|❀PHONE; FILTERED; China.|
[How should she phrase this? 'We need to talk'? 'I want to talk to you'? Either would imply the uncertainty she feels about the situation, something that she is not willing to expose to her brother. Vietnam doesn't even want to do this in the first place, but with the things that have happened in the last couple of weeks, it's become necessary.
It is with some bitterness that she notes for the ten thousandth (hundred thousandth) time that, try as she might to emerge from it, she will always be in the shadow of the dragon.
History repeats itself.
She speaks in faintly accented Chinese, paranoid of how well the filters work- or don't work.]
We must talk. Today.
[There is a pause, before a very stiff, but respectful-sounding:] Anh. ['Brother', in Vietnamese. She hangs up almost immediately afterward.]
|❀ACTION|
[Vietnam is in the driveway of her house on 1762 Beaver Street. She's got a
used motorcycle parked there, and is cleaning it out. She appears to be very familiar with what she is doing, barely needing to pay attention to the various parts as she gives them a thorough oiling and/or dusting. This type of motorcycle is very dated- and not even of a manufacturer she's familiar with- but it's the mode of transportation she uses at home. She doesn't know how to drive a car (tanks, fighter jets, and the like are no problem, out of necessity) because they just aren't a very convenient mode of transportation in her country. Motorcycles, however, are a highly efficient way to get around, and a way she used very often during the American War.
If you try to talk to her about yesterday's droning, it's likely that she will outright ignore you. She's trying to forget it ever happened. Vietnam eventually stands up, throws the oily rags to the ground, and climbs on the motorcycle. When she starts it up, it purrs. A smile plays faintly about her lips but does not fully surface. She murmurs.] ...Not too bad.
[She'll be taking it on a test drive throughout town, so you might see her.]