[If it were possible for a human voice to snarl, this one is. Or, at least, doing its best to. It took some doing to figure out what was going on, but hearing other... 'transmissions' helped matters. Harding picks up his journal, and delivers his irate statements.]
Going to make this short. Don't care how I got here, don't care who is
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There...there is a healer here but it's a woman, and uhm, you might try Lord Deior's note for answers to some of your questions?
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Who are you?
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And yourself? Ah, your name?
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[Because if this was Dryson's doing, she can't be a civilian.]
Not important. I have to find my medic. Reyes -- Cole Reyes. Where is he?
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Your medic might not be here. Just you might've gotten picked up.
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I want out. This is illegal.
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Yeah, good luck with that.
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Or write, I guess, but that's really close enough.
Besides, I think telling you that getting out is useless and impossible is useful, except you probably won't bother to listen to me and will just keep shouting into the book.
*Which actually reminds him of several people he knows...*
Actually keep doing that, its amusing.
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If all you want to do is sass me, kid, go find something better to do. My partner is missing, and I'm not sitting here listening to some bored brat bitch at me.
[With that, he shuts the journal. And storms out of his room.]
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[This guy clearly must be another handler. If he has a healer...]
Who is this?
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[Sure. Handler. That's pretty fitting all things considered.]
Name's Hawke.
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Harding. Where are we?
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