Home Trending Latest threads New posts Developer diaries

Resurrection: Rebirth of the United States

Jump to latest Follow Reply
  • We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Well all signs pointed to his death, so as things stood at that moment it was a bold move. However, it is extremely uncommon to build a character for as long as you have been building Thomas just to kill him off, thus my inner thoughts suggesting that there was no way you would do something like that. I think the two statements can exist side by side. ;) Either way, I hope he and Anne are able to get far enough way from Black.

And a priceless moment to watch Rutledge pull Preston in even more. The story was very believable and as John thought - it would explain quite a lot of behavoir. But how long will Preston remain under this assumption? How many more clues might it take for him to suspect Rutledge?
 
jwolf: No, Britain and the US don't have an extradition treaty. On the other hand, they just plain don't like Heyward. Or Americans.

Dead William: If you must know, John prefers finding that part of Cassie's anatomy then his own. ;)

I never did read the story where Holmes and Moriarty have it out, hence not recognizing Reichenbach. A good analogy!

J. Passepartout: Trust doesn't seem to be John's strong suit. :D

Draco Rexus: I think you and J. Passepartout may be underestimating John (first time for everything!) Look at it from his point of view: He has NO training in investigations. He's not a policeman, he's a cavalry officer. That said, he's trying to be objective...which does mean considering all possible angles. A neutral observer, looking at Tom's state of mind when he fled his own army, arrived in town in the middle of the night and basically raved at Rutledge in front of witnesses, might honestly wonder.

Machiavellian: Oh, the tree's safe. Unless he wins. BWAHAHAHA!

Stuyvesant: Good guess, and you're right: Once Black finds out where Tom is, and he almost certainly well, Exeter will be coming to give him a good day. :eek: As for the reasonable explanation...it will come! Whether it involves dragon kings or not...

J. Passepartout: I agree! Draco would make a fine Sword of Divine Justice! It can be like his night job!

Draco Rexus: As I said... :)

coz1: Well, we still don't quite know how Heyward is doing, but thanks. :) As I told Draco and J Passepartout, John's trying very hard to be objective and hear everything out before he makes a stand.
 
-= 142 =-​

April 1784
South Carolina


"Governor. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice." John Preston took off his hat and stepped past the slave, a black man in a gold coat with white wig, into Guerard's study.

Benjamin Guerard was a tall man in his early forties, also wearing his formal wig and dressed in blue. He smiled warmly from his chair. "Not at all, Colonel. Pray excuse my not getting up. I have had trouble these last weeks, and my doctor is at a stand." He indicated the seat across from his, next to a blazing hearth despite the warm April day. "Please, join me. John?" This to the slave. "Bring Colonel Preston a drink if he wishes it."

"Scotch." The slave bowed wordlessly and left.

"I am curious what brings you here, Colonel. The word out is that you are looking into the explosion at Mister Rutledge's house."

"Yes." John frowned at the older man, wondering what might lie behind that congenial smile. He didn't trust people who smiled too much. "I am sorry to hear of your injury."

"'Tis only a passing frustration, I am sure." Guerard paused politely as Preston received his drink. "I do not think you came to offer me your sympathy."

"No." John waited until his namesake had once more left, then paused. "You have heard Mister Rutledge has denounced General Heyward?"

"Yes. Damned odd too," Gueard mused. "I would not have thought him capable of it."

"It puzzles me how a man with so little sleep, and in such a state of mind, manages to get explosives past a trained guard, Mister Rutledge, another soldier as his guest, and a house slave." Preston shook his head. "I've tried to make what I know fit, but I cannot."

"And you wish to consult me?"

"On a specific matter. Do you know anything of a secret society dedicated to uniting us with North Carolina?"

Guerard arched his eyebrows. "Why do you ask?"

"Mister Rutledge says he is a member of one."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "Certainly if Mister Rutledge says he is part of one, I am loathe to question him, but this is the first I've heard of it. If so it is lunacy."

Powerful men form a coalition to unite the Carolinas, and no one tells the governor, even if he is defunct? John leaned forward. "How so?"

"It is basic, my boy. In Congress every state is entitled to one vote. If we merge with North Carolina, then we lose a vote. Perhaps Mister Rutledge spoke of combining economic endeavors and uniting in politics, as he's done in the past, but a true unification would make us weaker, not stronger."

"I see." John pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. "Do you recognize this symbol?"

"No, sir. I've never seen it before in my life."
----------------------------

Georgia


"Doctor Hall, I am very happy to see you. Pray, come in." Doctor Leseur held the door open and stood aside as Lyman Hall wheezed past him.

Both men were dressed in black coats and had canes, but that was where the likeness stopped. Leseur was a tall man in his thirties, with thick brown hair and sideburns. He was immaculate, with clean pressed coat, red waistcoat and breeches. He used his cane as an affectation, twirling it once almost like a dancer as they paced down the hall.

Hall was sixty, and sick. He'd never recovered from the emotional shock of Philadelphia's betrayal, and age conspired now to bring him low indeed. He was once a thick man, but age fought him here as well and now loose folds of flesh covered his jowl not unlike a bulldog. The walk from Leseur's carriage exhausted him. He leaned on his cane for support, quivering as if it might decline the challenge.

"Tell me about the subject," Hall rasped when he could speak. The hall, narrow but brightly lit from a huge window towards the back of the hospital, was empty at this hour except for two harried nurses working on bed linen.

"Thirty to thirty five. I think his last name may be Whiting - at least that's what his wife's is. He has severe burns on his chest and face as well as numerous cuts. My nurses have found a number of wood splinters. My estimate is something exploded at close range. I do not care for the sound of his lungs. Pulse is fast, but thready, and there is a faint discoloration of the fingernails. I've leeched all I dare to restore his humors, but I am at a loss as to how to proceed. We also removed his clothing: American army, by the way, but that took some skin with it."

"American army? What the..." Hall paused as a nurse passed them. "What is he doing here?"

"I can't answer that."

Hall nodded and the two stepped inside. Their patient lay strapped to a table, lest he awaken and thrash about. He began a cursory examination, and if anything Doctor Leseur had underestimated the position. Some of his skin was deathly white, some charred black. They'd placed bandages over a few oozing blisters, now soaked with a blackish red goo that smelled of.... Hall leaned close and inhaled gently. Infection. Just so.

"His wife was foolish to bring him here. I would have liked any doctor's odds much better a few days ago." Hall examined his nails: Blue-tinged. From that, his wheezing, and the burns around his mouth something was clearly wrong with his patient's airway.

Leseur watched the examination nervously, in case he missed something important.

"Has he been unconscious since he was carried in?"

"Yes, colleague. What treatment do you propose?"

Only now did Lyman Hall recognize his patient under the facial burns. He didn't know whether to be pleased or upset. He liked Heyward well enough, but he didn't care for what the Americans had done to Georgia. A man in his position must have been involved in the betrayal. Well, no matter. He certainly wasn't going to take his revenge on a dying man. Hall looked up and shook his head faintly. Leseur crossed himself.

"We must cut away the dead tissue," said Hall. "Then at least we will know what we are dealing with and, if God wills it, we can determine a course of treatment."
----------

I was dreaming.
In the dream I was lost, far from home and alone.
All my tries to find my way back only made it worse, so I stopped and waited.
A two headed hawk with crimson eyes screamed and attacked. I ran, but it was too fast.
For a second, a minute, an eternity I saw into its mind.
It didn't hate me for who I was, or what uniform I wore, or what I believed in.
It hated me because I existed. It hated everything...because it existed.
And it would not rest until we were all....

Thomas Heyward walked through a grey mist. He knew he was outdoors, since in the distance he could see a tall, gothic structure like a European cathedral, and a light, cold drizzle fell. He could not see the clouds though, nor the ground, people or trees. A part of him whispered that this was passing strange, but Thomas didn't care. He walked easily, confidently towards the building.

His footsteps clicked on the stone floor as he stepped inside, through an open arch thirty or forty feet (10-15 meters) tall, It was dry here, though still cool. Tom could only just see the far end of the entry chamber, and that only because a pair of lamps emitting blue light and perched high over head ignited as he passed them. Thick, smooth pillars wider than he was stretched across the room, supporting a vaulted ceiling hundreds of feet in the air.

Heyward continued advancing, not questioning the strange scene and a second pair of lamps lit as he passed, then a third. To the right and left he saw various alcoves just above ground level and at various heights along the wall, fenced off from the main chamber. Anyone could have sat there and watched his progress, and perhaps they did for Tom began to gather he was not alone. And they disapproved of him.

Failure, echoed in his mind.

Killer.

Profaner of God.

You let Dieter die.

You let ALL of them die!

Failure.

Tom looked around for the source of these challenges, but the alcoves remained silent. The chamber remained cold and lonely. He continued his advance, accompanied by the blue lamps systematically marking his progress.

You shouldn't be here.

You are not done yet.

Failure!

"If you think you can do better," he challenged the room, "you are welcome to try!"

No more voices, though the disapproving current continued. Heyward finally reached the far end. Directly in front of him stood a stone sarcophagus carved in his likeness, not unlike a medieval king. To its right an oily black circle, like a pool of water on its side, rippled.

Choose, one of his condemner whispered.

"Choose what?"

To continue, or stay with us.

Tom glanced at the sarcophagus and thought that it must be a lonely way to spend eternity. He hesitated at the oily pool, closed his eyes, inhaled and stepped through...

....onto a green field. It was day, the sun warm on his back. Somewhere a bird sang. It smelled like spring, with grass and pollen in the air. Heyward looked around for the cold stone chamber, but saw no sign of it.

On top of a verdant hill, kneeling in the flowers he saw a familiar sight, recognized a familiar hum though he hadn't heard it all these years. Hesitantly at first, then running he approached the figure. She was in her early twenties, with loose, curled brown hair and bright, laughing eyes. She was dressed in a yellow sundress that camoflauged surprisingly well with the daffodils and wildflowers around here. Gently, tenderly she cleared the flowers away from a stone imbedded in the earth.

THOMAS HEYWARD
1921-1946​


Tom ignored the gravestone and knelt by her side. She didn't look up and he took her in his arms. She felt the same. She smelled the same! He buried his nose in the back of her neck, and was rewarded with the slight shiver of delight he knew so well.

"What are you doing here, Tommy?" Jess demanded softly.

"I know I'm only dreaming," Heyward whispered. "I have missed you so."

She sighed and leaned her head on his chest. "No," she said. "You're not."
 
Last edited:
John is showing a good deal of persistence in finding out what happened. The fact he came to the governor shows that he didn’t completely buy Black’s story. Maybe there’s hope for John after all? I hope he asks the governor to keep their little discussion private. We wouldn’t want Black to find out about it.

Really liked the hospital scene. Came across as very authentic. :cool:

Joe
 
Okay, okay, okay, Cat, maybe I'm being a bit to harsh on Preston. However, fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me, fool me about thirty-five more times, I want your ass and head on a platter! But, after his conversation with the Governer... I'll start cuttin' him some slack. Not alot, but some.

Now, what the hell is going on with Heyward? I'm feeling like I just got done listening to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while my old college roommate lit up a few. Crazy! But crazy cool, Cat, crazy cool!
 
Sorry Heyward, you can't die yet -- your mission is not yet fulfilled! Take that! :p

Still, it was a very touching scene. I hope he can return to his task with more resolve and success.

As Storey said, Preston was surprisingly competent and professional with his questioning of the governor. Could there be hope for him after all? :eek:
 
Good on Preston! And it's interesting to see a flaw in Black's understanding of humanity, regarding the nature of representative democracy in America. Hopefully Preston can keep up the good work and save the day. :D
 
I am amazed that Preston can find anybody´s ass with his hands, though I suppose Cassie makes for a good target. Ehem. He does show some sense in the last update, which is about time. We can but hope. Indeed, we can but hope. We can also hope that the powers that be decide to Give Tom relatively little scar tissue. Burn scars are horrendously painful and can really hold back an active life!

BTW, the description of the Cathedral would have been English to Tom, not merely European!

I like that scene. Tom, you´re not done yet, get out of here, oh, and do better! Now that will make a man work harder....

Great update. Glad to see Dr. Hall, I walways had a soft spot for him. I hope he lives to see a free Georgia... DW
 
OK CatKnight - now you're just jerking me around with the is he or isn't he dead thing. Stop it! :p ;)

But an extremely touching scene. One almost wants Heyward to end it there and stay with her. But I still don't think he can...or that the story can, frankly.

And it was a pleasure to read of Hall's return and the examination. Very real and dark almost, clinical yet a hint of emotion through Hall's grudge against the states.

And Preston...well, he has a ways to go before he starts putting all the pieces together, if in fact he is able to at all. But the detective angle is working surprisingly well. I was not sure if Preston was made for that role, but he has taken to it with ease, if with some confusion as well.
 
You know, something tells me Tom isn't going to get the answers he wants in the afterlife/inbetween. :( I haven't decided if he's going to get told to go back by the one he "left behind" or what, but I don't see him going back willingly. But maybe.. maybe he has grown as a person to the point where he can get beyond her and realize he's doing it for a greater, less selfish purpose now.

And when did Anne and Tom get married? Or was that just something she said to keep him safe? If the latter.. I bet he'll ask her that same first question, too. :)
 
Storey: Hmm...I hope John asked the governor to keep quiet also, or Guerard's smart enough to figure out discretion's a good idea right now. Black would be quite...vexed.

Draco Rexus: Your old college roommate lit up a few. Mmhmm. I understand. Yes, my friend does these things, but I never would! :D

jwolf: I'm not sure how Preston is going to do. He's certainly trying like hell. I think a part of him is sensing he's been playing pawn, and he's trying to get a look at the chess board for himself.

Fiftypence: Hm...I doubt Black's worried about how representative democracies work right now. :D

Dead William: I liked Dr Hall as well. For some reason I thought he died (historically) in 1784, but I was pleased to learn it wasn't actually until 1790. With a little luck he might just see a Free Georgia. If the EU2 AI is feeling really kind.

J. Passepartout: That's a fair question (whether this is a dream,) and to be honest I no longer have a definitive answer. I thought I did, but as I wrote this next chapter a new explanation showed itself. I need to have a chat with Tom and Jessie and ask them.

If the scenes with Tom appear confused for a tiny bit, please bear with me. As I said, the underlying reason may have just gotten turned on its head, and if so that changes what I'm trying to accomplish with it. We'll see how Tom's physically doing in a bit as well.

coz1: Thanks. I did like the scene with Jess, and it would certainly be a nice reward if he could just call it there. As you said though, he can't. Black's still out there, and there's no one else to stop him. As you say, Preston doesn't have nearly enough pieces to solve what's really going on, nor is he currently at all equipped to deal with it.

Samuel Clemens: Anne only said she was married to try and keep him safe. And you're right, if Tom finds out she said that he's definitely going to have questions!
 
-= 143 =-​

April 1784
Georgia


"Mrs. Whiting? I am Malcolm Kelleher." A short man dressed in black, with the customary white wig covering his receding hairline, stepped into the reception room and bowed. He could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty. Probably closer to the latter, Whiting decided, as he finished slipping thin framed spectacles into a vest pocket, "I trust and pray the soldier I sent to request your company did not disturb your mind?"

A visibly armed Redcoat stepping into the hospital and asking her to come with him disturbed her mind very much, but it wasn't his fault. She looked around uncertainly, feeling strangely awkward and alone. "He was the soul of courtesy," she said. "Why did you ask for me?"

Kelleher sat across from her in a straight backed chair, his back to the April sun streaming in through the tall windows. "I will try not to delay you long, ma'am. I'm certain you're eager to get back to your husband. I assure you Doctor Hall has few equals, either here in the colonies or at home. May I offer some tea?" At her assent he raised a small silver bell that tinkled merrily.

She watched him speak to the servant. Why had she been summoned to Government House? Did they know? Oh God, were they returning them to South Carolina? "Mister Kelleher!" She checked her sharp, ringing tone. "You haven't explained why you asked for me."

"I have a few questions, ma'am." Kelleher leaned back and studied her. He didn't smile: He never smiled. "As you may have determined, I am with the Colonial Office. Along with my masters in London, of course, I answer directly to Lord Burgoyne, Governor-General of Georgia."

The servant returned with their tea, leaving it on a silver tray between them. Kelleher picked up the pot and poured. "Do you take sugar, ma'am?"

"Yes." She watched him comply, spooning the sugar from a cup and stirring. "What does the Colonial Office want with me? I merely came here looking for medical assistance. My husband..."

"General Thomas Heyward of the American Army."

Whiting jerked and nearly dropped her cup. She paled and looked down at her tea.

For his part, Kelleher leaned back again. "Yes, ma'am. We know who your husband is. Or would it be more fair to say he's your friend?"

"Yes." Whiting closed her eyes and inhaled several times, trying to stop her heart from leaping out. If they knew about Thomas, they must know what he'd done...or soon would! And did it matter? They might simply avenge their own losses and hang his doings in Charleston!

Kelleher picked up his cup, sipped gently. "I thought he was fighting the Cherokee."

"He was."

"And now he's here. Why?"

"I told you, he needed a doctor!" She looked up, wide-eyed.

"There are doctors in Charleston." Kelleher studied her gaze. The sunlight shone full on her face, and he could clearly see the pupils of her eyes. To someone in his line of work, and trained in what to look for, they could tell him everything. "We could send for them." He could read her fear. Interesting.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Kelleher. Once he can travel we will be out of your way."

"Is there some reason he could not go to Charleston?" He paused. "Mrs. Whiting, you must know that regardless of the outcome of our talk, word will get out that General Heyward has surfaced here. In a formerly hostile city. If there is a reason to suspect this will cause hardship, then it is to our mutual benefit that I know."

"I hardly know where to begin," she finally answered.

"At the beginning."
-----------------------

"Oh Tommy, you're not dreaming." Jessie sighed and closed her eyes, head on his chest.

"What are you talking about?" He pulled away slightly to look at her, but she lowered her gaze.

"You keep coming here."

"Jess, I don't understand." He looked around the green hill with its one grave. He certainly hadn't dreamt of this before.

"It's like you died in 1946 like everyone else." She didn't look up, and he realized she was crying. "For you it's been almost twelve years, Tommy! You have to stop coming here. You have to stop mourning! You have a life, Tommy! One worth fighting for!"

Heyward wasn't sure this was particularly fair, as he'd been trying to get on with his life thank you. Instead he repeated himself. "I miss you."

"We never happened."

The casual, if sad dismissal sliced through his heart like a sword. A physical pain, and it was a full three seconds before he could speak. "What do you mean we never happened!?"

"You broke the timeline, but you didn't fix it!" Now she did look up. "Tommy, if you stay here with me then he wins! He wins, the world dies, and we never..." She sobbed, and he pulled her close again, stroking her hair.

"Jessie, it's not like I asked to be here. I mean I...I don't remember what happened." He had a hazy image of fighting Rutledge, then an inconceivable hot wave of hatred in his mind, then an explosion. "I don't even know where here is!"

"You know where you are," she whispered, sniffing.

Tom looked around again, and indeed if you ignored the gravestone it did look familiar. Very familiar. The sun, warming his back and shoulders stirred his memory. That tree over there. If it had yellow and orange leaves, then it could almost pass for...
----------------
October 1944
England


It had been a long war, and Bristol had paid the price.

One of the largest cities in England, and arguably its greatest port short of Portsmouth itself, had been bombed repeatedly by the Luftwaffe. The entire central area had been devastated, and the crushed remains of churches could still be seen in the distance. Defiantly Bristol had simply moved its port downriver to Avon, and began turning the devastated center into a park. As German bombers moved eastward to duel the RAF over London, Dover, Calais and Antwerp life slowly, steadily reasserted itself.

"Hey, wait!" Thomas Heyward huffed up the steep hill as Jessie paused, grinning. Despite his work in the factories he was not a strong man: More correctly his lungs weren't strong, and even a moderate hill could make him stop, doubled over and wheezing until he recovered. It was his lung sickness that kept him out of the military despite being of age. Tom was a member of the Home Guard. Everyone who had reasonable odds of pointing a weapon was a member of the Home Guard.

"Come on, silly!" Her bright yellow dress contrasted sharply with his brown pants and suspenders over white shirt. Her eyes shone. "Don't you want to see the swans?"

Tom could care less about swans, or pretty much any other bird that wasn't roasted and on his plate, but he could put up with them if it meant being with her. She thought herself an actress and singer, and had some minor credits to her name. 'Someone has to remind you men there's more to life than fighting!' she'd once said. Jess hoped to play in London someday, and maybe after the war was over see Europe. Or at least what was left of it.

"I'm coming!" He finally reached the top of her hill, huffing.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, by way of giving him a chance to catch his breath. She opened her arms to the greenery. "Who thought they could have done this in just a year!"

Who indeed, but most of Bristol quietly decided they'd rather look at a park then a bombed out hollow shell of a city, so volunteers from across the county filtered in when work permitted. Despite himself Tom had to agree. "It's very nice."

"This is just the beginning of course! I know they're going to add a rose garden in spring and some more trees! Then they're going to try and bring some animals in..you know the kind - squirrels and the like and hope they like it and stay! I even heard they might try to add fish to the pond for the birds!" Jess caught his expression and hmphed. "Don't go melancholy on me, Thomas Heyward!" She balled her fists on her hips and stared at him.

"I was just thinking that if they come back..."

"Don't be silly! They're not coming back! Plus, you can't stop living 'cause there's a war on!" She grinned again. "Catch me if you can!" She hurtled down the hill.

"Wait!" Tom raced after her. Surprisingly fast, and beautiful with her hair streaming in the wind. He finally caught up to her by an oak tree near the pond. Orange and yellow leaves covered the tree and the ground at their feet.

She stood against the tree, hands behind her back as he huffed up. "You're getting old," she teased.

"I am not!"

She stuck her tongue out and began to run again, but this time he was too fast. Tom caught her, pinned her to the tree and tickled her sides. "Old am I?" he demanded.

She squealed and tried to twist away, but he held her firm. Laughing hysterically she collapsed to the foot of the tree. He knelt in front of her. When she could breathe again without laughing, she tossed her head. "You're no gentleman!"

"No, just a man." He smiled wolfishly and moved closer.

"Don't you dare, Tommy!"

It was Heyward's turn to relax, sitting on his heels. He looked around. Except for the swans and their particular friends, the geese practicing their honks, no one was nearby. When he turned back, he realized Jess was no longer smiling. She stared over his shoulder. Tom turned and saw one of the bombed out buildings on the edge of the park.

"Do you think this war will ever end?" she asked softly.

"Of course it will. Some day." Tom didn't sound confident, but it seemed logical enough. All wars ended, right? Then, putting on a fake smile, he continued: "Then we will marry and have children with your eyes and my..." He'd been teasing, but something in her expression stopped him.

"Tommy, are you asking me to...?"

He looked down. He didn't want to say no, but how could he say yes with a war on? When every day might be their last. When his job might be gone tomorrow thanks to a bomb? What could he offer a woman then? "Someday, maybe," he murmured.

"Someday," she whispered.

Tom looked up at that, caught her gaze. Regret, fear, joy all intermingled. Slowly he leaned towards her.

She gripped his arm, stopping his advance. "Tommy..."

"I love you," he whispered, and realized with a shock that he meant it. He kissed her, her lips soft and warm under his. It took him a moment to realize she was answering him, her restraining arm wrapping around his nech, and another to realize the salt he tasted in their kiss was tears of joy.
---------------

She was still crying on his chest. He held her awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"If you don't stop him, then none of that...
....ever happened."
 
Hmmm. Who shot who's grandfather seems to be the question. Well, lets hope the Brits are not quite willing to shoot Heyward. They might be moderately unfond of him after all. Poor Anne, all that trouble for nothing. Ah well, the general's uniform would have been a dead give-away...

Nice update. DW
 
Honest, Cat, it was my roommate all the time... :eek:o

You really, really worked the time/history paradox quite nicely. I like it.

Now, what does the Colonial Office want of Anne and Tom in the past, eh?
 
I wonder how much Anne really knows or understands, and if she tells Kelleher, what he will make of it. The scene with Jessie in 1944 was very nice but I have to wonder what her future will be, regardless of whether Tom wins or loses in his battle with Black. It's funny to think of Tom in a love triangle separated by 160 years.
 
Draco Rexus said:
You really, really worked the time/history paradox quite nicely. I like it.
Click to expand...

Surprisingly enough Draco is right for once. :D That was very well done.

Joe
 
Yet another beautiful scene. The playfulness certainly gets handed over to the horrors of war very quickly. But if there is one person or idea that could get Heyward "over the hump" as it were, it would be Jess.
 
Thanks, Joe... I think?
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back