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[DREAM - DECEMBER 16 (Early Morning)]
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Don't you see? It has to be you. )
[She is silent for a while. Talking to this man has finally made her realize how homesick she was...as well as how selfish she was. Yes, at home, she was a lonely person--the only thing close to a friend that she had was Father Kotomine. But much of that had been her own fault. She was the one who had refused to form bonds with people. Yes, once she left here, she would never see Lancer again, but to ever seen him in the first place was an impossible dream. Being able to see him for the time that she would remain here should be enough. She had not spoken to her family in years; they had cut off contact when she joined the Association against their protests. But they were still alive. Once she returned to her world, she would be free to call them at any time and mend her currently strained relationship with them. She could visit them during her vacations, spend holidays with them...]
[...She was so much luckier than many of the people here, and she had never realized it.]
I will definitely get out of here. And after I do, I will definitely call my parents.
[Even if she does not know whether to apologize or just tell them she loved them.]
Who know? Maybe I'll even spend next Christmas in my hometown.
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Yeah. If I get my way? We'll be all back home.
[Although his expression sours again as he glances at the red bandanna on his arm. He sounds a bit doubtful.]
But'at's a big "if," for now.
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Yeah. I'm SOL on ideas for'at. Shit, I can't ... you know'ose people'ey listed on'a television a few days back? I don't even know any of 'em. One of 'ems livin' in my house, though. Or ... her replacement is.
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[She had figured that out last night.]
The only thing that was ever messed with was our memories. Our warped perception of the supposed constructs comes from some sort of barrier effect.
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Wait, what?!
[Balin's jaw drops.]
You mean all'is time-they were fuckin' with our heads-?!
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[And now Balin looks mad.]
-oh those sons of bitches! I'd been spendin'a last few days lookin' at my notes wonderin' who'a hell all those people were an' why I couldn't remember anything I'd written about 'em!
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[It would probably get him droned...and subjected to 24 hours of ceasless caroling. She supresses a shudder at the thought.]
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[A beat.]
Wait, is that what all'a caroling was about?
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[His expression sours again.]
Always findin' some way'a torture us. Gotta give 'em'at.
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For now, I would suggest finding a more constructive outlet for your anger. Being droned will help neither you nor your forgotten comrades.
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[He looks a little disgruntled now. Maybe inwardly annoyed at some unspoken complication.]
'Sides, I already know enough about what'ese fuckers can do. Any kinda move against 'em's gonna end badly. But'at ain't what it'll be about.
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