[Richtofen is obviously drunk, probably from all the eggnog he found in the refridgerator. But it's Christmas Eve and the Doctor will get as smashed as he damn well pleases.]If-- if I may have everyone's attention. Zhe Doctor has a Christmas story for you, zhat my grandfazher used to tell me vhen I vas a little, little youngling
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[He gropes around by the base of his chair, where he placed several bottles of the eggnog.]
You vant one?
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[He looks at the bottle for a moment, hesitating.]
What's in it?
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[He stares at the bottle, waiting for it to give him the answer.]
Um... Egg. Und... ozher zhings. I don't zhink "nog" is an actual... thingy.
--Look, zhe point is, it's got alcohol. If you don't like it, ve could try regular beer.
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What the ever-loving fuck is your problem.
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... A lot of zhings, actually.
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As a friend to zombies and all undead, I'm gonna have to ask you, on behalf of the entire paranormal community, to keep it in your fucking pants, you fucking weirdo.
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[Also, cue sudden short-term memory loss. Or just denial.]
... Vhat?
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