*There is a low groan and soft rustle of fabric followed by the quiet thump as his knife kit rolls of his chest and Steven pushes up on his hands until he's sitting up. He doesn't look surprised so much as annoyed*
Oh, you have got to be bloody kidding me! That's right! Man celebrates just a little too hard and you leave him passed out in a park!
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. . . Am I having one of those really bad trips again?
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Yeah. That's what I thought at first, too. I was pretty sure you drugged my risotto.
But no luck; we're just... here. Which is apparently a fucked up place with an unimaginative name.
We'll have to start a restaurant.
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And also I've seen you use a knife and sometimes your mouth is very near bits of me that I plan to keep. Thanks.
Of course we're starting a restaurant. But you're sure I'm not drugged?
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