Yeah... I still don't understand what the fuck was up with that. [her brain... hurts.] Are we in a Matrix knock-off and that's why you keep talking about recalibration?
Not all of us can sustain ourselves with blenders, Mrs. Hammond. [but at least they sound somewhat amused.] That would require having additional hours to be used to prep. I don't have those.
Work, mostly. [they set the noodles down and fold their arms over their chest.] Habit. Countless other things that require attention that no one else takes seriously.
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[Give her a second to stare off into the distance. It's fine.]
Okay, but. Wait. How can hallucinations hurt us? Hallucinations are, by definition, not real. And those injuries were very fucking real.
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Can you blame me for finding it to be a bit farfetched?
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Regardless, I'm afraid you won't be able to return to that place, so perhaps it's best to set your sights elsewhere.
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[Unconvinced, but. Okay.]
Do you think another "error" like that will happen again?
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[they are still eating them though.]
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[SHE HUFFS...]
And yet, you're still eating them. Are you used to making them yourself?
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But no, I am not. It's been some time since I've cooked for myself.
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Really? I thought you would cook for yourself more often after what you said about the vending machines.
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[they will ignore that she's sticking her tongue out and also the corpse juice.]
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[sorry that her dietary restrictions.]
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[She says, like she has meal prepped in the last few weeks. It's fine.]
What keeps you so busy, anyway? Keeping an eye on us can't take that much time.
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