[The ink well blurbles and spurts, and a hand juts up out of it. It scrabbles at the edge of the fountain and is joined by its mate, both working to bodily heave someone up out of the ink. He pauses a moment on the edge, gasping out a mouthful of ink and taking a few glad breaths, before climbing out the rest of the way
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Your helmet's gone.
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My... helmet?
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The scar across your eye seemed have healed as well.
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I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. I've always looked like this.
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Who would this individual be?
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He's quite the aloof person, wearing a cloak and a helmet with fins.
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I see. Sounds odd, that one.
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Indeed. Emotional, too. Appears to be a shared trait amongst certain others.
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And what others would these be?
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All in good faith. They can recognize who they are.
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Duly noted. Out of curiosity, you are...?
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You may call me Goodchild. Be wary of others out here, they have violent tendencies.
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I can take care of myself, no problem. [A hint of a smirk there.]
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