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The stench of sweat and rust and a million other things that Mick can’t exactly pinpoint fill the air as he steps into the back row of tents on the outskirts of the traveling carnival. It doesn’t matter, really, he knows those smells are nothing good.
“Ugh, smells rotten ,” Snart comments as he enters after him. Mick glances back at his partner, but only shrugs before resolutely marching forward. He hears Snart sigh, then the familiar footfalls that tell him the other man is close behind.