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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

Repo's head was cocked to the side, almost bird-like, as he watched his prey squirm in misery; yes, the poison was working quickly, and he knew that in short order, Graverobber would be violently ill. For most, the colour would drain from their face, but given the foundation and dark lipstick the scavenger wore, it was difficult to assess - but then he began to quake, the chill setting in as his body was shocked by the poison and began to try and fight it off.

He ran his tongue over his lips and then stood; it was bizarre to see Repo's expression accompanied by the neat, tailored clothing of Nathan Wallace, and he crossed his arms over his chest, surveying the damage as Graverobber began to curl in on himself, at once trying to stay warm and trying to alleviate the pain that was undoubtedly wracking his body.

"The first hit is free." Repo cackled.
 
Graverobber rolled his eyes as he tucked his legs in close to his chest and attempted to burrow into the sofaâ??s cushions. â??Clever,â? he said, deep voice muffled by the fabric and his inability to properly control his jaw. â??Good delivery, b-but donâ??t laugh at your lines.â? He gasped as a particularly violent shudder ripped through his body and curled in to himself in a position that might have been described as â??foetalâ?? if it wasnâ??t Graverobber.

For him, it was just mostly foetal.

He felt his stomach begin to churn: warm, sour acid forcing itself up his throat, and he groaned. â??Tell Nathan,â? he said miserably, smearing white onto the couch (served him right) as he hid his face in an attempt to fight his chills. â??That I am going to vomit on his sofa soon.â? Another shiver. God damn the man. All he had done was come into his house with the intention to steal a corpse. This was completely out of proportion.
 
Repo continued to watch; in fact, that side of him probably could have been pleased to watch Graverobber suffer all night - after all, he didn't owe the scavenger anything, the man had stalked him, molested him, attacked him, broken into his home, scared Shilo, and accepted payment to steal Marni's body.

He owed Graverobber nothing, but it was the thought of Marni that brought Nathan to the foreground, forced Repo back into his cage; as much of a pain Graverobber had been, he didn't want the man to die, and despite his years of doing indescribably horrific things, Nathan managed to still have some miniscule amount of sympathy inside of him. As he looked down at Graverobber, he felt vaguely ill from what he'd done; he knew how the poison felt, he knew the kind of pain the man was in, and that the suffering would worsen before it got better. It couldn't be helped now, Graverobber would simply have to go through the process of getting it out of his system.

Nathan wordlessly put one of Graverobber's arms around his shoulders and forced the man up onto his feet, walking him to the bathroom, where he was bound to spend a decent period of time with his head over the toilet.
 
Nathan was warm, much warmer than he felt, at least. Graverobber leaned against the doctor without any sort of hesitation, amused to note a second change. This was Nathan again, leading him to the bathroom so he could vomit up everything in a vain attempt to purge the poison from his system. For some reason, his body refused to listen to the knowledge that retching was useless, so he spent the next joyous minutes or hours (he wasnâ??t sure) emptying the contents of his stomach into Wallaceâ??s immaculately clean toilet bowl.

Once there was simply nothing left, he leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. His muscles still clenched, but he didnâ??t even have bile left. An image of a be-smocked Nathan coming through in all his GeneCo issued glove, apron, and boot glory with a bright pink toilet bowl brush came unbidden to the front of his mind, and he snickered, then cringed. Bad idea. Everything still hurt, and it set off the shivering again. He got to his feet shakily to wash his face off and his mouth out, then reached for one of Nathanâ??s perfectly matching and perfectly folded towels.

Heâ??d leave it on the floor to make him feel better.
 
Nathan waited outside the door while Graverobber remained half-curled with his face stuck in the toilet bowl for nearing on an hour, his body rejecting everything he had eaten that day, and when the contents of his stomach were emptied, Graverobber had continued retching for some time after, to the point where it was just pure stomach acid, and then nothing.

He waited until the other man stopped making the horrible noises, and then appeared in the bathroom, holding out a large glass of whole milk for him; it was a bizarre thing, the sight of the GeneCo employee - the man who had strangled Graverobber, who had left him half-naked in an alley, and who had just recently poisoned him - offering out a wholesome drink to quell the unfortunate side-effects of the very poison he had given to Graverobber.

He had long ago learned that milk helped Shilo when her stomach was upset from her medication; the thickness of it helped to cut some of the sourness, and while it wouldn't taste very good to Graverobber right then, the look on Nathan's face made it clear that the scavenger was going to drink it one way or another.
 
Graverobber made a face at the milk, then turned and washed his mouth out again. Nathan had that look on his face, the one that meant he wouldn't leave until his â??patientâ?? (a real one, this time) complied. The man must be the most obnoxious father, he thought as he accepted the milk. Compared to the stomach acid, it was significantly less acidic, though still left a bad taste in his mouth.

Without the cosmetics, he was back to the human, almost lively looking young man, not the character he played. He took another gulp, then started. This wasnâ??t the water-and-powder stuff most people passed off as milk: it was honestly milk. God, heâ??d probably be sick, his body not knowing what to do with something that wasnâ??t first stripped off all water and boxed. Graverobber finished the glass in a few more shuddering swallows, his stomach protesting being filled again after so recently being forcibly emptied. It did feel good on his throat, he thought as he wiped his mouth off on the back of an already stained sleeve and passed the glass back to Nathan.

â??Do I also get a story?â? he asked weakly. He was still obviously cold, though now that he wasn't vomiting, he tried to hide it.
 
Nathan waited patiently while Graverobber swallowed down the milk in a few unsteady gulps, observing the surprise as it registered on his face; real milk wasn't something people were used to, like most of the whole, organic products, it had become a thing that was only affordable to the well-off, and with Shilo to take care of, Nathan settled for nothing less than the very best. He wouldn't feed his child the processed, empty things - he intended on keeping her healthy, especially while he was -

- poisoning her.

And though he had also poisoned Graverobber, the fathering and doctorly side of him had taken over and decided that he was going to ensure that while Graverobber suffered for what he had done, he wouldn't do any further damage to the man that night. After all, tossing him out on the street without any monitoring might mean that actual, permanent damage could be done as a result of the poisoning, and Nathan could see a distant string of events as Graverobber would ultimately require an organ transplant from GeneCo, wouldn't be able to pay, and he would have to come and repo whatever bit of him had been replaced.

And the idea wasn't one that even Repo relished.

"I can tell you a fantastic one about a drug dealer who died as a result of his own stupidity," Nathan replied, a little too brightly, and then took Graverobber by the arm, and led him up the stairs.
 
Graverobber snorted. â??Iâ??ve heard a few like that. You tell surprisingly similar stories to someone else I know.â? The milk left an odd film in his mouth, something he couldnâ??t remember feeling from the reconstituted stuff heâ??d had before. He followed warily, though this wasnâ??t downstairs into the basement or towards the door. Oh, Nathan could probably push him out a window, but that might wake his darling daughter.

As soon as they were upstairs, he showed a little more interest in their surroundings. He hadnâ??t been allowed up here last time what with having a rather insistent Nathan in between him and the upper floor. Here it was just as subtly well-decorated as the rest of the place, though it looked perhaps just the tinniest bit more lived in. Still smelled of cleaner, though.

â??And here I thought you slept downstairs in your basement,â? Graverobber murmured, voice low. The kid would be up here, sleeping or (if she was anything like him) listening in.
 
"I don't like the cold as much as you do," Nathan replied, a clear reference to their last meeting, during which Graverobber had been repeatedly doused in water in the confines of the sub-zero room; no, Nathan's room was upstairs, a large, warm area with a bed that was far too large for one person to sleep in. For the first few years, it had served as a reminder of the woman who had left him behind, who had dissappeared from his life and left an empty spot in his heart - and then as time went on, it became a reminder of what he was, so that every time he fell into the empty bed and rolled over to find no one else there, he would remember that he didn't deserve to.

Some mornings, though rare now, he still thought he would wake up and find Marni there, smiling at him, touching his face, pulling him to her and laughing when he rubbed the stubble on his chin against her neck to tickle her. The empty body that was kept in the house was just the shell of his wife, so cold and white that it never quite looked like her, but it kept his guilt constantly in his mind. But his memory of the subtleties of her had never faded, the dimples on her cheeks, the curls in her hair, the freckle on her abdomen. The smell of her - soap and flowers, perfume and red wine, her slow and sure smile and the way she told him she loved him even when he was being self-conscious and nerdy.

The way the sun lit her eyes.

So it was a step for Nathan, and a painful one, to open the bedroom door and allow Graverobber in, though he was sure the scavenger would have no idea of the significance - Nathan told himself it was because Marni would never approve of tossing a sick man out on the street. Graverobber would sleep in the bed; Nathan made that clear enough by shoving back the sheets and pointing, silently informing the other man to get in.

"If anything goes missing, I have more of those pills." he added drily.
 
Graverobber managed to look hurt before he bent down and started undoing his boots. Nathanâ??s bed was huge, like the rest of the house, and just as empty. He prayed to God and St. Sebastion (guy was patron saint of undertakers and dying, and while Graverobber wasnâ??t a religious man, he was Catholic. And it didnâ??t hurt to hedge your bets) that Nathan didnâ??t drag the body up here some nights. He might have asked, but, then, he really didnâ??t want to know.

â??I donâ??t get my own bag to sleep in?â? he asked just as dryly. Graverobber didnâ??t really believe that Nathan was letting him into the bed without dousing him down with water and bleach first. The bed didnâ??t creak under his weight when he sat down like the old, rickety thing in his flat did what with the frame being older than him and the mattress a few years younger.

It was much softer, too, with sheets. Graverobber might find sheets on a whole rather useless â?? after all, what was the point in putting something between you and the blankets? â?? but these felt wonderful on his aching skin. He rolled over to the other side automatically so Nathan would have room.

"Careful. I kick in my sleep."
 
"I could arrange for a bag your size." Nathan replied darkly and pointed once more to the bed, a stern look plastered on his face; at some point he had put his glasses back on and the flush had receeded from his face and ears, his clothes were smoothed down as though they had never been rumpled by their activities and his hair looked as though it had been brushed back to normal.

He watched as Graverobber slipped into the sheets; they were smooth cotton, clean and crisp but not starched - Nathan was a stickler for cleanliness and neatness, but he had never understood having hard, stiff sheets. At the very least, sleep should be comfortable.

He pulled the covers up over Graverobber as casually as possible, and tossed a second comforter on the man,

"I'm sure you do, but I won't be finding out." he said, and headed for the door, adding, "And you'll want to sleep on your side."
 
Graverobber probably didnâ??t even know that starched sheets existed.

The young man grinned crookedly. â??Oh, come now, Nathan,â? he said. â??You wouldnâ??t leave a dying thief alone in a cold bed.â? He sat up, multi-colored hair coming out of the tie he generally left it in and pulled the covers down. Not that he was quite sure what he was doing. Graverobber should have been glad to sleep in the middle of a large bed, taking as much space as he liked, but it only seemedâ?¦

Maybe the word was â??fairâ??. The thin doctor silhouetted in the door seemed like the sort that would enjoy not sleeping alone at night, if he slept. â??Besides, I need some sort of heater and this way I canâ??t steal anything.â? Not anything noticeable, at least.
 
Nathan paused in the doorway, shoulders slouching slightly and he turned his head just enough that Graverobber would be able to see his profile,

"There's an extra blanket there." he said flatly, making his stance on it crystal clear; he didn't trust himself to turn and look at the other man now, because the prospect of climbing into the bed with someone was almost too tempting. The idea of feeling the warmth of another human being, of curling up next to someone for something as simple as sleep made Nathan's heart ache, while Repo recoiled at the idea because it would be the equivalent of offering his throat to Graverobber.

When it came down to it, after all, he couldn't exactly trust the scavenger; he knew he was insane enough for even allowing the man in his home, especially with what he'd been planning - but for now, he was incapacitated. The poison would keep him feeling weak and miserable through the night and well into the morning, and he would undoubtedly suffer side effects of it for another few days, though by then - he would be his own responsibility, not Nathan's.

He mentally corrected himself:

Not that's he's ever been my responsibility.

He closed the door behind him, and went down the stairs. He spent most of the night with his head in his hands in the chair at the end of Marni's hallway, surrounded by her holographs, her entombed body staring out of the glass panel, head cocked to the side. Some days, Nathan found himself talking to the corpse as though she was really listening - and when he realized he was doing it, he questioned precisely how far his sanity had deteriorated. He had always believed he had clung to some semblance of it but -

- he had no one else to turn to. There was no one he could speak with, no one he could confide in, he couldn't tell Shilo - he would never make her listen to it, never tell her his problems. She didn't need to know, she couldn't know.

It was just him, and Repo.

When the very early hours of the morning arrived, Nathan dragged himself back up the stairs, and fell onto the fainting couch he kept in the hallway between his and Shilo's room, for the nights when Shilo was feeling particularly unwell, so he could be close to her, get to her faster. After a long while of staring at the ceiling, he drifted off, his glasses lopsided, arms crossed over his chest, bare feet over the arm of the couch.
 
Graverobberâ??s soft laughter followed Nathan.

After all, he thought he was doing a good thing, offering like that. The man was clearly lonely; normal, well-adjusted and socialized members of society did not neck with dirty drug dealers in equally dirty alleyways. Nor did they generally keep bodies in the house. His mind was still working over that problem as he turned over, onto his side as Nathan had suggested. How was he going to get that body? And, failing that, how was he going to make himself scarce? Tell Rottiâ??s bimbo that he wasnâ??t interested in the job?

Oh, well. The young man shifted, trying to get comfortable while the medicine made even the blankets a heavy weight. His last thought was that Nathanâ??s bed didnâ??t smell of Nathan (not that he could describe exactly what the old man smelled like), it smelled simply of cleaner: some light, artificial citrus scent. Entirely sterile and completely inhuman.

That he dreamt that night was more a surprise to him than waking up in an unfamiliar bed. He jerked awake, brushing off the unfamiliar cobwebs of a barely remembered dream.

Something about flowers.

He rubbed his eyes, taking in the bedroom in the early morning. The smell might be sterile and unwelcoming, but the light wasn't. This wasnâ??t the harsh glow of sodium lamps, nor was it the dingy, rusty color of sun light in the city. It was almostâ?¦ warm. Annoyingly quaint, like he should look outside and see a scene right out of the 1950â??s, kids playing in the backyard and all. Graverobber wasnâ??t quite sure how a man woke up to a large house and sunlight and still wanted to go out and kill people come nightfall.

Oh, right. Dead wife in the house. He yawned, pushing the heel of his hand into his eye. Craziness would help, he thought, swinging his legs over so his bare feet could touch the ground. All the better to walk quietly. Maybe he could get a look around and deal with that body problem. Graverobber pushed himself to his feet, then sat back, muscles still weak from last nights poisoning.

Heâ??d deal with the body next time.
 
She didn't have the heart to wake him up; with her thin arms crossed over her ruffled blouse, Shilo cocked her head to the side and watched her father sleep for a few moments. He thought she didn't know, but she was aware that sometimes he did it too - he would come into her room at night, after he'd come home from work, and he would watch her for a while in complete silence. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of him in the doorway very late at night or into the early hours of the morning and for reasons she couldn't quite understand, the moonlight through her window would catch him in a way that made him look like a nightmare. Other times, he looked just like her father, and once she was sure she he had cried - not because of sobs or sniffles, but because of the strange absence of any sound, like he was trying to hold his breath - but she couldn't be sure.

All she knew was that sometimes, something was wrong and he wouldn't ever tell her what it was. Her dad didn't sleep much, and he ate even less and some days she wondered if maybe he had the blood disease too, because he looked so drawn and thin and weak that she questioned how he could get up in the morning, or find it in himself to help heal his patients.

At some point during the night, he had ended up laying face-down on the couch, his head off to the side, an arm dangling over the edge, legs at an odd angle so they hung over the arm of the chair. Even in his sleep, he was completely silent, but his hair was mussed and he looked relaxed in a way she rarely saw him, so she just couldn't wake him up - he needed the sleep.

She did, however, take his glasses from where they had been sticking out at an awkward angle and put them on her own face - and then she paused, hesitated when she heard something from her father's room. For a moment she stood there, staring at the door, and then she approached it, slowly opening it and sticking her head in, her black wig draping partly in her face, the black frames sliding down her nose, and she goggled at the yawning Graverobber, her lips in a small 'o' of surprise.
 
Graverobber jerked his head to the door, brain still fuzzy with sleep. He wasnâ??t usually like this: living on the streets successfully made one a light sleeper and a quick waker. Right now, though, his thoughts, like his body, were still sluggish. It was Nathanâ??s fault; Graverobber wasnâ??t often sick and couldnâ??t remember the last time he had come down with a cold, let alone a fever.

Ah, but it was just his little girl. Graverobber cocked his head to the side, smirking, then turned to grab the extra blanket Nathan had thrown on him last night. His fever had broken sometime in the middle of the night, when just the quietest noise in the hall had startled him from a fitful sleep to a damp pillow and too many blankets. Wrapping the thick material around his shoulders, he spoke to the girl.

â??You can come in. I donâ??t bite, kid.â? He pulled his legs back up onto the bed and scooted so he could lean his back on the headboard. Even that seemed like too much: it made Graverobber even more determined to know exactly what it was that heâ??d had shoved in his mouth last night.
 
"You don't look too good," Shilo said, shuffling in a little more, still gripping the door, leaning her cheek against it as she watched him over the top of her father's glasses; Graverobber looked pale and sickly now, an ill pallor rather than the artificial white of the make up he favoured. The way his eyes were half-lidded, and the way he tugged the blankets closer around his shoulders told Shilo how he was feeling, and she could sympathize - she'd gone through similar symptoms for most of her life.

"Dad said you're a patient of his," she added, fiddling with the door knob, "Has he been your doctor for a while? He has to work a lot, and I can't go outside, so I've never really seen him with patients, and he's never brought anyone into the house before."

That she knew of.

She twisted from side to side, shifting the door with her, fidgeting,

"Are you a friend of his?" she asked, and might have sounded just a touch hopeful.
 
Graverobber had the strangest feeling that this child was trying to take care of her father. He had had it before, when she had hesitated before handing off the fire poker, but the thought was so funny to his disease mind his smirk grew into a full blown smile.

It still managed to be creepy.

â??Something like that,â? he said gently, knowing that was the answer she wanted to hear. Nathanâ??s kid wanted to think her daddy didnâ??t spend all his time alone, working though Graverobber was a ware that his previous non-killing-contacts were probably all in the Largo family. â??Heâ??s, er, a really good doctor. Fantastic with his hands.â? When he wasnâ??t strangling you, of course.

He leaned forward a little. â??So Iâ??m the only thing heâ??s brought back home?â? he asked, not all that surprised: Nathan didnâ??t seem like the sort that would invite his work up from the basement or one of the Largos over for dinner. â??Iâ??d think your dad and you would get â?¦â? He searched for a non-offensive word, not wanting to chase off this valuable source of information. â??Tired of just seeing each other?â?
 
Shilo lifted her shoulders in a shrug, and struggled to find the words to explain,

"I don't know anyone else." she said finally; for Shilo Wallace, her father was all she had, the only human being she had contact with, the only person she had to speak to - she had never made friends, and there was no extended family that could come visit, no aunts or uncles, no grandparents, and from what she knew of them, her parents hadn't had anyone until they met eachother.

Some days, she questioned why her father hadn't made any friends - he could leave the house, he could go outside, but he only chose to do so in order to work, and when he had free time, he spent it with her. Some days, she wondered why he hadn't found another woman, but she had never known her mother and over time had learned to resent the woman for the disease she had inherited from her - her dad, however, had never gotten over the loss. She wasn't sure he could ever look at another woman the same way.
 
Now that surprised Graverobber. He arched an eyebrow and leaned back a little more into the thick wood behind him before gesturing for her to continue. â??Youâ??ve got to be exaggerating, kid,â? he said sweetly, though things were starting to make sense; Nathanâ??s giant puzzle of a life was slowly but surely being pieced together and it was getting weirder with each connection he made.

Ray hadnâ??t known about her, and that manâ??s big nose was in everything. She was obviously sick: too small and too bald, and those little balls of medicine were probably her own. And Nathan, well, he was Nathan: why not keep a seventeen-year-old girl cloistered away along with a dead body and a horrific night job?

â??No school? He doesnâ??t bring men or women home?â? His voice was one of affected surprise, but hopefully Shilo, in her limited social experience, wouldnâ??t catch the falsehood.

Truth be told, she looked exactly like her father in those over-large glasses. Graverobber wondered, then, if Nathan fidgeted like that when he wasn't dealing with someone he wanted to kill. Did he hunt for words with that same look of concentration? Or was he always the closed off, cool individual? "I guess he's much too shy for that," he added, amused at tacking that adjective to a man who, last night, was molesting the same dealer that had just broken into his house.
 
Shilo shook her head, her eyes wide,

"No, he doesn't bring anyone here. Ever." she said, finally releasing the door and stepping fully into the room; she was wearing a ruffled black skirt with her blouse, and her legs were as pale and skinny as the rest of her, adorned with a pair of striped high socks that appeared to be far too big for her, "You're the first one."

She wasn't sure if 'shy' was the word she would use for her father, but she couldn't be certain; having never seen him around other people, it was difficult to know what he would be like in a social setting. Graverobber's appearance in the home was a precident.

And she glanced at the door for a moment, then looked back to Graverobber, her fingers twirling at the ribbon on her blouse, as though she couldn't hold still,

"And he usually doesn't sleep this late," she added in a conspiratorial whisper, "He's usually up at five - but he's barely been sleeping lately."
 
If the kid never left, how exactly did she get new clothes? He had to shake the image of Nathan in the womenâ??s section buying womenâ??s blouses and frilly skirts. Maybe heâ??d mention that to the old man one day, when he wasnâ??t angry enough at him to drug him. The women down at the department stores probably thought he was some grade A weirdo.

They were right but for all the wrong reasons.

â??Heâ??s had a rough couple of nights,â? Graverobber responded, voice just as soft. It would be easier if the kid liked him and he was certainly not above using a lonely adolescent to get close to her equally lonely father. â??I bet,â? he added, crossing his legs in front of him and patting the empty bed next to him. â??That he collapsed on a sofa and is currently getting a nasty crick in his neck. Face smashed into the pillow and all?â?

He hoped he even drooled. The man couldnâ??t be prim and proper even when he slept, could he?
 
Shilo nodded her head in understanding,

"He's got a tough job," she said, "Some days he can barely make it to his room to go to sleep - but he gets up early so we can make breakfast together, and play games - he's really good at hangman."

She eyed the open spot on the bed as he patted it, and then approached him with obvious caution,

"Sorry I had to hit you." she added, standing next to him and peering around at his head as though trying to see where he'd been struck the previous night, her dark eyes inspecting him, "But you kind of broke into the house. I don't get out much, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do that."

She climbed onto the bed then, sitting at the foot of it so as to leave a great deal of space between her and Graverobber - it appeared that her father had taught her suspicion. She crossed her legs beneath her, and stared at his hair.
 
â??Hangman seems like his sort of game,â? Graverobber said cryptically, actually turning his head to the side so she could examine it. Surprisingly, no â??dirty tramp proximityâ?? alarm went off, no Nathan came rushing into the door when his daughter got within a meter of him. â??No, youâ??re not. But I was feeling pretty sick last night,â? he lied mildly. â??I guess I got afraid. Didnâ??t want to be sick like that on the streets.â?

Women, he had learned, loved a pity story. Repoâ??s kid might not yet be a full grown woman, but he had a feeling she would appreciate this retelling tailored just for her. He smiled weakly, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Nathan had taught her a little bit of caution, though, but the curiosity was stronger. That was the problem with keeping someone safe for too long: they forgot (or, perhaps in the kidâ??s case, didnâ??t know) how hard the unknown and dangerous tended to bite. Curiosity would win because she didnâ??t have a clear memory of pain and it was only lucky for her that the predator had no interest in her.

Graverobber reached up, touching the top of his head gingerly, grimacing more than was needed as he pressed his fingers against his scalp. â??What, something in my hair?â?
 
Shilo watched him pull the blanket tighter around himself, and she pulled up the second comforter that had been settled under her legs, scooting up close to toss it over Graverobber's chest and shoulders before moving back to where she had been, continuing to watch him with wide, curious eyes.

It was a side-effect of spending life indoors; anything new was a source of ultimate fascination for Shilo, and especially another human being - he would have stories, and experiences, he would have seen places, like the cemetary outside her mother's tomb or the park that she sometimes heard about on the radio, or gardens, or even oceans.

"Well," Shilo said, considering his explanation, her lips pursed in thought for a moment, "Maybe next time you should try knocking."

Her eyes were back at his hair, and she nodded her head,

"Yeah, there's some leaves and it looks like a bit of a branch in your hair," she said, resisting the maddening urge to pull all the dirt and grime out of Graverobber's hair and clothes, "And a lot of different colours. You need a brush."
 
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