[Jack stares uncertainly at the camera for a few seconds before scowling at it. He's dressed notably-- both because he's wearing clothes a century old and because he hasn't got a mask on.]
Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, and I don't care-- if you're Pulitzer's men or Snyder's or any o' that. I'm tellin' you right now, you got
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How about a demon wearing a mask?]
How ya doin', sport?
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[Alastair minces other things.]
-but you don't look fine. It's a stressful situation you've found yourself in, isn't it?
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[He considers Jack carefully.]
...where are you from, boy? New York?
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Jack. And yeah, I am, good guess.
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[An unsettling grin.]
I'm from down South.
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Where south?
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The Deep South.
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A little place called Hell.
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[SMIRK.]
Although, I suppose if you're counting personal Hells, there could be some shit.
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