REVOLUTIONIST, mary verquin
posted Sept 17, 2018 0:16:38 GMT -6
[nospaces]
[attr="class","REVOLUTIONIST"]
[attr="class","omappone"]
[attr="class","omapponetopimg1"]
[attr="class","omapponetop"]
[attr="class","omapponetop2"]revolution calling
[attr="class","omapponetop1"]FILES LOCATED UNDER
MARY VERQUIN
MARY VERQUIN
[attr="class","omapponetopp"]
MARY VERQUIN
LOOKS LIKE TOGA HIMIKO FROM BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA
[attr="class","omapponetopp1"]
FILE NAVIGATION
[attr="class","omapponemid"]
[attr="class","omapponebasics"]
[attr="class","omapponebasicstop"]
ABOUT MARY
ABOUT MARY
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot1"]
GOLDILOCKS
[attr="class","lnr lnr-star"]
GOLDILOCKS
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot"]
20 YEARS OLD
[attr="class","lnr lnr-gift"]
20 YEARS OLD
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot1"]
CIS FEMALE
[attr="class","lnr lnr-shirt"]
CIS FEMALE
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot"]
SHE/HER
[attr="class","lnr lnr-bubble"]
SHE/HER
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot1"]
SAPIOSEXUAL
[attr="class","lnr lnr-heart-pulse"]
SAPIOSEXUAL
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot"]
PANROMANTIC
[attr="class","lnr lnr-heart"]
PANROMANTIC
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot1"]
UNDERSTANDABLY SINGLE
[attr="class","lnr lnr-users"]
UNDERSTANDABLY SINGLE
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot"]
SEPTEMBER 12
[attr="class","lnr lnr-calendar-full"]
SEPTEMBER 12
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot1"]
VIRGO
[attr="class","lnr lnr-moon"]
VIRGO
[attr="class","omapponebasicsbot"]
ENFORCER/PROPAGANDA WK.
[attr="class","lnr lnr-briefcase"]
ENFORCER/PROPAGANDA WK.
[attr="class","omapponetabs"][PTabbedContent]
[PTab=
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[PTab=
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[PTab=
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[PTab=
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[/PTabbedContent={width:404px;background-color:transparent;height:485px;padding:0px!important;border:0px!important;margin-left:0px;margin-top:0px;text-align:justify;color:#555555;font-size:10px;}]
[PTab=
[attr="class","omapponetabs1"]SUBJECT TEMPERAMENT
][attr="class","omapponepersonality"]
[attr="class","omapponestatusimg"]
[attr="class","omapponestatus"]
[attr="class","omapponestatus1"]
RECENT STATUS
[attr="class","omapponestatus2"]
you want to save me because i've gone astray, but you're just as damned as me since you looked my way.
you want to save me because i've gone astray, but you're just as damned as me since you looked my way.
[attr="class","omapponepersonality1"]SUBJECT TEMPERAMENT
[attr="class","omapponepersonality2"]
A devout worshiper begs unto the heavens to free them of their mortal sins and welcome them into the Almighty's open arms. They rescind all of their woes, their desires, their anger, their resentment, for a chance at everlasting happiness in a kingdom of their betters.
[break][break]
And she is the one who laughs as they pray, claps her hands together as though she'd been watching the climax of a most magnificent play, then sneers when she says —
[break][break]
Didn't you hear the news?
[break][break]
Your God is dead.[break][break]
Once upon a time, she was a rag doll. Worn at the edges, clothes frayed and hair stringy, body barely held together by the seams. Discarded by the one who held her closest and sentenced to a life of immobility, button-eyes dull as she watches the world go on. And then God finds her amidst the trash, fixes her clothes and combs her hair, just as the one who loved her most had done before. He sews her seams slowly, ensuring that she knows that it is by His hand that she hadn’t come completely undone. So that she will forever be grateful for the life that He gave her.
[break][break]
And with gentle hands that could deliver hellfire just as quickly as they could absolution, he sets her loose into the world to do his bidding.
[break][break]
If you asked her who she was, then she would tell you that she is a product of what this world has to offer. Her smile is that of a child’s, innocent and full of life, even when her hands are stained in crimson. The red droplets seeping into the crevices of her nails, the lines of her palms, and into her pretty, pretty, clothes does very little to diminish her joy. She recognizes well what she’s done every time she brings down the knife, her childish façade concealing an astute eye. It is so easy to pet her head and expect her not to think of anything. After all, with such a pretty face, surely there is nothing going on in that little head of hers. But she watches, she waits, she listens, and strikes when the iron is hot — smiling just as you liked her to just as he expects her to.
[break][break]
And it is the moments where she does not smile when you should fear. Her mischief comes with idle hands and an idle mind, when her demons are given free reign, and no one is there to stop her. Because she is loyal to his will, devoted to his word, there isn’t much time for her to do as she likes. And there is so much that she likes to do. So much that she has to hide and she knows how to hide it well.
[break][break]
So well that no one will find you.
[break][break]
But don’t mistake. She’s a doll, one that walks the streets, smiles and laughs with others for their entertainment — in his name. There are appearances to be kept and she can do it. She can be useful, she must be useful. He wouldn’t like her to fall to the wayside, to tarnish his good name, and she shudders at the thought of being abandoned again.
[break][break]
But you won’t abandon her as long as she smiles, as long as she dances, as long as she acts right?
[break][break]
You can turn a blind eye to the silver that rests in her hands, the crimson that drips from her fingers, the apologetic smile she gives when you beg her for mercy?
[break][break]
Right?
[break][break]
Because it is all in His name, and by His will. Though your God is dead, hers lives and breathes.
[break][break]
And if the revolution is what he demands from her.
[break][break]
The revolution is what she will give.
A devout worshiper begs unto the heavens to free them of their mortal sins and welcome them into the Almighty's open arms. They rescind all of their woes, their desires, their anger, their resentment, for a chance at everlasting happiness in a kingdom of their betters.
[break][break]
And she is the one who laughs as they pray, claps her hands together as though she'd been watching the climax of a most magnificent play, then sneers when she says —
[break][break]
Didn't you hear the news?
[break][break]
Your God is dead.[break][break]
Once upon a time, she was a rag doll. Worn at the edges, clothes frayed and hair stringy, body barely held together by the seams. Discarded by the one who held her closest and sentenced to a life of immobility, button-eyes dull as she watches the world go on. And then God finds her amidst the trash, fixes her clothes and combs her hair, just as the one who loved her most had done before. He sews her seams slowly, ensuring that she knows that it is by His hand that she hadn’t come completely undone. So that she will forever be grateful for the life that He gave her.
[break][break]
And with gentle hands that could deliver hellfire just as quickly as they could absolution, he sets her loose into the world to do his bidding.
[break][break]
If you asked her who she was, then she would tell you that she is a product of what this world has to offer. Her smile is that of a child’s, innocent and full of life, even when her hands are stained in crimson. The red droplets seeping into the crevices of her nails, the lines of her palms, and into her pretty, pretty, clothes does very little to diminish her joy. She recognizes well what she’s done every time she brings down the knife, her childish façade concealing an astute eye. It is so easy to pet her head and expect her not to think of anything. After all, with such a pretty face, surely there is nothing going on in that little head of hers. But she watches, she waits, she listens, and strikes when the iron is hot — smiling just as you liked her to just as he expects her to.
[break][break]
And it is the moments where she does not smile when you should fear. Her mischief comes with idle hands and an idle mind, when her demons are given free reign, and no one is there to stop her. Because she is loyal to his will, devoted to his word, there isn’t much time for her to do as she likes. And there is so much that she likes to do. So much that she has to hide and she knows how to hide it well.
[break][break]
So well that no one will find you.
[break][break]
But don’t mistake. She’s a doll, one that walks the streets, smiles and laughs with others for their entertainment — in his name. There are appearances to be kept and she can do it. She can be useful, she must be useful. He wouldn’t like her to fall to the wayside, to tarnish his good name, and she shudders at the thought of being abandoned again.
[break][break]
But you won’t abandon her as long as she smiles, as long as she dances, as long as she acts right?
[break][break]
You can turn a blind eye to the silver that rests in her hands, the crimson that drips from her fingers, the apologetic smile she gives when you beg her for mercy?
[break][break]
Right?
[break][break]
Because it is all in His name, and by His will. Though your God is dead, hers lives and breathes.
[break][break]
And if the revolution is what he demands from her.
[break][break]
The revolution is what she will give.
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[PTab=
[attr="class","omapponetabs2"]MISCELLANEOUS
][attr="class","omapponemisc"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc3"]
MISCELLANEOUS INFO
[attr="class","omapponemisc4"]
+ She is five feet, five inches tall (roughly one-hundred sixty-five centimeters). Her weight is debatable. Due to having a fast metabolism, she tends to burn off her food rather quickly so she has to eat a lot to replenish her strength.
[break][break]
+ Her penchant for playing with children’s toys comes from an underlying need to have what she didn’t when she was younger. She doesn’t feel the need to tell anyone where it comes from though and will snap at anyone who criticizes her.
[break][break]
+ Sometimes, she wears a cross-necklace but tucks it into her shirt. She says she does it so that it won’t erode quickly but in truth, she hates the sight of it.
[break][break]
+ Likes to sing when it suits her fancy. Makes up her own songs depending on how she is feeling at the time. To be fair, there’s nothing more unnerving than when she sings to you while doing her work.
[break][break]
+ Has a tolerance for some of the harder drugs and alcohol. Because of this, she strays away from it more than she’d like. Of course it has absolutely nothing to do with him.
[break][break]
+ Goldilocks is a nickname from her youth and one that the other in the Operation call her. She prefers it to her name, that one is only reserved for a select few people because she cannot stand the sound. Others will get aliases from her and they may vary depending on her mood. Honestly, she’s not sure if Mary is even her real name.[break][break]
+ Can switch between moods fairly quickly and say questionable things. Will feign innocence when confronted though. Is very sneaky.[break][break]
+ Knows how to cook, clean, and do other basic household chores. Does not trust anyone cooking for her or making her drinks and will make it known in the “nicest” way possible.
[break][break]
+ Likes to collect “retro” things. Prefers them because of the timelessness.[break][break]
+ If you asked her how many people she’s “disposed” of, she’d look at you and smile.[break][break]
+ Knows how to play the guitar, piano, and violin. Is learning how to play the flute, harp, and saxophone.[break][break]
+ Can speak several languages fluently: french, german, english, and spanish. She knows how to write in latin but cannot speak it. [break][break]
+ Has fallen in love before, or at least in some semblance of love. Isn't quite sure what it is nor does she want to bring it up to anyone, especially not him.[break][break]
+ Has a slight love-hate feeling for the leader of the Operation. Greatful for being saved, but also apprehensive at being under someone's thumb especially with such fragmented memories.[break][break]
+ Can't recall many things from her past. Suffered a brain injury at ten years old and was found by the big man. Practically owes her life to him because he helped to save her and teach her almost everything she knows.[break][break]
+ Is an online personality by the name of Virgin, the unorthodox name is what attracts most people to her. She never shows her face, and talks through a synthesizer but gives her "honest' opinion about the world, what is going on, and what she thinks should happen. Uses various VPNs to hide her identity and enjoys the discourse in her forums. Does podcasts, blogs, and the likes.
+ She is five feet, five inches tall (roughly one-hundred sixty-five centimeters). Her weight is debatable. Due to having a fast metabolism, she tends to burn off her food rather quickly so she has to eat a lot to replenish her strength.
[break][break]
+ Her penchant for playing with children’s toys comes from an underlying need to have what she didn’t when she was younger. She doesn’t feel the need to tell anyone where it comes from though and will snap at anyone who criticizes her.
[break][break]
+ Sometimes, she wears a cross-necklace but tucks it into her shirt. She says she does it so that it won’t erode quickly but in truth, she hates the sight of it.
[break][break]
+ Likes to sing when it suits her fancy. Makes up her own songs depending on how she is feeling at the time. To be fair, there’s nothing more unnerving than when she sings to you while doing her work.
[break][break]
+ Has a tolerance for some of the harder drugs and alcohol. Because of this, she strays away from it more than she’d like. Of course it has absolutely nothing to do with him.
[break][break]
+ Goldilocks is a nickname from her youth and one that the other in the Operation call her. She prefers it to her name, that one is only reserved for a select few people because she cannot stand the sound. Others will get aliases from her and they may vary depending on her mood. Honestly, she’s not sure if Mary is even her real name.[break][break]
+ Can switch between moods fairly quickly and say questionable things. Will feign innocence when confronted though. Is very sneaky.[break][break]
+ Knows how to cook, clean, and do other basic household chores. Does not trust anyone cooking for her or making her drinks and will make it known in the “nicest” way possible.
[break][break]
+ Likes to collect “retro” things. Prefers them because of the timelessness.[break][break]
+ If you asked her how many people she’s “disposed” of, she’d look at you and smile.[break][break]
+ Knows how to play the guitar, piano, and violin. Is learning how to play the flute, harp, and saxophone.[break][break]
+ Can speak several languages fluently: french, german, english, and spanish. She knows how to write in latin but cannot speak it. [break][break]
+ Has fallen in love before, or at least in some semblance of love. Isn't quite sure what it is nor does she want to bring it up to anyone, especially not him.[break][break]
+ Has a slight love-hate feeling for the leader of the Operation. Greatful for being saved, but also apprehensive at being under someone's thumb especially with such fragmented memories.[break][break]
+ Can't recall many things from her past. Suffered a brain injury at ten years old and was found by the big man. Practically owes her life to him because he helped to save her and teach her almost everything she knows.[break][break]
+ Is an online personality by the name of Virgin, the unorthodox name is what attracts most people to her. She never shows her face, and talks through a synthesizer but gives her "honest' opinion about the world, what is going on, and what she thinks should happen. Uses various VPNs to hide her identity and enjoys the discourse in her forums. Does podcasts, blogs, and the likes.
[attr="class","omapponemisc1"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc11"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc11"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc12"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc11"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc13"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc2"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc21"]
+theatre
+caffine
+nightlife
+music
+anime
+manga
+classics
+toys
+love
+police
+civilians
+smoke
+ashes
+food
+thunder
+lightning
+death
+life
[attr="class","omapponemisc2"]
[attr="class","omapponemisc21"]
-police
-civilians
-religion
-nightmares
-poverty
-righteousness
-morality
-principles
-starvation
-expectations
-failure
-him
-squash
-commercials
-spoilsports
-interruptions
-one-uppers
-lectures
-mornings
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[PTab=
[attr="class","omapponetabs3"]SUBJECT BIOGRAPHY
][attr="class","omapponebio"]
[attr="class","omapponebio1"]
A long time ago, there was a little girl — or was she a little girl? Was she ever a little girl?
[break][break]
Oh, who cares.
[break][break]
Once upon a time, there was a thing that looked and acted like a little girl. She had a mother, a father, and a home a long time ago — but that was some time ago. Where did it go? Where did it go?
[break][break]
Away. That’s the simple way to put it.
[break][break]
If you ask her about her past, she remembers it vaguely. Remembers a woman that looked a lot like her. Blond hair, like spun gold, and pale skin that bruised under her father’s hammer like fists. A woman who didn’t shield her from the bruises and the shouting and the pain. Who yelled back, spat in his face, tried to claw out his eyes or his skin as they grappled with one another — fighting until blood was drawn and she realized that she wasn’t supposed to be looking.
[break][break]
So she looked away.
[break][break]
Because thats what good little girls did. They didn’t participate in violence, they didn’t talk back, they were quiet. Obedient. Out of the way but close enough to be admired. Just admired, is what her father would tell her, patting her head.
[break][break]
And one day, she finds her mother with shades of purple and yellow around her throat. Sees the way her eyes gloss over and stare unfocused into the unknown. Where was she when this happened to her?
[break][break]
Why didn’t she stop him?
[break][break]
Will this be her next?
[break][break]
He isn’t there when she leaves and doesn’t come to look for her when she goes. A little girl running through the streets all by her lonesome, hiding when shadows that look like his pass her by, tucking into corners and hugging her knees for comfort. Glossy eyes like the dolls her mother would surprise her with won’t leave her mind.
[break][break]
And she tells herself that she would not cry. But the truth is that she cannot cry because she is a little girl — she must be quiet, pretty, and admired.
[break][break]
Yet being cute doesn’t fill her stomach and she goes hungry, feeling her body cave in on itself, wondering when her next meal will be. Going into trashcans is common place, being chased out even moreso. Wandering streets aimlessly and avoiding those with hungry gazes and wandering hands is another challenge, and one that she cannot always face.
[break][break]
More than once she’s captured and has to get away, her hands stained with crimson that she smears over the walls as she runs past. Unbeknownst to the person following behind her, cleaning up the handprints and continuing on their way.
[break][break]
It is nothing short of a miracle that she isn’t caught. But he says that he can work many miracles, and at the time, she believes him.
[break][break]
Him with his smile and clean clothing, combed hair and glasses that reflect her own dirty countenance.
[break][break]
”You poor thing,” he says, his hand touching her face and she leans into the softness of his touch. It’s a mistake, and she should’ve known that it was but at the time it doesn’t matter. Because he is there and he is warm and he feels safe. He calls her Mary, compliments her hair and combs it for her until she can do it herself. Dresses her up in pretty clothes, because she cannot wear rags when she “represents” him.
[break][break]
Looking back on it, she wonders if she would have ever known what he was doing. The way he sewed her wounds up bit by bit rather than all at once so she could feel the stitches. Know that it is by his hand that she is healed. That she owes her life to him and every life she takes repays that debt.
[break][break]
Every pain she endures will only make her stronger, he tells her.
[break][break]
Every joy she experiences is because he made it so, he tells her.
[break][break]
Everything that she is has ever been because he has made it so, he reminds her.
[break][break]
And she kneels before him in thanks, hesitant to look into his eyes, afraid of what she will see. But she tells herself to not look up because a mortal should not be able to lay eyes upon God. So she kneels with her head bowed, promising her loyalty and her devotion through words rehearsed year after year.
[break][break]
Asking herself for the umpteenth time, how did she get here?
[break][break]
And even more so, where could she ever go?[break][break]
The Revolution is whispered amongst those who follow him, and she is among their ranks. He asks her to take part and she knows she doesn’’t have a choice but relishes in the fact that he wants her to come along.[break][break]
She tells herself it doesn’t matter how many lives she takes or how many people burn. [break][break] It doesn’t matter that she can’t remember who she was or who her parents had been or if they had ever been real in the first place.[break][break]
It doesn’t matter that the love she felt once upon a time was “useless”.[break][break]
He needs her, he’s prepared her, and she will do this.[break][break]
Because she is his humble servant, and he is her God, and if it is his will — she will raze all of Seattle to the ground..
A long time ago, there was a little girl — or was she a little girl? Was she ever a little girl?
[break][break]
Oh, who cares.
[break][break]
Once upon a time, there was a thing that looked and acted like a little girl. She had a mother, a father, and a home a long time ago — but that was some time ago. Where did it go? Where did it go?
[break][break]
Away. That’s the simple way to put it.
[break][break]
If you ask her about her past, she remembers it vaguely. Remembers a woman that looked a lot like her. Blond hair, like spun gold, and pale skin that bruised under her father’s hammer like fists. A woman who didn’t shield her from the bruises and the shouting and the pain. Who yelled back, spat in his face, tried to claw out his eyes or his skin as they grappled with one another — fighting until blood was drawn and she realized that she wasn’t supposed to be looking.
[break][break]
So she looked away.
[break][break]
Because thats what good little girls did. They didn’t participate in violence, they didn’t talk back, they were quiet. Obedient. Out of the way but close enough to be admired. Just admired, is what her father would tell her, patting her head.
[break][break]
And one day, she finds her mother with shades of purple and yellow around her throat. Sees the way her eyes gloss over and stare unfocused into the unknown. Where was she when this happened to her?
[break][break]
Why didn’t she stop him?
[break][break]
Will this be her next?
[break][break]
He isn’t there when she leaves and doesn’t come to look for her when she goes. A little girl running through the streets all by her lonesome, hiding when shadows that look like his pass her by, tucking into corners and hugging her knees for comfort. Glossy eyes like the dolls her mother would surprise her with won’t leave her mind.
[break][break]
And she tells herself that she would not cry. But the truth is that she cannot cry because she is a little girl — she must be quiet, pretty, and admired.
[break][break]
Yet being cute doesn’t fill her stomach and she goes hungry, feeling her body cave in on itself, wondering when her next meal will be. Going into trashcans is common place, being chased out even moreso. Wandering streets aimlessly and avoiding those with hungry gazes and wandering hands is another challenge, and one that she cannot always face.
[break][break]
More than once she’s captured and has to get away, her hands stained with crimson that she smears over the walls as she runs past. Unbeknownst to the person following behind her, cleaning up the handprints and continuing on their way.
[break][break]
It is nothing short of a miracle that she isn’t caught. But he says that he can work many miracles, and at the time, she believes him.
[break][break]
Him with his smile and clean clothing, combed hair and glasses that reflect her own dirty countenance.
[break][break]
”You poor thing,” he says, his hand touching her face and she leans into the softness of his touch. It’s a mistake, and she should’ve known that it was but at the time it doesn’t matter. Because he is there and he is warm and he feels safe. He calls her Mary, compliments her hair and combs it for her until she can do it herself. Dresses her up in pretty clothes, because she cannot wear rags when she “represents” him.
[break][break]
Looking back on it, she wonders if she would have ever known what he was doing. The way he sewed her wounds up bit by bit rather than all at once so she could feel the stitches. Know that it is by his hand that she is healed. That she owes her life to him and every life she takes repays that debt.
[break][break]
Every pain she endures will only make her stronger, he tells her.
[break][break]
Every joy she experiences is because he made it so, he tells her.
[break][break]
Everything that she is has ever been because he has made it so, he reminds her.
[break][break]
And she kneels before him in thanks, hesitant to look into his eyes, afraid of what she will see. But she tells herself to not look up because a mortal should not be able to lay eyes upon God. So she kneels with her head bowed, promising her loyalty and her devotion through words rehearsed year after year.
[break][break]
Asking herself for the umpteenth time, how did she get here?
[break][break]
And even more so, where could she ever go?[break][break]
The Revolution is whispered amongst those who follow him, and she is among their ranks. He asks her to take part and she knows she doesn’’t have a choice but relishes in the fact that he wants her to come along.[break][break]
She tells herself it doesn’t matter how many lives she takes or how many people burn. [break][break] It doesn’t matter that she can’t remember who she was or who her parents had been or if they had ever been real in the first place.[break][break]
It doesn’t matter that the love she felt once upon a time was “useless”.[break][break]
He needs her, he’s prepared her, and she will do this.[break][break]
Because she is his humble servant, and he is her God, and if it is his will — she will raze all of Seattle to the ground..
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[PTab=
[attr="class","omapponetabs4"]PLAYER
][attr="class","omapponeplayer"]
[attr="class","omapponeplayerimg"]
[attr="class","omapponeplayername"]
call me
HUCKLEBERRY
call me
HUCKLEBERRY
[attr="class","omapponeplayer1"]
PM IS FINE, DISCORD IS HUCKLEBERRY#3095
OLD YEARS OLD | THEY/THEM | EST (-5) |
PM IS FINE, DISCORD IS HUCKLEBERRY#3095
[attr="class","omapponerenown"]
10%
[/PTab={background-color:transparent;width:404px;height:485px;padding:0px!important;margin:-23px -3px -3px -3px;}]
[/PTabbedContent={width:404px;background-color:transparent;height:485px;padding:0px!important;border:0px!important;margin-left:0px;margin-top:0px;text-align:justify;color:#555555;font-size:10px;}]
