[The writing appearing in the journal is a loose, scrawling amalgamation of print and cursive.]It's never dull around here, is it? Popping out as a naked pod-person with no memories, journals turning into grotesque little creatures... and while I appreciate the sudden and unexpected upgrade in the style of my clothing this morning, I do wish the
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Range is a fellow resident. Do you think you know him?
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[Pen tap, pen tap, pen tap... then he decides, what the hell, might as well go and say it.]
According to one of the guys who was there when I was born... I am him. Not sure how reliable the information is, but considering everything else I've seen, it didn't seem wise to rule it out.
-Gene
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...no. You--no.
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Your handwriting is different. That's never happened before.
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Huh, is it? ...Don't really know what to think about that. I'd say this is the way I've always written but, well, how would I know?
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[A certain puppy is going to get his nose smacked with the newspaper the next time she sees him.]
Gene, do you mind if I meet you in person? This really isn't something I'd like to wonder about for too long.
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Is there a place you'd prefer to meet? Not knowing the lay of the land, I don't have a preference.
And one last thing, I've not gotten everyone's handwriting sorted just yet, so do you mind if I ask your name.
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And sorry--I'm Bastet.
(ooc: Quicklog/regular log?)
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For what it's worth, nice to meet you, Bastet.
((ooc: Quicklog sounds grand~)
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[While she was almost certain Gene wasn't Range, she still needed to see him for herself. She'd already gone through Range losing his memories once, and she'd just as soon not go through it again, much less so soon after them coming to something of an understanding. She sat behind the counter, still in her schoolgirl outfit; short green plaid skirt, a white shirt that barely covered her belly, white thigh highs and shiny black shoes.
For once, she'd have no trouble spotting the new arrival; she already knew what he looked like, after all.]
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Eventually, he made it to the marketplace, decked out in his own Catholic school uniform that would have been perfectly decent attire if not for the fact that it seemed to be made for someone younger and slimmer, if the way it stretched uncomfortably across his chest and shoulders was any indication. He glanced up from the journal and Bastet's directions within and started to search for the clothing stall. He found it easily, as well as a rather attractive lady sitting behind the counter. Well... now probably wasn't the time or the place to do anything about that last observation, but it was certainly filed away.
Donning a facade of pure confidence as a defense against whatever awkwardness might be in store, Gene strolled up to the booth and offered an easy smile.]
Bastet, I presume?
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Yeah. And you must be Gene.
[She rounded the counter to come closer to him, scanning his face intently before giving him a wry smile.]
Sorry for the inspection. But it's really in my best interests to be able to tell the two of you apart.
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[It was a terrible joke, but that's likely part of what compelled him to make it.
The inspection did make him a little uncomfortable. It was familiar and yet not, which was a sensation he was starting to grow accustomed to. It wasn't as if she was looking through him, though, so that was... something. He suppressed the urge to fidget and grinned once again.]
Oh? So how's the process going, finding anything yet?
[He found himself instinctually hoping that the answer would be "yes".]
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[She knew she must be making him uncomfortable--but better now than due to mistaken identity later. She stepped back after a few moments, her smile relaxing to something friendlier and more genuine.]
Yeah. You're not exactly identical in appearance; your eyes are different colors, you move differently, and [she paused, inhaling the faint, acrid scent of cigarettes that clung to him] he doesn't smoke.
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[When Bastet stepped back and pronounced that, yes, she could tell the difference, Gene let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His posture relaxed and his smile became something other than pure bravado.]
That's... a relief to hear. Someone on the journals, Aurora, I think it was, singled out the smoking, too. [He frowned.] Said something about a "variation" of Range doing so but... something about that phrasing doesn't sit right.
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