[Has been wandering aimlessly down various corridors when an open door catches his attention. It’s decorated like the inside lobby of a hotel, with crappy muzak playing in the background. The room seems harmless enough, so Mail enters curiously.]
Huh, another ‘nice’ one? Seems like the powers above have gone on vacation…
[ooc: Welcome to the
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What's going on now? Why am I in these clothes? And why am I wearing sunglasses inside, I'm not Matt.
[Well, I had tagged with Sherlock Holmes, but since it's been done above *just notices* I'll edit, and say one of these two. Hercules Poirot for the underappreciated win!]
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You've never seen The Matrix, have you?
[No sooner he says this, his own clothes finally change. Guess who's Hercule Poirot?] ...knew it.
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(He folds the sunglasses and puts them in his pocket. That's one obstacle out of the way.)
...you're... (Quietly pleased.)
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..I'm? What, you know who I'm supposed to be? [Confused, doesn't recognize the costume.]
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Ah. You're Hercule Poirot. He's the detective from Murder on the Orient Express, and Evil Under the Sun.
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...random detective guy with a weird mustache that would make even Dalí proud. Got it.
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He's not a random detective, he's from Agatha Christie.
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They have some of the books in the library, you could find them.
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(He's revising the Wammy cirriculum when he gets home.)
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[Never went to Whammys, endured the wonderful joys of the public school system.]
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