Cross Lutair
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Cross was leaning against his black and gold motorcycle with his helmet tucked neatly under his arm. He was rebraiding the Viking braids on the sides of his head and seemed to be having a bad hair day as he mumbled and grumbled under his breath in his thick Scottish accent.
he looked out at the water from the beachfront and sighed, putting the hair bands down and giving up, just letting it hand loosely and messily down his back.
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