[Cuba was out for another day of wishing he wasn't stuck in this American town, when he notices the large package by the mailbox. Opening it up he finds a familiar face....of a kind.
A. Outside the house. There is a
crocodile outside the house. Cuba is grinning. That is never good.
B. Showing the crocodile the park. Hope you aren't in the water.
C.
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[Cuba's passing insults of all things American catches his ear, though. He glances up with an somewhat indignant look on his face.]
I wouldn't let Mayfield be'a judge'a that.
[He's got a pretty obvious Philadelphian accent.]
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Town didn't need to convince me.
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[Bslin says that a bit sourly. He can't easily distinguish the Cuban accent from other Spanish-influenced ones, so he doesn't pick up on the implication.]
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Well gee, thanks-
[Then he stops. He just treated his nation as a person. That means-]
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-Fuck. Okay, I get it. Which one are you?
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[Cuba's actually the fifth, but Switzerland didn't introduce himself when Balin briefly met him in July.]
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Jeez, what'a hell's this town tryin'a pull? Is it tryin'a kidnap you all so it can say "the world came to Mayfield" or what?
[Dem Hetalians, sappin' Balin's sanity meter.]
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[Well an American is insane. Somehow he's not surprised.]
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Ahright, you gave me your name, fair's fair.
I'm Sergeant First Class Balin Wilbur, of'a Army of Allied Free Sentients.
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That like the UN or something?
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What happened to the rest of it?
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We got hit by an alien superpower called'a Bane.
It's 2014 where I'm from. I ain't seen Earth in seven years.
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