[ stumbling in from a nondescript door is what looks like a disheveled and tired looking young man, amber eyes half lidded, until he sees where he is. The door has already shut behind him, but when he reopens it, the look on his face says that it's not exactly where he came from. He looks more perplexed and annoyed than scared as he gives up on the
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... Afraid it's not a joke.
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You're pretty calm about all this.
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*Here, have a pamphlet.*
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[ but she blocks, pulling out a rumpled, folded pamphlet from her pocket. ]
Little late, though. I've already been debriefed.
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Well, it never hurts to make sure.
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So if you're not the same you, does that mean we should be reintroduced?
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Perhaps.
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Pardonne? "Pretty girl"? I think you're a little confused...
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*Shrugs* But I won't press it, if you're denying it that much.
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[ she stares for a moment, then holds out a hand. ]
Tyki Mikk. New Orleans, 1998... since who, when and where seems to be standard fare around here.
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*Takes it, grinning*
Cross Marian. Anytime, anywhere.
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Sorry, cheri, but you're not my type.
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