[There's a distant, wispy shuffling sound of Gin moving around in his room; currently he's checking himself out in the mirror.]
Well that's not good. It left a mark after all. Can't have that now, can we?
[The noise of someone moving closer to the journal, and when Gin speaks again it's directed towards the device rather than just to himself.]
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Not that you'd know, of course.
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And if you look like I think y'do, then the bruises would be an improvement!
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Although now I'm kind of curious to know what you think I look like.
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Well, someone once described tree frogs to me. Take a wild guess what I think you look like.
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Tree frog? Now that's not nice. I'm not even slightly green, I promise you.
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