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I close my eyes and lean back into the dingy couch, my fingers interlaced behind my head, stretching up and back. This place is a good place, a home away from home.

The pungent smell of laser-ablated leather mixes with notes of cutting fluid and oak sawdust. Over the powerful hum of the vent fan exhausting the laser cutters' noxious byproducts, I hear the crackle of a MIG torch making a beautiful noise, harmonizing with the drone of the planer in the woodshop. The venerable CNC mill takes another deep facing cut, adding its guttural spindle rumble and the tinkle of chips hitting the guards to the symphony of creation around me.

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Breakfast at The Den

Janais padded sleepily into the kitchen, failing to stifle a yawn. She plonks her forehead into Kian's mid back, wrapping her arms around the woman's bare midriff.

"Hey cutie, breakfast is almost ready. Is the blue-eyed one up yet?" Kian rumbled, deftly turning several eggs over in her pan as her diminutive partner shook her head.

"No, she was still firmly wrapped around BLÅHAJ. You left!" She softly headbutted Kian, giving her a squeeze and then disengaged, heading for the kettle.

"I did! Poor Moira, she must have been having bad dreams. She kept kneeing me in the back all night, and I eventually had to get up and move to the couch."

"Aww. Unrelated, jasmine or rocket fuel?" Janais inquired, sifting through the assortment of tea bags, pulling out two red bags of Irish breakfast tea.

"Nah, I gots mine" Kian waved at a brilliantly green energy drink on the counter. "Had to do the drugs anyway, might as well wake up and make some breakfast."

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