[There is a heavy sigh before Zoisite lifts his hands to the piano (he's seated at one, in a nondescript room with billowing curtains at its windows). He closes his eyes.
Just as he's done every day, almost every moment, since arriving in this configuration of worlds,
he reaches out through
his music. He reaches through each communicator that
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...Ever think 'bout taking stuff like that to Atlantica? I'm sure the locals would eat that up.
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I had not considered traveling. It holds little appeal.
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Who are you, anyways?
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I am a retainer of Master Endymion, Earth's prince.
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