Your Balls Will Drop For Joy


abby_icon.gif bolivar_icon.gif = daphne_icon.gif raquelle_icon.gif

Scene Title Your Balls Will Drop For Joy (blame Boli for the title!)
Synopsis It's New Year's Eve in Old Lucy's. Drinks, banter, and advice from Doctor Ruth (aka Bolivar) ensue.
Date December 31, 2009

Old Lucy's

Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the shady crimson walls lit up by neon lights and many times, the flashing of cameras from the oft-crowded floor. The mirror behind the bar reflects prices of various drinks, bottles lined up, as well as the entire saloon as seen from the bartenders; bolted-down stools line the other side, and there are loose tables and chairs placed all around, though many times they find themselves pushed back for more space within the center of the saloon. A few speakers are placed at strategic places and around a raised stage to the far corner from the bar. Above the counter, an obviously well-used bar is hung; it is this that the girls working will use should there be dancing, which is one reason many patrons choose to come aside from the drinks. Across the bar and near the back, there is a door that leads to the owner's office and just inside a stairwell that leads a apartment on the floor above the bar.

New Years Eve, in a city with an enforced curfew which is swiftly approaching. This means that some people are sticking around till then, beyond then, or taking advantage of a conveniently chosen night in which the bar stays open all night and folks are in till the curfew's lifted.

A real band is in tonight, something Thalia arranged in Abby's absence and look, the place hasn't burned down! The three piece group is hammering out good covers of old songs, new songs and popular classics while waitresses wait, serve wings and booze to thsoe old enough and posessing a certain strip of red around their wrist. The dancing on the bar is non-existant tonight, too many folks and a close eye is kept on the patron count to make sure they don't go over the limit of those allowed in.

The five dollar charge at the front door that's gathered by a fairly large and imposing woman filling in for Huruma got you a party hat, noisemaker, free drink and 50 off an appetizer off the menu. And fun of course. One of the owners is behind the bar, dishing out drinks, checking wrists and otherwise taking over from the other so that Thalia could go party elsewhere. No going to the other side of the bar lest folks get whacked with the plaster that encases her leg.

"Two jacks and coke, one screwdrive, one sex, three grasshoppers and a drity marty" She yells down the bar to the others, extra people hired for the holiday season and just for the night. They will be making money tonight.

There are some bits of news that Raquelle's sanity really could do without. Really. There's only so much room in that big fashionable head for mental trauma before implosion is imminent. So, when one os told to basically cherish the moments one has with those they care about…just in different words, one makes sure to put on make-up so as not to seem freaked out and make plans for New Years involving going out for adult time and getting the girls a sitter who just happens to be your mother's cousin's sister's step brother's aunt and a qualified sitter who can care for both little girls and little puppies. Also who doesn't mind being threatened with horrible stuff should anything at all happen to the precious angels.

Then it is tugging the boyfriend out to drink in the new year as is traditional when one has a friend that has a gender that you enjoy shagging and are in a relationship with aka, the boyfriend honey pot. Hair has been styled as usual, layers touched up and a streak of festive blue in the emo fringe, earrings blue diamonds of some sort…eyeliner in place and of course the dark blue blazer worn with the black button down and pair of fitted jeans, docs on his feet and fingernails painted black and blue. Raquelle unbuttons the winter coat and adjusts the black fedora before grinning…

"C'mon sweetness…just a few…or more drinks." He drawls to his companion, looking around thoughtfully. "You know, all this hubalubba to watch a giant ball drop. When my balls dropped /I/ didn't get a party."

Daphne already did New Year's in Paris, then hightailed it back to New York. She doesn't actually like New Years, since it makes for very crowded streets, which makes it that much harder to zip around at the speeds Daphne likes to run at. So if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? She pays the $5 cover charge, but the hat is handed to some doofus wearing four of them, getting a bit creative with the accessories. Currently he has two on his chest ala Madonna, one on his head, one on his nose like a beak. Daphne doesn't wait to see what he'll do with hers, but moves toward the bar for her drink. "Red Bull and blueberry Stoli if you have it," she shouts over the noise.

"When your balls dropped, you were the fucking party," Bolivar points out, irritably, perhaps feeling a twinge of envy that his lover's adolescent experiences werrre prrrobably somewhat more successful than his own. Seeing how he has several of the organs in his abdominal cavity flipped around reverse to how they're normally supposed to be, and was— still is— obnoxiously short. "How old were you when you lost your virginity, anyway? I was—

"Never fucking mind." Sometimes, Bolivar's grumpiness is dangerously close to sincere. Often because there are too many people around, and too close, sieged around him like the looming darkness of a fairytale forest. Sometimes, maybe because he sees boy-children roughly the same age as the one he'd killed in March, or he's been separated too long from his dogs, Princess Di spilled something, his scars itch, some stranger's glance askance reminds him Raquelle should be with someone kinder and taller and better-looking, or he found out all the quarters he'd put into the swearing jar have left him with inadequate laundry funds.

(Which may explain why he is quite literally wearing a burgundy sweater over his green shirt.) Mostly, because he isn't quite drunk enough yet. "I can't even fucking see the bar from here," the midget complains. "How are we going to get drinks? There are so many fucking people, Raquelle, sucking the garbagey commercialized psuedo-Christian holiday spirit like milk from the teat. And I didn't bring any flashbangs."

"Blueberry and redbull. I like your style" Abby flashes a grin to Daphne as she takes care of that drink personally. "Welcome to Old Lucy's I'm Abby, Can I see your wrist and you got your ticket?" She'll make sure everywhere get their free drink who's supposed to. She's raided a store, something, because there's no plain tank top but somewith with large sequins and hits midthigh, bare arms, black tights and behind the bar if you're at the right angle, one big rooster on the cast. Around her neck is one of the flashy, swarovski crystla necklaces that have the lords prayer in minature. Yeah, you know, one of the handful that folks seem to keep giving her. No replacement simple one yet.

The person bitching, she can't hear - poor Bolivar - but Raquelle's voice is distinctive. "RAQUELLE!" She calls out over the crowd, lifting a hand to wave before getting about to filling Daphne's order.

"…how old was I? I have no fucking idea, I was higher than something really really high…" Raquelle wraps an arm around Bolivar to make sure he doesn't lose the man in the crowd, very politely goosing somebody here and groping somebody else there to move them out of his way as he has to giggle softly, subtle slipping something into the man's pocket with a peck to his cheek - okay no, he flat out licks the man's cheek, because he is Raquelle.

"ABBY SWEETIE LOVELY LADY OF LUCK AND LIQUOR!" He bellows over/through the crowd when he hears his name.

"C'mon babycakes." He drawls softly, "Lets go get you more alcohol…ignore all the fucking people."

Daphne shows the wrist strap and smiles at the bartender. "Nice to meet you Abby," she all but yells to be heard. She doesn't give her own name, as it's not really like a bartender would remember all the people at their very busy counter. Abby's just being a polite host. She arches a brow to glance over her shoulder at the bellowing Raquelle. "Oh, my," she says, a smirk curving the corners of her full lips upward in appreciation of the glitz and glam and sparkles the man has obviously gone to great lengths to achieve. Her? She's wearing black tights, red knee-high Doc Martens, and a grey sweater dress that hugs her petite curves. Nothing sparkly for this speedster.

This time, Bolivar chooses to turn a deaf ear upon his boyfriend's participation in illegal substance use, mmmostly because he's busy listening to himself bitch. Fortunately for everybody else in the vicinity, Raquelle largely drowns him out with the sheer volume of his salutation at the woman behind the bar. The tiny Mexican recognizes the name, but is a few squinty seconds remembering the association of one specific Abby with this bar in particular.

Popo watercooler gossip catches him up abruptly. He hitches a dark brow up high on his forehead, stops halfway through a word that starts with 'cate-' in favor of bracing against Raquelle to stand on his tip-toes and get a better look. Weird. He could have sworn the Beauchamp girl was blonde

"I know. Friend of mine. Two of the sweetest girls ever. I can introduce you if you like, but i'll tell you up front, that is his boyfriend" In case Daphne was cruising. The glass is slid over in front of Daphne with a grin. "Plenty of fish in this bar though, to catch if you're looking, if not" There's a kind shrug of her shoulders as Raquelle and Bolivar eventually make their way to the bar and Bolivar's drink order is filled after his mumble. So that is the honey pot? Abby's dark blonde brows rise at Raquelle and she leans over, casted leg going up in the air to balance and offers him a cheek kiss. "Happy new years, meet my latest and greatest customer" A gesture to daphne. "Think i'd look good with her haircut?"

Raquelle chuckles softly and giggles as he looks thoughtful as a small shake of his head, watching Bolivar thoughtfully before looking back to Abby with a quirk of an eyebrow, looking her over with a wolf-whistle. "Unfortunately, while I was bred to like fish…I'm still fond of steak baby…" He winks to the woman, leaning over to return the cheek kisses and resting his coat against the bar before glances over to Daphne, looking the young woman over, eyes lingering at the hair before back down to the outfit and he looks back to Abby. "If you cut your hair like that sugarlumps, I will kill you myself." Bright smile as he blows a kiss to Daphne. "Hola beautiful, Happy New Year to be."

"Oh, don't worry. I couldn't date anyone prettier than me anyway," Daphne says with a laugh to Abby and a shake of her head. Like she couldn't tell Raquelle played for the other team? Bolivar on the other hand — he's a bit confusing on the gay-dar except that Raquelle has his arm around the shorter man's shoulders. She sticks her tongue out when Raquelle seems to dis her hair-do — it takes effort to look like she does! — but smiles and raises her glass when he greets her. "Likewise, Sparkles."

"Ooooooh" Abby's lips form an O as she takes another drink order, and Raquelle's. '"Snap! Did I say that right? snap?" She's trying to get with the times, and only by asking if she said it right, gives herself away. or maybe just saying snap did. Regardless, ABby grins. "I think, that the lady's hair looks very nice! I think you're right though, that style is not for me. Pink though, I can pull off pink"

Raquelle hops up on a stool, crossing his legs and tipping his hat to Daphne. "Sparkles hunh? Aren't you /adorable/." He smirks and looks to Abby with a small nod. "Yes sugar, you pulled that off so fabulously. She does looks fabulous and very nice, but you'd like a deranged birdie…you have to have the pixie like good looks like Wingtip over here, or else it just looks silly." He chuckles softly. "Yes honey, you pull off pink very nicely."

Adorable? Daphne scowls a little at that. She pulls herself up onto her barstool, sneaking one foot beneath her to raise herself a couple of more inches — the better to lean on the counter. "Yeah, I'm not a pink person myself, but you'd look good in it," Daphne says diplomatically. Who would wear pink when one can wear red? She sips her Stoli and Red Bull, as if she needs any more energy. "Wingtip?" She frowns a bit, not sure she likes this deranged bird and pixie talk coming out of the pretty boy. "Thanks. I think," she says wryly, spinning the barstool to turn toward the stage. "Not a bad band."

"Have to thank Thalia for that. I've been away, but she arranged everything. Even picked this getup out for me" Raquelle knows that this is not, and what she wore the other day, her usual style. "So" A pitcher of beer is poured carefully, sliding it across to a waitress and some glasses. "I think what rquelle is hinting at is an introduction so he stops calling you nicknames and thinks of more appropriate ones. It's his think. Should hear everything he's called me"

Raquelle rests a hand on his knee, eyeing the band and humming softly, tapping his foot from time to time as he eyes Daphne. "You think? I give you a compliment and you /think/." He laughs happily and looks to Abby with a hint of a pout. "Girls these days…alas." He flips his wrist and then blinks several times as he listens to Abby. "Yes yes, introductions. I'm Raquelle of course and what, pray tell, is the lovely lady's name, hmm?" A quirk of an eyebrow.

"Yeah? I get someone's name and usually call them whatever hell I want to anyway," Daphne says with another smirk that dimples her cheeks. "But I'm Daphne. Nice to meet you, Sparkles." No reason to hide her own name — she's not doing anything illegal at the moment! She offers her hand to Raquelle, then Abby. She tilts her head at Abby, as if to think of a name for her. "Nice getup. Fits you perfectly. Friend has good taste."

'you think? Far too flashy for me, but" There's a shrug. Nicknames, well. Abby doesn't collect them normally. "You can call me Nun, that's what they called me before I inherited the place. Now they call me boss lady" There's a glance towards the clock and a grin. "ANd the boss lady is off work now. THink Ic an hobble my way to the other side and nurse a coke beside y'all?" Because she's not legal for another two weeks plus change. "Is that the honey pot?" A discreet gesture to Bolivar. "Didn't know you knew him" Abby grins Bolivar's way and looks to Daphne. "He's not bad, right?"

"Raquelle, Kelly, Sparkles, Whatever you like darling…my mother raised a gentleman after all." Raquelle drawls as he reaches for that hand, bending at the waist to kiss the back of it without leaving his stool then releasing it as he chuckles softly and looks back to Abby. "Nun? Oh sugarlumps, that's far too uptight, you're a good girl but you aren't nunnish, not at all." He tsks softly and pats the stool beside him as he glances towards where Bolivar is and then back to Abby. "That's him…my honey pot…" A fond smile. "He's not bad no."

"Honey pot, hmm? He looks a little more … sour than sweet at the moment," Daphne muses while glancing at the quiet, scowl-faced Bolivar. "But he is pretty handsome. A GQ model in a condensed, easy-to-use size or something." She flashes a grin and takes another sip. "Come on around to this side, Abby. We'll make room. She hops over to the next barstool, never mind someone was just about to sit there. "Oh, Pardon me!" she tells the man, batting dark lashes up at him until he quits frowning, then turns back to Raquelle and Abby.

'Compared to the rest that work ehre? I am a nun" The crutches are fetched from around the corner where they were out of the way of everyone behind the bar and Abby starts to work her way towards Raquelle, Bolivar and Daphne. Well, there was Bolivar. He's seen some co-workers and decided to chat them up. Eventually the brunette makes her way to the vacated seat as Tanya behind the bar plops a coke with a cherry skewered above it in front of the now occupied seat and refreshes raquelle's drink.

"So daphne. I like that name, it's a right pretty one, suits you. What do you do for work? I co-own this place. Raquelle's got his own little salon" There's a gesture to her hair and the bang up job he did with it.

Raquelle eyes Daphne for a few moments and just smiles slowly. "I really…really am not going to tell him you said that when he's sober." He chuckles softly. "He's good to me and the girls." Is his aside to Abby about his 'honey pot'. He can only laugh softly and snap his fingers at Tanya. "Hey there gorgeous, yes just a vodkatini…mmhm, more vodka than tini, thank you sweetie." He winks and looks between Daphne and Abby, listening for now.

"Thanks," Daphne says with a smile in regards to her name. "I don't know if it suits me, but it's the one I've had my whole life, so maybe I suit it or something." Then there's the question of work. Why is it everyone wants to define people by what they do for money in this town? "You own this place? Wow, that's impressive. And you own your own salon? Man, I've managed to crash the business entrepreneur's table on accident or something," she adds with a chuckle.

"Entrepenuer's table." That draws up a corner of Abby's. "No, The owner passed away and I got this left to me. I never woulda chosen to own one, just worked in one. Makes my momma nearly faint" The crutches are passed back over the counter to Tanya with a thanks and settles in. "And my Dah, that I work here, much less own this place." Daphne's avoiding the question so she accepts that. "So, here for the night or you gonna speed off and head home and hope you make it home in time?" And for that matter. "Please tell me you gave your babysitter duct tape for the dears yes? And I got some presents for them upstairs. I figured that they'd love some of the things I picked up in Russia"

"It took me many years to get my own salon, but it pays the bills and I so I do what I can, owning is harder than just working for." Raquelle sighs and presses a hand to his chest. Then he looks back to Abby. "I'm here for the night…the girls at home with somebody who's life depends on being dependable." He sobers up a bit as he says that, looking a bit worried as he brushes his hair out of his face. "I just needed to get out with mi amor."

"I bet. Bills, schedules, insurance, employees… I couldn't do it, that's for sure," Daphne says, to both of them. She glances around for Bolivar and smiles. "You two are a handsome couple together. Sparkles and gloom go well together. Yin and Yang. Sun and Moon. All that stuff." She sighs perhaps a touch wistfully — romance isn't her forte, but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel lonely from time to time in her speedy adventures.

"Sparkles and gloom!" Oh thems fighting words, maybe. "Raquelle, I like her, can I keep her? I'm sure she'd fit in my pocket" Sure, apocalypse is YET AGAIN right around the corner, but she's determined to have fun, keep on like nothing is going to possibly happen again. "That's it, owners prerogative, you're drinks are free for the rest of the night. Both of your's"

Raquelle is quiet for a few moments as he reaches for his drink when it is made, sipping from it with a soft chuckle. "Gloom? Oh goodness…" He taps a glossy nail against the glass before taking a deep breath. "Keep her? Well if you're /sure/ you'd like to switch teams over Blondie McGiggles over yonder, be sure to give me a percentage of a cut made from ya know the web videos." He amuses himself! Free drinks? He's game for that!

She is not a pocket pet! But she's not going to scowl, because drinks are on the house. And she likes free stuff that she doesn't actually have to steal. "Hey, thanks, that's sweet of you!" she says brightly enough before laughing out right at Raquelle's comment. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe they really are that funny of a trio. She takes one long swallow of the Blue-Bull drink, finishing it off. "So you do hair, huh? Hers looks good, but I might like it pink. Stands out, you know? What would you do to me?" she asks the stylist.

Raquelle! I'm not funny between the sheets and you know it!" Smack goes a hand against his shoulder with a roll of her eyes. "He does fine hair. I come to him when I need to fix things, and I'm sure he'd do a very nice pink. I think Pink'd be nice on you or maybe an electric blue" SOme people jostle to get to the bar, a little rowdy and filled with drink. This makes abby scowl, especially since it means that someone's putting an elbow almost in Raquelle's face and ignoring how rude they're being. 'PITCHER OF BEEER" The one slurs.

Raquelle rolls the smacked shoulder and looks innocent. "I don't know! First it is the hair dying and then you'll be making out on different mouths and then you'll be joining me at the gay pride parades and then you'll be all like 'ew ew ew boy cooties'." A flip of his wrist as he throws back the rest of his drink, licking his lips. "What would I do to you?" He laughs out loud at that, giggling to himself. "I'd touch up your layers, to make it lay down a bit more…more stylishly, and maybe add colorful /highlights/." He eyes the elbow that is almost in his face though, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and just staring at the man.

"I don't want it to lay down," Daphne says with a smirk. "But I suppose I did ask. I'll keep it in mind if I decide to go through a different look." She leans forward on the counter to peer past Raquelle at the man. "Hey buddy, keep both arms inside the ride at all times. Permene se sentados por favor." Okay, so it doesn't quite work, but she nods to the offending elbow to give him a clue.

"Dude, what did she just say to you?" His buddy mutteres too loudly to really be a mutt. "Fuck if I know. CAN I GET MY BEER?" Swearing guy peers at Daphne and rolls his eyes. The beer comes quickly though with a sharp "last one" from the bartender and likely have their key's confiscated at the door so they can't drive home.

"Lord, some days I wonder about the people who come in here, and then I just plain wonder" Not that Raquelle's comment sabotu kissing other mouths doens't tweak her own heart a bit. "There's a few I could probably stand to kiss. Just, the one I want to, well. Viva Mexico? Soon. Soon" Soon she'll take off there once she figures out where there is. Someone's calling out her name from across the bar and there's a roll of her eyes. "i'll be back. Don't you both go running off and… not.. saying goodbye. Pleasure ot met you Daphne, if you do end up taking off"

The hairdresser just sucks his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the man who owned the elbow and he gestures for a refill of his drink, running his tongue along the back of his teeth and he looks almost sympathetic before laughing softly as he glances between Abby and Daphne again. "I don't do things to people's hair that they don't want to seee done, don't worry."

Raquelle's voice takes on an almost purr like quality as he lifts a hand to Abby to agree to stick around…gift wrapping around his words…edges of naughty feelings and uncomfortableness perhaps to some as he leans towards the guys with the language and elbows as he murmurs something softly in Japanese.

Then he's back to being innocent and sipping his drink.

The Japanese catches Daphne's attention, because she's been there, of course, and because she's dreamt a few words in Japanese lately — none of it good. Especially since she doesn't speak it! "What's that mean?" she says in a low voice, lifting a finger for another drink, then shouting "Redbull and blue Stoli" over the cacophony of the bar. She glances at the clock behind the bar. "Just a few more minutes til 2010."

"…oh, nothing…just questioning about stamina and genital herpes, normal stuff." Raquelle drawls with a faint smirk as he toys with his glass and quirks an eyebrow at Daphne then slips his own cell phone out of his pocket to scan it for the time and what not.

Daphne laughs. "Ahhh, yes, de-masculate the stupid brewskies, I see. What's this salon of yours called, so I can look you up if I ever decide to not just take a razor to my own head?" Exaggeration, that, but not by much. Some of her dreads are longer than the rest of her strands, giving her a bit of an uneven look. "Not that I plan on it just yet. It takes a lot of work to look as bad as I do." She winks at that, then winks a thanks to the bartender for her new drink's arrival.

"Mm…Cambria's Salon and Day Spa…nothing too fancy." Raquelle slips a car from an inner pocket, sliding it down the bar to Daphne with a small smile and a knowing look. "I know, and you work the bohemian on the go look ever so well my dear, don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise."

"Bohemian on the go — I like it. It suits me." She grins at that. On the go is putting it mildly. As the clock ticks closer to midnight, she looks at it musingly and then slips off her barstool, putting a tip on the bar to cover the service, though the drink was free. "It's almost that time. Why don't you go find your pot of gold or whatever it was you called your pint-sized GQ over there for your first kiss of 2010. I'm going to say goodnight to Abby and slip on out before I feel like crap for not having someone to smooch on, okay, Sparkles?"

Clomp clomp clomp. Bolivar is raging up behind his boyfriend with a huge—

—smile on his face. Relatively speaking. Literally speaking, he isn't actually smiling, but his scowl had somewhat lost its intensity as it blew over the border of his brow and gave into the high pressure zone and relatively sunny climes of Old Lucy's this fine New Year's Eve, so he is considerably better now. "Sergent Bukowsky says hi," he says, giving Daphne a brusque nod of his head, and then a startled stare, eyes narrowing, widening, narrowing back to normal again. Red sweater and green shirt, the merriest dwarf of them all is content to find someone here shoter even than he is. He raises a beer. "Better no one than waking up with a thing on your lip."

"Give her a smooch on the cheek when you find her Daphne, and stay out of trouble this new year…hmmm?" Raquelle flashes a smile, placing his own tips down on the bar before nodding firmly. He's got a pot of gold to play with, why would he complain? He starts to turn around before THERE HE IS and he has to look between Bolivar and Daphne and back to Bolivar and then back to Daphne before he breathes. Look Ma, no decapitation!

He just wraps an arm around Bolivar's waist and mmhmmmmms thoughtfully as he grins. "Well then, hello and all right back to Sergent Buck-thatone." A slow nod. "When the ball drops, you're going to have something on your lips and potentially a tongue in your mouth as well." A wry smile. "I apologize ahead of time." Ahhhh, New Years…such a lovely time. He pats Bolivar's pocket thoughtfully before going back to watching the clock. Things like this must be timed after all.

Well now. Daphne didn't expect to get advice on avoiding the Herpes Zoster virus. She blinks at Bolivar and then smirks. "Right. This is true. Thanks for the advice, Doctor Ruth." She nods toward Raquelle. "See ya, Sparkles. Happy New Year's." It's about five minutes til. She can sneak out before the kissing if she hurries. Well. Hurries is a relative term, too. She gives another wave, and heads off to find Abby, then out the door.

Daphne seems like she's in a plenty hurry as far as Bolivar is concerned! What he'd say if he knew how many unregistered Evolved were packed into the premises tonight, God knows. Raque is one. Raque is one, and they're going to have A Talk about that soon, but not within the next five hours never mind the next five minutes. That isn't how they're going to start off the new year.

His small, scarred hand winds up stuffed neatly down Raquelle's back jeans pocket, trigger finger curled neatly around the curvature of the taut resistance underneath. He swallows the rest of his beer in one go, which probably isn't wise given he's wee, but.

"I brushed my teeth for you after dinner," he informs the taller man, conversationally, tipping his head over to rest against Raquelle's shoulder. A ring flashes blue diamonds from Bolivar's middle finger. It wasn't there earlier that evening, because— well, because Raquelle had only snuck it into his pocket a few minutes ago. "And I bought gum when I pretended to stop by that dimestore to get more condoms. My molars are sore from stealth chewing. You are so fucking high-maintenance."

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