[Martha gives the device an exasperated look. She's a pretty black woman, in her mid-twenties, dressed in something that isn't quite military wear, but with a white labcoat over it; when she speaks, it's with a characteristic London accent.] Oh, c'mon now, this really isn't on. I told you, Malcolm, I'd be your guinea pig for one trial, but I've got
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I hate to be the one to tell you this, I don't like telling people bad news at all, but I'm afraid that you're stuck here for a bit.
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[ Martha, why are you getting this from Tonks? You should be talking to someone more knowledgeable. The Narration is sorry. ]
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...what d'you mean by mischief?
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[ Death doesn't prevent someone's arrival here. Fiction isn't even a boundary. ]
Well, just last week loads of people were smiling and cheerful. People that normally shouldn't be cheerful if you know what I mean. A couple of weeks before that I was turned into a mermaid. Others got turned into some kind of sea creature.
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[ Yes, she's seen the movie but she's only seen it. Tonks is not a Disney fan, not really. ]
I suppose I should be grateful that I was just covered up at all, yeah?
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Might've been difficult to improvise a seaweed bikini or something.
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