[There is an Allen standing in the middle of a neutral courtyard in which it is snowing quite heavily. He's staring curiously up at the sky, letting the falling snow soak into his hair, as well as the strange, deep-red cloak he's wrapped up in.
For all intents and purposes - he still thinks he's in his home world.]
... snow in August?
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[[S'okay, this poor kid's going mad and has red eyes to boot. >> Fun tiems? :D?]]
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There might be a soft, curious rumble from the pile.]
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His face won't betray him, but he's certainly got the urge to kneel and hold a hand out to pet it.]
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Is it August where you're from?
((ooc: 1903!14th in Allen's 18-year-old body, scarless, and he's really quite harmless I swear 8D;;))
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It's strange to say, he has little to no memory of the Fourteenth. But damn if you don't look like a fucked up version of himself, and that makes him very uncomfortable. Have a sword-tip between the eyes.]
Thirty seconds.
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..Pardon?
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[Albeit doesn't look right, but does that matter? Fingers flexing on the sword.]
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