quick, you know.
[ But there's amusement in his voice, rather than irritation, as he gets back into position on the mats. Turning himself slightly. Raising both arms. He offers a bright little smirk, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. ]
But, sure. Why not? Pretty sure my pride's taken enough of a beating today. Not like it can get any worse.
[ this time, her words are back to being a taunt, a challenge. her aim isn't to overwhelm him on their last round, after all, so even though she intends to speed up her movements, she doesn't want to end it on the first or second strike.
she shifts herself back into position, gives him the space of another breath to prepare—
—and then she's back at him again. she's relentless as always, coming at him with moves similar to before; while she doesn't want him to adjust specifically to her, she wants him to get better practice anticipating for the sake of dodging, until the reflexes are quick, immediate muscle memory.
she spars with him in another kind of dance, this time to a different beat, a different rhythm, but still with the underlying, tonal style that's very much the way gamora just moves.
[ That “Oh, fuck,” expression returns to his face as she charges at him (because there are brief occasions where he forgets how utterly scary she is), but he manages to dodge and block the majority of her attacks. Her increased speed means Gamora still gets in a few hits, a few grazes or glancing blows when Peter isn’t quite fast enough, but he manages to recover before she can capitalize too terribly on his mistakes.
It’s another dance, though Peter doesn’t consciously realize it, distracted as he is by not having his nose broken. He finds the rhythm anyway, moving in sync with her, the two of them weaving in and out, together and apart, spinning and ducking twirling. If he had the time for it, he’d appreciate the easy grace of Gamora’s fighting style, the elegance of it. Peter never had Gamora’s formal training – mostly his lessons consisted of “hit them until you or they stop moving” – but he had speed, resourcefulness, and quick reflexes on his side.
Not that it matters while he’s going toe-to-toe with the galaxy’s deadliest assassin, without his bag of tricks or any of his weapons.
He tumbles onto the floor a little harder this time, the rubber mats cushioning the blow to his head when he falls. Still, for a few seconds he just sees stars. ]
[ gamora doesn't follow him to the ground this time, but her foot presses securely on his sternum as soon as he hits the floor.
she stands over him, holding that finishing strike, before finally relaxing out of her posture. she leans down to look at him, appraising (like she's checking for herself to make sure the blow to his head didn't do too much damage), and then straightens back up, taking her boot away. ]
We should start at that level next time.
[ because even if he'd been tagged a couple of times, he'd still kept up well enough — and pushing him harder will make him improve. it'll be nowhere near the level of demanding (and frankly, dangerous) training gamora underwent to reach her own skill level, but she also feels comfortable pushing quill to the edge of where he can continue to avoid the bulk of her attacks. ]
[ Grumbled without enthusiasm. Even as Gamora backs away, Peter is content to simply lie there, staring up at the overhead, feeling the aches and pains earned from their rounds of sparring. He seriously doesn’t understand how folks do this on a regular basis, when just one session of this is bound to leave his bruises with bruises. And his bruises’ bruises with more bruises.
He props himself up on an elbow again, feeling along the back of his head with his free hand. There’s a bump there, sure enough, and he winces as the tips of his fingers brush against it. He’ll need to get ice on that sooner rather than later. ]
If we’re seriously doing this again, we’re getting real practice mats.
[ she looks down at him, absently crossing her arms over her chest with just a hint of a smile on her lips. ]
You do intend to keep up with this, correct?
[ she'll honestly be disappointed if he decides to give up on this kind of training, just because it's hard. she knows quill likes his shortcuts, but— there's not really one for this. just grueling, dedicated work.
she thinks he can do it, but that doesn't mean it'll come quickly. ]
[ He cuts her a low-level glare from where he lies on the floor. ]
I’m starting to get the distinct impression that you only want an excuse to kick my ass.
[ And he should probably be more bothered with that revelation, but instead, it comes out blandly, like he’s mentioning the weather.
Peter knows that Gamora’s trying to help, in her way, even if it means she gets to beat the tar out of him. Probably a win-win for her, in that case. Slap around the captain under the guise of training him. Personally, Peter can think of a whole lot of other, better options for stress relief, but decides not to give them voice.
Still, he kind of appreciates what she’s going for, even if a large part of him balks at how much time this will surely take. Diligence isn’t exactly a characteristic he’s known for, after all. But it helps that it’s Gamora offering to help, Gamora that’s pushing him, because part of him thinks she wouldn’t bother, if she thought it was a lost cause. He has no idea what it is that makes her believe he might be worth the trouble, but it’s a fact that he latches onto, all the same.
He knows his answer, but he still flops back onto the mats, exhaling an aggravated sigh. ]
How ‘bout you let me wait till tomorrow to decide? Assuming I’m not too sore to even breathe.
[ gamora doesn't waste her time — and she also doesn't lend herself to pipe dreams or false hope. she's realistic, and the fact that she thinks that peter can improve, that he has the ability and propensity to be an even stronger fighter means that she genuinely believes it. she has faith in his capabilities, and while it is a bit satisfying that she'll get to throw quill down in the process, the reason she's insisted is because she thinks he has the potential.
it means that, to her, quill is worth her time.
anything less, and she wouldn't bother. ]
Take as much time as you like. As satisfying as it might be, it's not exactly conducive to your training if I actually break you.
[ a light, throwaway comment not meant to be taken seriously, of course. if she was going to break him, she'd surely had plenty of opportunities before now. ]
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I doubt it'll come to that.
[ she gives a small, dismissive shrug. ]
If I didn't think you were capable of learning and improving, I wouldn't bother trying to help you. It's not that you're unskilled, Quill. You're unrefined.
This kind of training is demanding, but I think you have the ability to improve. It will just take time.
[ and that may be the closest gamora has gotten to genuinely praising quill in, well, mostly ever. ]
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... I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.
[ Well, no, that’s not true—
(“He’s about the only family I have.”
“No, he wasn’t.”)
—but it’s definitely the nicest thing she’s said to him that wasn’t prompted by him going through some sort of traumatic experience and cutting the last tenuous ties with the shitty folks who raised him and kind of sort of bothered to give him the time of day, when the fancy struck.
But that’s just splitting hairs. ]
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[ and just like that, the momentary acknowledgement of quill's abilities has passed, and gamora takes a step back from him, gesturing to the mat. ]
Are you ready to continue or do you still need to recover?
[ she says it with a lift of her eyebrow, more of a challenge than an offer to give him a breather. ]
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That little challenge sticks between his ribs, as she likely knew it would, flung with the same precision as one of her daggers. He recognizes it for what it is: she’s prodding at him, goading him, trying to get a reaction.
... He kind of hates that it works. ]
We can go again. I’m good.
Peter puffs out an aggravated little sigh – directed mostly at himself – moving into position atop the mats again. He sinks back into his usual defensive position – a boxer’s stance, with both fists up, knees slightly bent. Influenced by one too many viewings of Rocky, certainly, but it’s worked out for him over the years. Mostly. ]
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Try to keep up.
[ she knows that he can't truly keep up, but if he can maintain the level that she holds with him, he'll be doing well. he's bound to make mistakes, obviously, and she's absolutely going to keep knocking him down when he does, but it's a matter of practice, of refining his skills even further.
who knows, maybe she'll start teaching him more than this simple way to exercise his reflexes — if he wants to learn.
she doesn't give him any warning before she's moving in again, and then she's on the offensive. she's not trying to overwhelm him, but she's also not willing to give him proper time to counter with blow after blow, strike after strike. she alternates between crowding into his space and pulling back again, and it becomes something of— a dance.
rhythmic, to let him practice, to let him learn how to sense where she's coming from, to dodge accordingly. weaving back and forth, in and out, with something that could almost be called a beat—
—if gamora was a dancer. ]
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And it absolutely is a dance, if he had enough leftover brainpower to think on it. The way she closes the distance between them, the way she floats back, the way he blocks and ducks and sidesteps her blows. It would almost be fun, if Peter wasn't also slightly distracted by the very real threat of taking a punch to the face.
But as all good things must, the fight comes to an end. The sparring match drags on just a little too long, and his blocks and dodges are a little looser, less precise. He moves to catch a punch, but his hand reaches the spot just a hair too late. He takes the full force (well, quarter force, for Gamora) of a fist to the jaw. It leaves him stunned and momentarily vulnerable, and he pays for that mistake, too.
The round finishes, predictably, with Peter flat on his back, grunting with the impact. ]
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her fist makes contact with his jaw, and while he's still dazed, she takes advantage. she grabs his shirt, shifts her weight, and effectively slams him into the mat, following up with her knee on his chest to keep him pinned to the ground (but without her full weight; small mercies).
she looks down at him, but there's no sneer in her expression, no derision for his loss. ]
Better.
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Catches sight of Gamora again, staring down at him as her hair falls around her face.
Ah, he thinks. Deja vu.
He seems content to just lie there, for the moment, a hand rubbing at his bruised jaw. ]
Was that better? [ He tests the hinge of his jaw. No lasting damage, thank God. (Or maybe that's a bad thing, because that means he can still talk.) ] That didn't feel better.
[ Considering he's still ending up down here. Not that he can complain about the view. ]
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You lasted longer, so at least you didn't die so quickly this time.
[ metaphorically speaking, of course. ]
Did you expect you wouldn't end up on your back again?
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[ Actually, yes, because even as astoundingly aware of his shortcomings as Peter is, sometimes he sets the bar a little too highly for himself. Expects too much and finds himself disappointed.
(It's probably why, most of the time, he doesn't try.)
But Gamora doesn't need to know that, and he lets his hand drop from his jaw. ]
Just— figured you'd call it before, you know. [ A vague gesture to encompass the two of them. ]
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[ she cocks an eyebrow at him.
even if gamora isn't going to hurt quill, that doesn't mean she won't take a provided opportunity to knock him to the floor. ]
I would think it's more motivation for you to keep up with me.
[ another moment of hovering over him, and then she finally pushes off of his chest, getting to her feet. she watches him, a hand absently on her hip as she gestures to his prone form. ]
Maybe you can consider it progress when you don't get thrown down.
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Or maybe you just like having an excuse to end up on top of me.
[ A beat, as he realizes what he just said. Then, so quickly that the words practically rush together, ]
That was a joke please don't hit me.
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but: ]
I think you can expect to end up on the floor even sooner next time, Quill.
[ just for a little bit of retribution.
but, despite how unamused she is by the joke, she still reaches out again to offer him a hand up. ]
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(Gamora is scary that way.) ]
Lookin' forward to it.
[ he says, with all the enthusiasm of a guy getting called for jury duty. But he takes her hand, all the same, pulling himself to his feet. ]
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[ which is a completely serious response to his bit of sarcasm. ]
Have you reached your limit for the day?
[ this time, it isn't a challenge to push him into sparring again; she's genuinely curious, because as important as she thinks this training is, she doesn't want him to stress his body too terribly.
squishy terran, and all that. ]
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Think I've got one more in me.
[ Truthful, for once, though he probably would've said the same thing if he was at the end of his rope. Sometimes he can push himself too hard, force himself past his limits due to that need to prove himself, to show he's not the useless lump the Ravagers accused him of being. It's a shitty habit, he knows, and he's trying to get better about it. ]
Unless you're getting bored of tossing me around like a sack of potatoes.
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in response, she just rolls her shoulder, inclining her head back towards the mat. ]
It does get predictably easy, after a while.
But I can manage at least one more.
[ she steps away from him, putting some momentary distance between them. ]
Would you like to try things faster than before?
[ but not too much, so as not to overwhelm him. ]
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[ But there's amusement in his voice, rather than irritation, as he gets back into position on the mats. Turning himself slightly. Raising both arms. He offers a bright little smirk, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. ]
But, sure. Why not? Pretty sure my pride's taken enough of a beating today. Not like it can get any worse.
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[ this time, her words are back to being a taunt, a challenge. her aim isn't to overwhelm him on their last round, after all, so even though she intends to speed up her movements, she doesn't want to end it on the first or second strike.
she shifts herself back into position, gives him the space of another breath to prepare—
—and then she's back at him again. she's relentless as always, coming at him with moves similar to before; while she doesn't want him to adjust specifically to her, she wants him to get better practice anticipating for the sake of dodging, until the reflexes are quick, immediate muscle memory.
she spars with him in another kind of dance, this time to a different beat, a different rhythm, but still with the underlying, tonal style that's very much the way gamora just moves.
elegant, but deadly. ]
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It’s another dance, though Peter doesn’t consciously realize it, distracted as he is by not having his nose broken. He finds the rhythm anyway, moving in sync with her, the two of them weaving in and out, together and apart, spinning and ducking twirling. If he had the time for it, he’d appreciate the easy grace of Gamora’s fighting style, the elegance of it. Peter never had Gamora’s formal training – mostly his lessons consisted of “hit them until you or they stop moving” – but he had speed, resourcefulness, and quick reflexes on his side.
Not that it matters while he’s going toe-to-toe with the galaxy’s deadliest assassin, without his bag of tricks or any of his weapons.
He tumbles onto the floor a little harder this time, the rubber mats cushioning the blow to his head when he falls. Still, for a few seconds he just sees stars. ]
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she stands over him, holding that finishing strike, before finally relaxing out of her posture. she leans down to look at him, appraising (like she's checking for herself to make sure the blow to his head didn't do too much damage), and then straightens back up, taking her boot away. ]
We should start at that level next time.
[ because even if he'd been tagged a couple of times, he'd still kept up well enough — and pushing him harder will make him improve. it'll be nowhere near the level of demanding (and frankly, dangerous) training gamora underwent to reach her own skill level, but she also feels comfortable pushing quill to the edge of where he can continue to avoid the bulk of her attacks. ]
When you're less bruised.
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[ Grumbled without enthusiasm. Even as Gamora backs away, Peter is content to simply lie there, staring up at the overhead, feeling the aches and pains earned from their rounds of sparring. He seriously doesn’t understand how folks do this on a regular basis, when just one session of this is bound to leave his bruises with bruises. And his bruises’ bruises with more bruises.
He props himself up on an elbow again, feeling along the back of his head with his free hand. There’s a bump there, sure enough, and he winces as the tips of his fingers brush against it. He’ll need to get ice on that sooner rather than later. ]
If we’re seriously doing this again, we’re getting real practice mats.
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[ she looks down at him, absently crossing her arms over her chest with just a hint of a smile on her lips. ]
You do intend to keep up with this, correct?
[ she'll honestly be disappointed if he decides to give up on this kind of training, just because it's hard. she knows quill likes his shortcuts, but— there's not really one for this. just grueling, dedicated work.
she thinks he can do it, but that doesn't mean it'll come quickly. ]
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I’m starting to get the distinct impression that you only want an excuse to kick my ass.
[ And he should probably be more bothered with that revelation, but instead, it comes out blandly, like he’s mentioning the weather.
Peter knows that Gamora’s trying to help, in her way, even if it means she gets to beat the tar out of him. Probably a win-win for her, in that case. Slap around the captain under the guise of training him. Personally, Peter can think of a whole lot of other, better options for stress relief, but decides not to give them voice.
Still, he kind of appreciates what she’s going for, even if a large part of him balks at how much time this will surely take. Diligence isn’t exactly a characteristic he’s known for, after all. But it helps that it’s Gamora offering to help, Gamora that’s pushing him, because part of him thinks she wouldn’t bother, if she thought it was a lost cause. He has no idea what it is that makes her believe he might be worth the trouble, but it’s a fact that he latches onto, all the same.
He knows his answer, but he still flops back onto the mats, exhaling an aggravated sigh. ]
How ‘bout you let me wait till tomorrow to decide? Assuming I’m not too sore to even breathe.
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it means that, to her, quill is worth her time.
anything less, and she wouldn't bother. ]
Take as much time as you like. As satisfying as it might be, it's not exactly conducive to your training if I actually break you.
[ a light, throwaway comment not meant to be taken seriously, of course. if she was going to break him, she'd surely had plenty of opportunities before now. ]
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