n_wilkinson: (wota)
[personal profile] n_wilkinson
a/n: This update is for and thanks to @mistfox_87 who took the time out of their day to tell me how much they enjoyed this story, which rejuvenated my attempts to work on it. Thank you so much!

Title: Quisling
Series: War of the Animum, Eighth Story
Summary: Questions upon questions. The company travels to Lesoth in a desperate bid to learn the truth behind Balaam's betrayal, and how they must stop him. Meanwhile, Sleet learns some disturbing truths about Frost's plans for the world, and for Sleet himself.

Chapter One


Sleet woke with a sneeze and groaned to himself. He felt exhausted from head to toe, and he was surrounded by a comfortable warmth, which made him all the more uninterested in opening his eyes and greeting the day. He rolled over, pulled a pillow over his head, and stretched out a limb to find a cool spot in the bed.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this comfortable.

Wait.

Sleet stilled. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been this comfortable because it had been months since he'd seen luxury. Since Tawnry and the demon attack and Erebus and all that crap Alaris dragged him into.

Sleet bolted upright, pillow sliding down beside him with a plop. He squinted into a bright morning, half-convinced he was still dreaming.

The bed beneath him was plush and inviting, with silk sheets and a hand-woven quilt. It was big enough for four, set upon a massive frame, and was positioned right across from a four pane window. Curtains were drawn back to reveal a latticed frame and beyond it, bright morning. The rest of the room was easily the size of the entire shanty he'd called home in Tawnry.

Tapestries hung on the walls and rugs decorated the stone floor. There was a dressing table with a bowl upon it, steaming lightly, still hot. Clothes were hanging out neatly on the doors of a wardrobe. There was a bowl of fruit on the nightstand.

The other side of the bed was rumpled as though Sleet had been sharing it.

He rubbed his eyes. Surely he was still dreaming. He could not have woken in a palace. What would he be doing in a castle?

'Erebus?'

Nothing. Even more unsettling.

Sleet threw back the covers and frowned. He was naked. Someone had undressed him in his sleep. But, and he checked, he'd not fucked anyone. Unless they'd cleaned him, too. But his rim didn't feel swollen and used. He couldn’t taste come on his tongue.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet landing on a plush rug. He swept a hand over his hair and remembered, then, the chilling bite of ice, of fear, and a choice made. The icy grasp of darkness when they teleported away and then, nothing.

Sleet leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and covered his mouth. Balaam or Frost or whatever he was calling himself, he'd brought Sleet here. They'd, apparently, shared a bed.

Why couldn't he hear Erebus?

Sleet sighed and pushed himself off the bed. He didn't ache, at least. Further evidence that Frost hadn't fucked him. Was that relief? He didn't know.

He made for the wash basin, splashing water on his face in hopes to get some clarity. In the mirror, he looked like hell. Still tired, still underfed, his body a web of scars he hadn't had before Tawnry and all this craziness began. He was nude, but Frost had left him the necklace, one Sleet still couldn't manage to get rid of.

Why? Some stupid hope that he could save Frost? That it meant something.

Sleet raked a hand through his hair and examined the clothes left on the wardrobe. Of course they were his size. Why wouldn't they be? He pulled on the tunic and trousers and wondered where the rest of his belongings were: his pouches, his daggers, his boots. Probably confiscated.

Sleet snatched an orange from the bowl – and where had Balaam gotten this expensive piece of fruit? He peeled off the rind and edged up to the window, peering through the wood lattice. He saw... nothing. They were surrounded by rock and desert, by all accounts. The horizon stretched in all directions, a blue sky meeting ruddy rock.

Where was he? A place Sleet had not been for sure. Maybe not even on Corynth anymore. The only desert Sleet knew of was past Nipon, the Arida. But those sands were rumored to be golden and hilly, not flat and sharp-ridged like these. There was no vegetation, no animal-life, not even a bird in the sky. It was unsettling.

Sleet crossed the length of the room toward a set of massive double doors, ornate patterns engraved in the frame around it. Pointless really.

He tested the latch and found it unlocked. Sleet's eyebrow popped up. He was being given free rein? Well, wasn't that generous. He would have preferred boots though if he was going to be doing some exploring.

Sleet pulled the heavy door open and peered through the gap. There was a long hallway lit by flickering torches in glass sconces. It was deserted, with other doors visible to the left and right, and a staircase at the far end. It was all decorated in the same shades of cream and ocher that was prevalent in the bedroom behind him.

Sleet inched into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. Thick rugs ran down the middle of the corridor and cushioned his feet. It was chillier here, but the still silence was more unnerving. Did Frost stay in this gigantic place all by himself?

There were six other doors, one on the far side that dead-ended the hallway, two sharing a wall with the bedroom behind, and three on the opposite wall.

If in a maze, keep the wall on your right side no matter what. Eventually, you'll find your way out.

Sleet's mother had taught him that from countless fantasy books. It seemed as good advice as any. Sleet slipped out of the bedroom and crept to the first door on his right. It was plain, simple, and he opened it to reveal... a closet. Well, it was an average-sized room but it was stocked to the nines with linen, boxes, and other things.

Sleet poked around them, crowed when he found a pair of boots close enough in size, and then let himself back out. Linen was of little use and held no interest. The boxes were various supplies like soaps and waxes and food stuffs, none of it ready to eat. What he needed was a kitchen. The orange had been delicious, but he needed something more satisfying.

His belly rumbled.

The double doors at the far end were locked. And here Sleet was without his lock-picking tools. He jiggled the handle, peered at it, and tried to remember if there was something of use in the storage room. He tried peering through the keyhole, but it was dark, as though someone had drawn the shades and doused the lanterns.

Moving on.

The next door was another bedroom. This one had the faint scent of disuse to it, dusty and abandoned. The covers were rumpled, but there was an odor in the air that suggested of unpleasant things. Sleet shivered and let himself back out.

Sleet found a bathing room next, tub and sink and commode included. His eyes rounded at the sight and he had to resist the urge to fill the tub and soak himself for hours. This was an unheard of luxury. How did the heated water even get up here?

Two more doors revealed two more bedrooms. One was smaller, barely furnished and looked as if it had never been used. The other looked to be a combination bedroom and library, with books on every wall from floor to ceiling, and a small settee for a bed. The window looked out on the opposite side of the manor or palace or whatever and even here, Sleet could only see the same rocky, uninhabitable ground in all directions.

Those might have been mountains in the distance but it was difficult to tell. The wood lattice over the windows obscured his vision.

All that remained was the staircase. It spiraled both up and down, but there was a colder breeze wafting up from downstairs and Sleet opted to climb upward. Maybe he could get a better idea of where he was if he could see further.

The stairs were constructed of the same fitted stone as the rest of the palace. It was a grayish-pink color and smooth to the touch. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble, Sleet thought. The stairs also spiraled upward and railing embedded in the wall provided a handhold to keep his balance. At the top there was a trap door and Sleet had to brace it against his shoulder to push the heavy, iron-banded wood upright. Hinges creaked and a waft of dry heat struck Sleet in the face.

Another shove and the door slammed open, leaving Sleet room to pull himself out. His shoulder ached because of course, he'd used his oft-injured one, and he scowled as he pushed to his feet. He rubbed at the joint and turned in a slow circle, only to freeze.

He was on the roof, the edges surrounded by battlements, almost like a castle. For miles around, he could see nothing but the rocky ridges, but there in the distance were the shadows of mountains. There were tall, angular things. And it was so hot that heat shimmered over the landscape. Maybe there were no mountains after all. Maybe it was an illusion.

But the view wasn't what made him stiffen.

Frost was here, too.

He turned as Sleet spotted him and leaned against the rail. The balustrades were as tall as his mid-section, preventing him from falling out. Frost smirked at him as the wind tousled his dark hair in all directions.

“You finally woke up,” he said, not a trace of Balaam in his voice.

Sleet wasn't going to let his guard down just yet.

He carefully approached his lover, noticing to some dismay that he could see over the rails, but only just. He'd be better off crouching and peering through the balustrades.

“How long was I out?” Sleet asked. He chose to lean against the rail, just outside of arm's reach for Frost.

Best to play this normal for now. He didn't know why Frost wanted him or why it was so important he be here. And right now, Sleet didn't want to get thrown over the edge. A quick glance informed him they were three stories up. There was hard-packed dirt and rocks below. Nothing for a soft landing.

He'd go splat.

“Two days.” Frost's gaze lazily slid from Sleet's head to his feet and back again. “You must have been exhausted.”

Sleet wrapped his arms around his chest and made a non-committal noise. His gaze wandered away, to the unending vista of rock and desert. “Where are we?”

“Courland. And what's left of the Aestera.”

“Aestera.”

From the corner of his eyes, Sleet saw Frost move closer. He braced himself, but all Frost did was cup his face and brush a thumb over his cheek.

“This was once a city,” Frost explained as Sleet shifted back to look at him. There was something weird in his eyes, not quite Balaam, but not quite Frost either. “And this was fertile land. It's only mistake was that it was Asherah's favorite place to rest.”

Sleet's brow crinkled. “Who's Asherah?”

Sadness flicked through Frost's gaze. His thumb wandered to Sleet's lip, tracing the bottom one over and over.

“That you've forgotten here is only proof of the punishment we were given.” A hardness entered Frost's tone, making him sound distinctly un-Frost-like. “She was Lord Aesir's equal. Only she chose to sleep in the mortal realm, with her favored children. Her power was necessary. And her guardians were too late.”

Sleet fought back a shiver and the urge to jerk free of Balaam's – because he had to be Balaam now – touch. “She was killed by you, I take it?”

“Needs must.” The sharp-toothed grin was very much not Frost. Especially when it melted to a scowl. “My siblings got their revenge, thanks to Kronos. And it's his fault that Aestera is a wasteland.”

Wasteland.

Sleet considered it, and then his eyes rounded. “You mean the Wastelands? The one everyone says to stay away from because no one ever comes back because it's home to ghosts and monsters?”

“The very same.” Balaam's hand slid down, cupping Sleet's neck. The grip wasn't enough to be worrisome, but it made Sleet's heart beat faster anyway.

He would have trusted Frost. He didn't trust Balaam at all. He felt like running from their amalgam.

“Why are we here?” Sleet asked.

“Because the others can't find us here.” Balaam stepped even closer, bringing their bodies together, his head nuzzling against Sleet's.

“I see.” Sleet swallowed thickly. “It's hot up here,” he said, hoping that Frost or Balaam or whatever would take the hint.

Balaam chuckled. His free hand wrapped around Sleet's waist and groped at his ass. “It could be hotter.” He squeezed.

Ugh. Sleet winced. “Why bother when there's a comfortable bed a floor below us?” He offered, more than aware of the fact his hands remained pinned at his sides. He couldn't bring himself to embrace Balaam in return.

His body responded to Frost's proximity. Despite behaving like Balaam, he still smelled like Frost, like sandalwood and sweat and amber. His body felt the same, tall and muscled and part of Sleet wanted to push against him, to take him up on his offer.

Another part of him remembered that this wasn't only Frost, that here lately he was mostly Balaam and that filled Sleet with unease.

“You have a point.” Balaam's grip tightened slightly as he tilted Sleet's head back, thumb pressed to the hollow right under the curve of his jaw. “You and your pretty eyes. I should be allowed to enjoy the spoils of my victory,” he purred right before his lips descended over Sleet's.

His groan was muffled by Balaam's mouth, by the sheer ferocity of the kiss, all teeth and tongue, with none of the gentleness Frost had once given. Sleet was barely a participant in the kiss, Balaam's tongue sweeping into his mouth to claim every inch, and then sucking on his tongue. He left stinging nips on Sleet's bottom lip even as he pushed Sleet closer with his other arm, rocking their bodies together. He felt Balaam's erection press against his lower abdomen.

There was no option to pull away or resist. Balaam had him fully trapped and Sleet did the only thing he could do, he went fully passive. He let Balaam manipulate him as he wished. He moaned into the kiss, easy enough when part of him was responding, when his cock slowly filled in his trousers and pressed against Balaam's hip.

Finally, Balaam pulled away, licking his lips as though savoring some treat. “You are a distraction,” he said. His grip loosened on Sleet's throat. “Let's go back downstairs.”

“Great,” Sleet said. “And maybe you can explain to me what I'm really doing here. Because I'm finding it hard to believe you only wanted a convenient bed mate.”

Balaam tilted his head at Sleet and then smirked. He released Sleet, though not without a lingering grope. “You're right. Though the latter is a charming bonus. And if that's what it takes to satisfy my host, so be it.”

Sleet's bottom lip felt raw. He poked at it with his bottom lip and tasted blood. Bastard. “I guess I'm lucky.”

“You are.” Balaam moved past him, heading for the hatch. “You're the only animus I'm not allowed to kill.”

Sleet trailed after him. “You didn't kill Adair.”

“I thought he might be useful. And he was.” Balaam paused on the ladder, quirking his head again. “You're here, aren't you?”

Sleet set his jaw in a firm line. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Luckily, Balaam didn't demand one. He chuckled and descended, leaving room for Sleet to follow him back into the cool corridor. Sleet relished the chill now. He didn't know how Balaam was keeping it comfortable, but he wasn't going to complain.

Back in the corridor, Balaam beckoned Sleet to follow and shoulders set, Sleet obeyed.

“Why am I here?” he asked, again.

“Because I need you to do something for me and my other assures me you'll cooperate.”

Even Balaam's stride was different from Frost's. Where his lover's footsteps could barely be heard, Balaam scuffed the floor. He took long, loping strides compared to Frost's minimal pace. It was unsettling. Sleet tried not to watch.

“What if I don't?” Sleet asked if only because Frost would expect him to be contrary.

Balaam paused in front of the locked double doors Sleet had found earlier. “I won't kill you, if that's what you're worried about. My other won't allow me to.” He smiled, and it was full of teeth. “But there are ways to make your life unpleasant without the mercy of death.”

A wave of his hand, a spark of magic, and the door opened. Balaam stepped inside.

Sleet's insides dripped with ice. What in Aesir's name had he gotten himself into? He followed Balaam. What other choice did he have?

He stepped over the door's threshold and shivered. What felt like a wave of magic had descended over his body. It tingled across his skin and made the hair on the back of his neck rise?

'Erebus?'

Still nothing.

Sleet swallowed thickly and gathered himself. The room was bright, every curtain drawn back from the window to maximize the natural light. The stone floor was polished but bare and there was very little of furniture to speak of. The walls were bare as well and only a few lights hung from the ceiling, their candles extinguished.

Center stage was a statue of a man, one who was winged with fierce features. He wore a warrior's kilt and his taloned feet were reminiscent of the dragons from the fairy tales Sleet had heard as a challenge. His hands were clawed as well and his sharp canines were bared in a snarl. He had long hair and pointed ears and even his wingtips were clawed.

Sleet did not know what material the statue was sculpted from. Certainly not clay or wood.

He tilted his head and moved closer. The feeling of magic grew stronger as he did so. One of the statue's hands clutched a dual-bladed polearm.

Was it stone?

Sleet touched the weapon, the material as cold as stone but smooth as silk. It had a bit of give to it and was almost translucent.

“This is me.”

He startled and snatched his hand back. Sleet whirled to face Balaam. He'd forgotten entirely why he'd stepped into this room.

“You?” he asked.

Balaam's hands were folded behind his back. He approached and Sleet unconsciously backed away, until his hips bumped the edge of the podium where the statue stood. It didn't wobble, as heavy and sturdy as stone.

“My body,” Balaam clarified. His gaze lifted, looking past Sleet to the statue. There was wistfulness in his look, but also anger. “It is the last thing I need to be whole.”

“Looks to me like you already have it,” Sleet said.

Balaam arched a brow at him. “This is in my possession, but I am barred from using it.”

He stepped closer, but past Sleet. One hand lifted, touching the statue's knee. But before he could press a finger to it, something shimmered, opalescent. There was a crackle of energy, static perhaps, and Balaam hissed, drawing his hand back.

“As you can see, it's guarded. I can't free my body, just as I couldn't free my spirit.” Balaam tilted his head toward Sleet. His brown eyes gleamed unsettlingly. “I have you to thank for the latter.”

Sleet crossed his arms, inching away. “The black marble at Dye's.”

“Precisely.”

Sleet looked up at the statue again, the fierce expression. It... didn't really fit with what he imagined Balaam would look like. For one thing, the statue was handsome. And he'd always imagined Balaam to be this ugly, twisted creature, as black outside as he was inside.

“Adair refused?”

“No, Adair was incapable.”

A soft, long sigh escaped Balaam. “I needed his anima. I needed Iblion. But I couldn't guess that Iblion would refuse to return to Elysium. He would have been drawn to Adair if he did so.” Frustration ate into Balaam's expression, so very Frost-like for a moment that it gave Sleet vertigo.

It melted away, however, into a winning smile. “That's where you come in, pet.” He circled around Sleet, a sense of magic pushing at Sleet as he did so. It felt as though it were enclosing him within a box. “Your bond is stable. Your anima is with you.”

“I can't hear him.”

“You will,” Balaam reassured. “When it's convenient. But he can hear you, and he can hear me and my offer, and that's what matters.”

Sleet shivered. “Your offer?”

Warmth pressed against his back. An arm encircled his abdomen, pulling him back into Balaam's embrace. He felt warm exhalations against the side of his neck. Lips brushed against his ear.

“You will make up for your betrayal, my son,” Balaam whispered against Sleet's ear. “You owe me this freedom.”

Sleet cringed and his hands pulled into fists. “What are you talking about?”

“That particular message was not for you.”

Balaam's palm flattened on Sleet's belly. His fingers flexed, the tips poking against Sleet in odd intervals before his hand slid down. It fiddled at the tie of Sleet's trousers.

Disquiet coiled in Sleet's belly. “For Erebus?”

He dimly remembered Tungsten mentioning that the deities were related, that they had something approximating families. He never would have guessed, however, that his own anima was Balaam's son. Erebus was so fiercely vocal about stopping Balaam. Apparently, there were things stronger than blood in the immortal world.

“Yes,” Balaam hissed and his teeth grazed Sleet's ear. “You'll hear him soon enough. When I allow you contact. But I must have your agreement before I can obtain his. He's stubborn. Always has been.”

Sleet made a noncommittal noise, and then gasped when Balaam palmed his groin and squeezed. His cock woke up immediately, surging toward Balaam's delicate massaging.

Sleet unfolded his arms and grabbed Balaam by the wrists, squeezing. He wasn't sure if he wanted to stop the deity in his lover's body, or encourage him.

“I came here, didn't I?” Sleet asked. A shiver danced down his spine as heat blossomed in his groin. His heart thudded in his chest. “You already have my agreement.”

“So you say.”

Balaam's mouth traveled lower, the wet heat of it nibbling on the side of Sleet's neck. Sleet bit his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut.

How long had Balaam watched his and Frost's interaction? Why had he paid attention to know Sleet's erogenous zones and kinks?

“You need him to free you?” Sleet gasped out. “That's it? And after, I guess you think he'll join you?”

Balaam chuckled, though it was muffled against Sleet's skin. “I'm under no illusions. My son has made his allegiance quite clear.”

The dread returned. Surely Balaam wouldn't kill his own son?

“And that, pet, is when you have a choice to make.” Balaam rocked against his back, the rigid line of his cock tangible. “Whose side do you really want to be on? My other seems to think you're one of us, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure at all.”

His teeth clamped down on Sleet's shoulder, pinning a chunk of Sleet's flesh between the dull edges. It was a blunt pain and Sleet hissed, sucking in a breath. His fingers tightened on Balaam's arms.

The bite eased, gentling as Balaam flicked his tongue against it. Something in his hold softened as well.

“You never had any aspirations,” Balaam said but no, his tone was different. Warmer.

His grip on Sleet's cock gentled, pushing and stroking. His other hand slid up Sleet's abdomen, under his tunic, pressing over his chest where his heart thundered beneath.

“You were content to do nothing, be nothing.” Lips pressed tiny kisses to the curve of his jaw and Sleet was sure of it now. Frost had returned to the surface. “Make the choice to be more now.”

Frost's lips wandered closer and Sleet turned his head, capturing them. Frost's tongue slid across his lips and into his mouth, claiming without the damaging roughness Balaam had employed. Sleet moaned. This was definitely Frost.

He sagged back against his lover, cock pulsing into Frost's grip. His head spun dizzily. How could they flip back and forth like that?

Sleet broke off the kiss. “You want me to be a villain,” he said, catching Frost's gaze from the corner of his eyes. All at once, he remembered all of the stories his mother used to tell him. “That never ends well, you know.”

Frost grinned with the roguish charm that had attracted Sleet in the first place. “Then we'll change the story.”

Was that how Balaam convinced Frost? Did he tell Frost that he could have the world and everything in it? And what was more valuable than that?

Despite being a thief, Frost had never struck Sleet has being particularly greedy. He'd been a picky thief, one who only took the items that interested him. Sometimes, they had no value on the resale market. Frost would take items that couldn't be bought.

Sleet supposed that rulership of Lieve counted in that.

And as for Sleet? He'd been content to survive, to play his days away and not think about the distant future. That's what happened when you had no aspirations or goals. You just drifted, and apparently wandered into the tide of someone like Frost.

“A lot of people are going to die,” Sleet said. The disquiet in his belly just wouldn't leave him. He felt simultaneously cold and hot.

“Perhaps. That's the price you pay to get what I want. Collateral damage.”

And there he was, back again, Balaam in all his madness. That explained the ice in his belly and the wobble in his knees.

Sleet closed his eyes, swallowing over a lump in his throat. “What do you want me to do?”

“So glad you asked.” Balaam's purr rolled over him, dark shadows in Frost's eyes all the warning that Sleet had. Would it get to a point he couldn't tell them apart? “I need Erebus to set me free. Convince him.”

“I can't make him do anything.”

Balaam curved his fingers around Sleet's cock and gave it a long stroke, producing a liberal drop of pre-come. Sleet had already started to throb with need. “You will find a way. Every one has a weakness. And you know his.”

Asclepius.

Sleet shuddered and disguised it by pushing back against Balaam, grinding his ass against the hard cock nestled against it. “I'll do my best.”

“I know you won't disappoint us,” Frost said and he nipped at Sleet's ear, tongue coiling wetly around it again. “Mmm, but I've missed you.”

Sleet rocked backward and peeled his eyes open. All he could see was that damned statue. “Should I be flattered?”

Frost's cock nudged at his ass, pushing at the seam of his trousers. “If you want,” he growled. “I want you, Sleet.”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, withholding a whimper. This, at least, was the easier decision to make.

****

a/n:I have a few more chapters ready and hopefully, I can get back into this and get more chapters done. *fingers crossed* 

Thanks so much to anyone who is reading and especially to mistfox_87 who kept my inspiration alive. <3

OMG!

Date: 2016-08-17 02:48 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] mistfox_87
You dedicated this update fer meee?? \(-ㅂ-)/ ♥ ♥ ♥
I couldnt stop grinning like an idiot the moment i saw this update! What a wonderful day to start a day by getting this news! Thank you so much for this long awaited update! ♥ ♥ ♥

Balaam have the power to prevent connection between Sleet and Erebus??
(╯°□°)╯He's indeed a powerful and fearful villain and Sleet is now trapped in a wasteland with a crazy Anima and nowhere to run. Good luck Sleet! I'll be fiercely cheering for your survival!

Thank you again for this awesome update!
More chapters??? Ohmygosh!!! Feels like Christmas!! But no pressure though.
Take your time with the updates.

Hope you'll get your awesome groove back soon.
*fingers & toes crossed* hehe! :)
Im gonna go read this update again. <3

Re: OMG!

Date: 2016-08-21 11:24 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] mistfox_87
ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* i cannot express enough relief that i wrote to you last time! At this point, i just want to hug you and thank you truthfully for not abandoning this one great adventure! ♥ ♥ ♥

Wonder what else can Balaam do with his abilities? Pretty sure he has some other powerful abilities hidden up in his sleeve! He's a super villain after all!

Ahhh...Sleet's the reluctant hero... Poor guy. Hard choices sucks! Cant wait to see how he's gonna proceed next.

YAYYYYY!!!!! Yes!!! i'll patiently wait! As long as i know you're not giving up on this, i'll definitely wait.
◦°˚\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

You're most welcome!!! ♥ ♥ ♥ :D :D :D
im sorry i was late in replying. I was buried in my work this week. (◞‸◟;)

but anw, take care!!! Hope you enjoy your weekend! ♥ ♥ ♥

Re: OMG!

Date: 2016-09-16 09:15 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] mistfox_87
It's ok! I completely understand. Im buried in work up to my neck myself. Im dyingggg actually. lol!

Take your time! No worries! I have patience level of a monk! :D

Wish you a great weekend ahead! :)

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