*See Tim. See Tim tearing apart the closet and dresser drawers of an empty room. See Tim rinse and repeat this several times. See Tim angrily punch the wall. See Tim curse and go on to another room.*
Fucking ... There's got to be ... I can't be the only... GODDAMMIT!! Stupid mansion. I just want one fucking cigarette. Just one pack. Carton.
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Mmhh.
[...and is totally rubbing it in your face. ]
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Where did you get those???????
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Where did I get what?
[ Exhale~ ]
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The cigarettes!
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[ Pretending to think about it, lalalala~ ]
Slipped my mind.
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I dunno. What do you want?
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Sleep. Tailor-made clothes. Lobster Thermidor. One million dollars. You want me to go on?
I guess the real question is: What do you have that would convince me to give you some of my cigarettes, after you have been so rude and abrasive to me when I was politely asking a few simple questions?
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You die and come back and see if you want to talk about it.
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. . . .
. . . .
How long until the mansion is back to normal?
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. . . .
Basement. First door on the right.
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*He'll play right into your hands. Have a niccotine zombie*
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The room she's sent him to is her target practice OR. The moment he arrives there will be a scalpel flying past his ear and lodging itself into the wall behind him. ]
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Yeaaah. So uh.. I'm here.
*By which he means don't scalpel me to death*
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