[Marisa's in the middle of arranging her ill-gotten gains for maximum aesthetic value when the switch happens. Disoriented for a moment, she goes to steady herself and nicks her hand with her sandwich knife.] Ow!
[Wait. Sandwich knife?]
...Okay, these aren't my clothes. That's not my knife. Why am I making a sandwich, ze?
[Taking a moment to take it
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Make me a monte cristo.
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