[Coyolxauhqui's seated on a plush-looking pile of cotton textiles in a nondescript area of the Barge, casually sipping on some sort of frothy concoction. Her skin is cut to ribbons - ears, arms, legs, but she's scrubbed and polished and looking pleased with herself. She sips on the drink and then speaks, her voice sounding like her tongue might be
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I am going to shoot you. Remember that.
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Don't forget. I would hate to surprise you.
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[Nahuatl:] I will see your chest wrenched open first.
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Then afterward we'll have our encounter.
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