Honestly? Because I'm not used to this, all right? Because I'm used to you keeping me in the fucking dark, that's all right, you do that plenty at home, but I am your bloody second-in-command where I come from and here, I'm just a hired hand. Cheap, expendable help. And that's fine, it'd be fine, if it were anyone but you. You're supposed to be my employer, my flatmate, and not my friend, that's for fucking sure, but a well-known acquaintance at least who respected my title, my bag of tigers, and my abilities.
And maybe because as much as the rest of you lot are dancing around thinking oh well this is all bloody right, could be fucking worse now we might as well make the most of this situation, I think it is a little fucking weird to be stuck under the sea with two alternate versions of yourself. And my closest connection in the whole city is my boss, you, and you're not even you. You're bloody Irish. And all right, so dealing with rogue Scientologists and fucking PR people running around shagging women like Adler wasn't exactly how I pictured my lot in life turning out. But be teleported to the bottom of the bloody sea? Meeting a version of your boss who was short, Irish, and surprisingly well-dressed for a professor? And shooting zombies and seeing people light things on fire with their hands?
That, Prof, is a bit much to take. Even for a seasoned old war veteran like myself. So yes, excuse me, if I'm trying to hold up a conversation with the one bloody person in the city who I know. That isn't just another version of myself because sometimes, that can be really unnerving. Not that I expect you to understand, since there's only one of you, I think, but it is weird. Proper bizarre.
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And maybe because as much as the rest of you lot are dancing around thinking oh well this is all bloody right, could be fucking worse now we might as well make the most of this situation, I think it is a little fucking weird to be stuck under the sea with two alternate versions of yourself. And my closest connection in the whole city is my boss, you, and you're not even you. You're bloody Irish. And all right, so dealing with rogue Scientologists and fucking PR people running around shagging women like Adler wasn't exactly how I pictured my lot in life turning out. But be teleported to the bottom of the bloody sea? Meeting a version of your boss who was short, Irish, and surprisingly well-dressed for a professor? And shooting zombies and seeing people light things on fire with their hands?
That, Prof, is a bit much to take. Even for a seasoned old war veteran like myself. So yes, excuse me, if I'm trying to hold up a conversation with the one bloody person in the city who I know. That isn't just another version of myself because sometimes, that can be really unnerving. Not that I expect you to understand, since there's only one of you, I think, but it is weird. Proper bizarre.
There. Question answered. Sorted.
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I've never been to the cinema.
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