[There's a young woman walking down the street, oblivious to the weather, furiously scribbling in a notebook. After a few moments she pauses, makes a face, and tears the page out.]
No, no, that will not work at all...
[She shakes her head and starts to write again. She doesn't seem to notice anything else around her.]
[ooc: YES, this is late.
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Will?
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Yes? Hello? [Tara can probably hear the remnants of a French-sounding accent. It's also easy to tell she doesn't recognise Tara.]
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[Tara is kind of enjoying this. Maybe a little. I mean, it's not her Willow but she's not homicidal and/or morose, either. Non-negative feelings are good!]
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I'm Tara.
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Absolutely.
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