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Post by Impactor/"Imp" on Jan 29, 2012 21:36:32 GMT -5
"Naw, you should be," Imp replies, shrugging. "Just making sure. And apparently your name is..." she pauses to remember. "Raymond Stanz, or something. I don't know any details about whatever else you might have been."
She slams her shovel into the dirt to leave it upright, then heads over to a small pile of equipment and grabs up what looks like a datapad of some sort. A human tablet. She holds it with her hook, tapping it a few times, then hands it over to Pincher. "Stylus on the right. Just push and it'll pop out."
Apparently, there's a procedure for this sort of thing. Also apparent is that many forms and contracts never see paper form anymore.
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Post by Raymond Stantz on Jan 29, 2012 21:59:26 GMT -5
"Raymond... oh! That is one of aliases they had worked out for me in case I ever needed to pass as a real human for some reason. Raymond Stantz," Pincher explains. He is unaware of the joke that has been played upon him. "Uhm, also. Where am I? I do not think this is Bhopal. For one thing, the headstones are all in English."
He points at one headstone absently. Then he takes the tablet and follows her directions to sign. It takes him a little while, because he has to stop and think about how to write 'Raymond Stantz' in English - to him, it is just nonsense syllables, but there are glyphs in Cybertronian that approximate those nonsense syllables, and those are what he thinks of first.
His signature comes out looking a bit like a Courier New, but at least, it is readable.
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Post by Impactor/"Imp" on Jan 30, 2012 13:21:59 GMT -5
Imp has no particular reason to know that there's anything odd about the signature. "Haven't been able to get in touch with the Autobots yet, but I can give you the address to where I crash in case you need to get a hold of me." No phone? Seriously? In this day and age? "Your cover identity come with contact info?"
OOC: Fade?
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Post by Raymond Stantz on Jan 30, 2012 13:35:56 GMT -5
Pincher is having trouble thinking of anything as 'odd' at the moment, so Impactor lacking a phone passes without comment.
He admits, "It does, but... all of my ID is stuck in subspace." He gives her a phone number anyway, because his cover ID had a cell phone. "Actually, I wonder... if I can just 'dial' that subspace pocket... do you know where the nearest junkyard is? Then I can try to pull together a radio, too, to call back to base, and I can drop by and let you borrow it."
Yes, Pincher thinks that breaking the laws of physics with a box of scraps to access stuff he left in another dimension is probably easier than going through the Office of Vital Records.
He's probably right.
OOC: Fade.
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