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Post by Niamh on Jul 26, 2018 5:14:33 GMT
then came the night of the first falling star There was no indication before; it all went to pieces. She was home, one moment, and then suddenly not - no, this could be no home of hers; it was a place too light to be home. It was too clear, too fresh, too... clean. The girl (for she was still a girl) struggled to her feet; her ribs showed plainly through the tussled fur that lung to her frame. Light blinded her, turning the world to snow; she squeezed her eyes shut and mentally begged for it to be taken away. Yet slowly, haltingly, colour returned to the surroundings and she was better able to take in where she had appeared. What is this place? Struggle to place the crystalline waters was evident in her gaze - was it all a dream? Spindly legs rose as she took hesitant steps forward into the unknown land, on unknown soil, breathing unknown air. Sharpness pierced her breath, a cloying scent hanging in the air and one that she could not identify. It was foreign to her, as was this place, supposed the girl.
She remembered her name. What was it? Ismene, yes, that it was. Ismene found purchase on the yielding dirt. Where am I? Thought she, though she did not vocalise it. It seemed almost cliche to do so - or perhaps that was all a trick of the imagination. And then she, with her pitch fur and glistening silver eyes, she was like a blight on the land - a black speck marring the cleanness, the freshness of the land. Ah, there in the distance, a lake, or was it nearer? She was disorientated.
Perhaps it truly was a dream. She could wake up and be back home...
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Post by heika on Jul 27, 2018 8:01:13 GMT
[googlefont=Roboto][googlefont=Montserrat][googlefont=Open+Sans] [attr="class","icarus"] Time and time again, the divine realm called on Calliope for the most inopportune tasks. And, while she usually listened dutifully – having convinced herself that these meetings would be entertaining enough to be worth her while – another part of her cried out against the mindless servitude she risked tumbling into. Like a deer cornered, confronted with hungry jaws and nowhere to turn, it bucked violently and scythed its antlers through the air. It knew that, no matter what efforts it made, it was only a matter of time before it would fall, would succumb to its opponents and the reaper they had escorted there. Struggling was futile; it did nothing but drag out the inevitable. Still, it was better to fight, to rebel even in the face of defeat, for it meant you would die a hero and not a coward. Calliope wondered if that was to be her fate, the fate of all gods, for their lack of mortality meant they were faced with a danger they never once had to confront before. As the days dragged on, the months, the years, the millennia, she could feel herself slipping away, longing for something, anything, to break immortality’s unbearable monotony. She knew what lay in store for her, was painfully aware that she would, one day, follow the path paved by the many who had come before her, gods of all domains who faded away, disappeared like snow to spring’s warmth – inconsequential, and forgotten. It would be her turn one day, and though she loathed to harbor fears, this one was unexpectedly welcome. All sane creatures feared the void, and her innate foreboding was more than a weakness. It proved that there was still a hint of humanity within her, an inkling that she still cared, and as long as it existed, as long as she kicked and bit and fought, she would delay the unavoidable for another day. Being a god was hardly as glamorous as it may have appeared, and yet Calliope was dead certain that if she offered it to this mortal whelp – a sickly, undernourished creature she watched glance over the lake with a drunken gaze – she would jump on that chance in a heartbeat. No matter what their reasoning was, the thought of such incredible powers never failed to act as bait, drawing them in like a moth to a flame and burning them in the end. But it was not Calliope’s job to derail the workings of the universe, and it netted her nothing to warn the stranger of what lay ahead. If anything, it would rob her of an opportunity for entertainment. After all, heroes were only sympathetic while overcoming adversity. Otherwise, they were bland, mundane, and who was she to rob this youngling of her chance at greatness? So, it was with a practiced ease the Calliope stepped into her usual routine. Using her illusions to conceal herself, she generated the image of a crocodile to speak for her instead. Like a piece of driftwood, it formed along the surface of the lake, moving silently through the water with only the sickening sallow hue of its pupils betraying its true identity. Gliding towards the whelp standing on the lakeshore, it waited quietly, predatorially, to see if this youngling would spring away with reflexes honed through generations of natural selection, would prove that, despite her immaturity and lack of experience, she was worthy of survival. tags: Niamhwords: 572 [newclass=.icarus]max-height:400px;color:#E1DFD8;text-align:justify;padding:10px;width:440px;font-family:Open Sans;font-size:10px;overflow:auto;background:#000;opacity:.5[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus b]color:#98b1b0;text-shadow:0px 0px 2px;font-family:montserrat;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus i]color:#fff; font: 11px Roboto; font-style: italic;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color: #fff; width:1px; [/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 5px; height: 5px; background: #ccc; border: 3px solid #f0f0f0;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: #ccc; border: 2px solid #ccc;[/newclass]
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Post by Niamh on Jul 27, 2018 12:58:15 GMT
then came the night of the first falling star All was quiet. Even the breaking of the lake waters was a silent happenstance. It came upon her passively, placidly, as the deer did to water. Ismene's gaze darted to the floating being; the top that was above the water was a rigid thing quite like a log, its surface was run through with all manner of lumps, and a primal, fearsome terror spilled into the yearling's heart. The glint of murky eyes just atop the surface struck fright within her, a deep, animalistic fright, and she threw herself away from the form that was the water-predator.
It grew closer, shape ominous. Ismene's instincts screamed at her to run, but the wolf that stirred within her breath rose and showed her teeth in a fierce, sharp snarl. Her hackles rose; the hairs ran rigid along her spine as she stiffened, form falling naturally into the tense fighting-stance. Ears were pressed flat against her crown, neck covered by the falling-over of skin and flesh and fur. Nails dug deep into the ground underfoot in preparation should the creature even attempt to draw nearer to her. It had not yet reached the shoreline - that was good, and yet, and still, against the better judgement of her mind Isme stood firmly atop her soil.
She would not be cowered so easily. Her form was willowy, lithe in every limb and direction; her body was corded with lean muscle, and her teeth were sharp enough to rend the thickness in the air asunder. The sun was high in the noon sky - she knew, somehow, faintly in the back of her mind that there were not many daylight hours left. It was a passing, inconsequential thought, but the girl found herself wondering how she knew. So passive, the knowledge, but it came to her - perhaps it was instinct, or perhaps it was something more.
The crocodile glided closer. And closer. And closer. A growl erupted from somewhere buried far beneath her throat. It seemed to bubble up from her stomach, to her chest, to her vocal chords, to her jaws, gaining volume with every junction. Stay back! Ismene warned, though perhaps it was foolish to assume that the reptile could even understand her - but a glint of intelligence waned in its eyes, and mayhaps it could.
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Post by heika on Jul 28, 2018 10:12:03 GMT
[googlefont=Roboto][googlefont=Montserrat][googlefont=Open+Sans] [attr="class","icarus"] What was it that inspired all mortals to exude the same foolish bravado, the basic believe that no matter what happened things would turn out alright? Crocodiles were lethal creatures, deadly in every sense of the word. Calliope had seen them devour wolves alive, tearing flesh from bone with their gnashing teeth as they dyed the frothy waters red as easily as child’s play. And the whelp was aware of the danger the great reptilian beast possessed, for there was a nervousness in her stride as she danced away from the water’s edge. But she did not go far enough. Lazily, the crocodile followed, her trembling, desperate warning falling on deaf ears. For no matter how she howled and snapped, there was nothing for the crocodile to fear. The fangs she bared were but toys to it; they flashed in the sunlight, but would never piece his thick, scaly armor. And regardless of how fast she was, all it took was a single misstep, just one second for it to trap her leg within its jaws, and the victor of this dispute will have been decided. If the whelp had challenged a real crocodile, she would not have walked away unharmed or at all. But luckily for her, Calliope illusions had no need for sustenance, and, as such, had little interest in devouring the yearling as an afternoon snack. Gliding into the shallows, the crocodile dragged itself onto the shore languidly, displacing pebbles and silt as it went. Out of the waters it had been designed to live in, the great beast grew cumbersome and slow, squat legs taking the full brunt of its weight. It was in no rush, and continued in a sluggish pace until all fifteen feet of it glistened under the bright sun. Once situated, it heaved a long, suffering sigh. Then, finally, a deep rumble began low in its throat and reverberated into the air in a wholly unnatural way, as the crocodile’s maw remained firmly shut even though its words were clearly forming in the silence. “Stay away?” The apex predator challenged, frigid pupils fixing the whelp with a pointed gaze. “You have been in this world but a mere minute and, already, you are acting as if you own it. I suppose you would have been able to back your warning had I charged you, ignorant brat. Ill-mannered whelps like you should still be suckling at your mother’s teat, not running around the wilds like a headless pigeon. You are lucky that I have already eaten today, or else I would have taught you a lesson that you would not easily forget.”tags: Niamhwords: 439 notes: i'm sorry she's the worst [newclass=.icarus]max-height:400px;color:#E1DFD8;text-align:justify;padding:10px;width:440px;font-family:Open Sans;font-size:10px;overflow:auto;background:#000;opacity:.5[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus b]color:#98b1b0;text-shadow:0px 0px 2px;font-family:montserrat;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus i]color:#fff; font: 11px Roboto; font-style: italic;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color: #fff; width:1px; [/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 5px; height: 5px; background: #ccc; border: 3px solid #f0f0f0;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: #ccc; border: 2px solid #ccc;[/newclass]
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Post by Niamh on Jul 28, 2018 12:30:06 GMT
then came the night of the first falling star "Stay away?" The reptile cried, as if it had been sorely offended.
“You have been in this world but a mere minute and, already, you are acting as if you own it. I suppose you would have been able to back your warning had I charged you, ignorant brat. Ill-mannered whelps like you should still be suckling at your mother’s teat, not running around the wilds like a headless pigeon. You are lucky that I have already eaten today, or else I would have taught you a lesson that you would not easily forget.”
"Now, now. Don't get testy." A talking crocodile, what next? Though the growl reverberated in her throat all the while, her ruff began to settle, and her tail released its stiffness. Isme had no intention of fighting the great beast; she would have run the moment that it even began to slink out of the water, but the words that emanated from - somewhere - within the thing gave her pause. "What would you have me say: pretty please, don't come near me?"
The yearling fixed the crocodile with a level stare. She could not deny that she was mildly impressed by the length of it, or the ridges along its muddy back. And now that it was on land she was fairly certain that her skinny frame could outrun it if she pushed herself hard enough, if it decided to attack. Once more against her better instincts Isme found herself frowning at the reptile, as any normal wolf would.
"You're no real crocodile," said she. Animals didn't talk, did they? And even if they did, they certainly had never spoken to her - or wolves in general - before. Perhaps it occurred in this new land she had been brought to - but Isme was hesitant to believe that that was so, for the lazy insects in the grass made no sound, and the birds that she was sure were watching never uttered a word. The girl was certain in her judgement - and how could it speak without even opening its jaws? "And this can't be good for your anger management."
A sneaking suspicion told her that things were not quite as they seemed. What creature formed words without moving their lips - or lack of? "What are you, really?"
! heikashut up, isme, shut up
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Post by heika on Jul 29, 2018 1:49:26 GMT
[googlefont=Roboto][googlefont=Montserrat][googlefont=Open+Sans] [attr="class","icarus"] How full of herself, making play at being wise beyond her years when the fur behind her ears have yet to dry, Calliope scowled, allowing her irritation to bleed into the crocodile’s expression. Though its scales were hardly pliable enough to mirror the God’s displeasure, the beast emanated a fearsome aura to make up for its stiffness. With a touch of magic to enhance its foreboding ambiance, there was no way the whelp would not noticed the tension in the air and the gravity behind it. A real crocodile, most creatures could outrun if they had a head start. But Calliope’s tricks were, often times, much more dangerous and unexpected for they did not have to follow the laws of nature that restricted all living creatures. While she, herself, was victim to those rules, her creations were free to do as she wished, making them the perfect puppets to manipulate to her desire. Though, for this unlearned pup, it meant that bad tidings were in store for her if she could not bring her tongue to heel. “Words really do go in one ear and out the other for you, do they not?” The crocodile taunted, allowing the sun’s rays to warm his cold-blooded body. “I warn you to watch your manners, and a second later you are asking questions as if you deserve to know the answers. You know nothing of this world, and yet you act is if it must bow to your flippant whims. Words fall as freely from your mouth as does rotten fruit from the branch, throwing around accusations blindly and without forethought. If the emptiness within your skull cannot formulate a proper sentence, then I suggest simply shutting your mouth and speaking nothing at all. Or else you will be exiting this world as swiftly as you arrived.” Allowing his threat to hang in the air, the crocodile looked away from her and resumed its sunbathing, lying prone and relaxing into the earth. The gesture was entirely dismissive, for she was not its equal, was not Calliope’s equal, and therefore did not deserve his full attention. Let the whelp jeer and snap; she would not be getting information from it until she revised and added some humility to her approach. And if she chose pride over survival, decided that it was more important for her to keep what little dignity she had instead maximizing her chances in this strange world, it was no skin off Calliope’s back. The God would be happy to see the whelp go, for already Calliope tired of her and her overconfident entitlement. tags: Niamhwords: 433 notes: yikes she just gets meaner and meaner [newclass=.icarus]max-height:400px;color:#E1DFD8;text-align:justify;padding:10px;width:440px;font-family:Open Sans;font-size:10px;overflow:auto;background:#000;opacity:.5[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus b]color:#98b1b0;text-shadow:0px 0px 2px;font-family:montserrat;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus i]color:#fff; font: 11px Roboto; font-style: italic;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color: #fff; width:1px; [/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 5px; height: 5px; background: #ccc; border: 3px solid #f0f0f0;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: #ccc; border: 2px solid #ccc;[/newclass]
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Post by Niamh on Jul 29, 2018 6:27:52 GMT
then came the night of the first falling star “I warn you to watch your manners, and a second later you are asking questions as if you deserve to know the answers. You know nothing of this world, and yet you act is if it must bow to your flippant whims. Words fall as freely from your mouth as does rotten fruit from the branch, throwing around accusations blindly and without forethought." You're a ball of sunshine, thought Ismene sourly. Here the crocodile was calling her rude, when it had brought all this down upon itself. She'd been ensuring her own safety and what - be expected to grovel for her life? She was sorely tempted to walk away in that instant and yet something held her back. It was a small doubt in the back of her mind that the encounter would not go well even if she wanted to kick dirt in the crocodile's face and stalk away. But then: If the emptiness within your skull cannot formulate a proper sentence, then I suggest simply shutting your mouth and speaking nothing at all. Or else you will be exiting this world as swiftly as you arrived.”Scowl materialised on her face even before she could give it a thought. And suddenly Ismene was filled with the overwhelming urge to smack a bitch. She could do it. She could walk away and end this whole thing. Or she could lunge for the creature and wrestle her teeth through its hide until she tasted blood; she could not lie and deny that the notion was nothing if not tantalising. Yeah, you must have lots of friends."My apologies." Ismene said stiffly, for there were few things that infuriated her - and one of those was being ordered to do things she didn't want to do. A great deal was left unsaid, however, like What a stuck-up cow you are. Ismene realised that she very much wanted to jump off a cliff. Suddenly death by crocodile didn't seem so bad anymore, except that it would be this one that killed her and she didn't want to give it the satisfaction. My most royal majesty, "Who are you?"She hated it. She hated it. She was going to find a way to impale it on a tree one day. She hated it.! heika
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Post by heika on Jul 30, 2018 6:39:55 GMT
[googlefont=Roboto][googlefont=Montserrat][googlefont=Open+Sans] [attr="class","icarus"] At last, Calliope’s words got through to the thick-skulled whelp. The dark-furred yearling had apologized and changed her tone to something more submissive; it was still a far cry from pleasant, however, and the God did not need any special powers to read the reluctance lining the whelp’s features. For a moment, Calliope considered adopting a more impressionable teaching style for this one, something that would push her beyond bending, would seize that foolish resistance and snap it like a rabbit’s spine. Before the great silence, Calliope had made a reputation for herself and her heartlessness. Most gods chose to avoid her, and when an unfortunate mortal crossed her path, they quickly learned of how a single mistake would lead to ruination. It would have been unthinkable for a mortal to challenge her, to try and fight the way an ant would resist being trampled into the earth, and this bitter moment made her long for those days. Of course, they were not lost forever. It would be all too easy to reclaim her throne, and she could start right now by reaching into the whelp’s skull and branding an entirely new meaning of fear into her soul. For no living creature has ever experienced true nothingness, and she knew from experience that even the strongest, most willful of creatures would crack under the threat of endless torture. And by the time she would be satisfied, the whelp’s knees would tremble and her tail would hang low between her legs at even the slightest mention of Calliope’s name. How effortless it would be, how simple. Yet, while every inch of her ached and yearned for that ill-gotten reverence, she restrained herself for now. After all, why would a god like her bother with a worm? “So it appears that you do possess some intellect, however slight, after all,” the crocodile mused, gravelly voice thick with sarcasm and mockery. “My name is Calliope, God of Trickery, and you are a stranger to this realm. This world is not the one you have come from, whatever hellhole that may be, and it does not work in the same ways. Now, if you wish for more information, you will have to offer something of equal or greater value, though I doubt you have anything worthwhile to trade. Pick carefully, whelp, or do not continue to waste my time. The longer we talk, the hungrier I grow, and it will not be wise to tempt my appetite.” tags: Niamhwords: 413 [newclass=.icarus]max-height:400px;color:#E1DFD8;text-align:justify;padding:10px;width:440px;font-family:Open Sans;font-size:10px;overflow:auto;background:#000;opacity:.5[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus b]color:#98b1b0;text-shadow:0px 0px 2px;font-family:montserrat;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus i]color:#fff; font: 11px Roboto; font-style: italic;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color: #fff; width:1px; [/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 5px; height: 5px; background: #ccc; border: 3px solid #f0f0f0;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: #ccc; border: 2px solid #ccc;[/newclass]
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Post by Niamh on Jul 30, 2018 14:10:31 GMT
ISMENE NIAMH You're a real piece of work, thought Ismene, although she was careful to refrain from allowing her tail to lash freely behind her. It was better after all to remain contrite - or at least appear to be so, no matter how reluctant or forced it was. (It was very.) Such were the ways of the world that one knew how to milk a situation; how she wished to be back home and not in this new realm of whatever it was, wherever it was, where the common animal had a working tongue, and the lakes seemed to be full of them. She had oft wished for the days when she was with her dam, held close to her belly in the warmth of the den, and always full, always knowing she was safe with the pack. A loner's life did not seem all too pleasant. Ismene forced a stilted smile. “My name is Calliope, God of Trickery, and you are a stranger to this realm. This world is not the one you have come from, whatever hellhole that may be, and it does not work in the same ways. Now, if you wish for more information, you will have to offer something of equal or greater value-"There was a great temptation to retort. Contrite. Look like you're sorry. She wasn't. At least appear to be. The crocodile - female now, apparently, offered it's - her - name. Calliope. God of Trickery. Coming from a crocodile with a motionless mouth and a trickster god, it half crossed Isme's mind that the crocodile was nothing more than a falsity, a temporal creation. Strangely the mention of a god did not quite faze her. No, there was not much that could, after being pulled into a world not her own and faced with a god who took delight in making as many enemies as poss- Throughout the god's speech, Isme's visage remained carefully neutral. Her tail hung limply, neither tucked nor raised. She resisted the urge to flex her nails. "Niamh," she said at last, for the god had offered her name and nothing more, and so there was not much that could equal it. What would she want? A first-hand experience of mortal life? ...Now, if Ismene could drain immortality, wouldn't that be interesting? She reserved the idea for a later day. Was Niamh, too, not her name? It was the customary one, the family-name, the name all others not within the family knew her by. There was no untruth within the statement, and it was right to present only the family name. Where had that come from? "" OOC: She's trying to be nice, I swear.
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Post by heika on Jul 31, 2018 2:07:17 GMT
[googlefont=Roboto][googlefont=Montserrat][googlefont=Open+Sans] [attr="class","icarus"] A smile bloomed on the whelp’s face, stretching her lips into a clownish imitation of amiability, and the pathetic display had Calliope sneering in distaste. Smiles were reserved for friends, enemies, and even strangers if you wished to lure them into a false sense of security. A cheery grin was not a sign of admiration or deference. The expression was meant for one’s equals or lesser, and if the whelp still believed that Calliope belonged in either category, then she was due for an unpleasant surprise. Though Calliope had not bothered raising her hopes when demanding an equal trade from the whelp – even adults were, more often than not, too confused to think straight upon first entering the mortal realm – she was still disappointed in the reply. Evidently, the whelp had not caught her drift. She cared little for the yearling’s name – Niamh, even thinking about it left a sour taste in her mouth – but was looking more for what even the lowliest of creatures could offer up in the presence of divinity. And, for once, she was not speaking of fear or respect. No, both of those demanded time and energy, neither of which Calliope wished to waste on such an uncouth brat. But, there was a way to humiliate the whelp in a span of minutes, and it required no extra work on Calliope’s part; either the whelp would be willing to swallow her pride and break her own spirit, or Calliope would simply abandon her with no knowledge as to the potential fate had, for whatever undiscernible reason, decided to award her. The whelp was an arrogant, haughty creature, too confident in her own self-worth, and Calliope wanted to see her grovel. “Must I spell everything out for you?” The crocodile rose to its feet once more, having had its blood warmed to a pleasant temperature, and feeling much more energetic for it. “You offer me your name for information that would guarantee your survival, and you expect me to call it a fair trade? Your identity is worthless. I have seen far wiser wolves than you meet their demise in this world, and quite frankly, no part of you arouses my sympathies. I do not want your stories, I do not wish to learn of whatever life you led up until this moment. My offer still stands, but because you seem to be at a loss as to how to fulfill it, here is some advice. Surely, even a brat as poorly educated as yourself has heard of the saying, beggars cannot be choosers. Well, it appears to me that you do not have much of a choice right now. So, what would that make you?” In a shower of coarse grit, the crocodile swiveled so that he stared at the whelp down the impressive length of its muzzle; teeth sharper than knives and much larger than the ones the whelp possessed offered up an unspoken, bone-chilling reminder. And, with the sun now lighting up its eyes, the golden flecks within its irises melted into the brown surrounding them, and his stare burned with scorn. “Give me a show, and we can count your debt settled.”tags: Niamhwords: 532 [newclass=.icarus]max-height:400px;color:#E1DFD8;text-align:justify;padding:10px;width:440px;font-family:Open Sans;font-size:10px;overflow:auto;background:#000;opacity:.5[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus b]color:#98b1b0;text-shadow:0px 0px 2px;font-family:montserrat;letter-spacing:1px;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus i]color:#fff; font: 11px Roboto; font-style: italic;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background-color: #fff; width:1px; [/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 5px; height: 5px; background: #ccc; border: 3px solid #f0f0f0;[/newclass] [newclass=.icarus::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: #ccc; border: 2px solid #ccc;[/newclass]
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