[The communicator clicks on at an odd angle, like it's just been haphazardly tossed to the ground. Luckily, you get an artsy view of Arthur's couch, which currently has a fourteen-year-old Arthur dancing on it, all gangly and grunge-chic. He's singing-- or... screaming-- along to some Nirvana and getting his dirty shoes all over the couch.]
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I dunno. Got any beer, or just the hahd stuff?
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How about beer for the smokes?
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Deal!
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No telling how long we'll be stuck here. Good idea, milking it for all it's worth.
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