=12= [video]
[The video turns on just as the Forge is a little too close to a pair of big blue eyes.]
And it's yours, Deneve?
[As she turns her head and lowers the Forge, the owner of the blue eyes can be seen. She's a young girl, about twelve years old with sunny blonde hair and what seems to be a terminal frown. She glares off screen, presumably in Deneve's direction.]
Yes. It's mine.
[Deneve's voice is strange, uncharacteristically uncertain and deferential.]
You should give it to me.
If you want it, it's yours. Anything. You can have it.
[Shaky. She takes a breath.]
Anything? You do owe me an awful lot, baby sister.
[The little girl smiles and ceases to look like a little girl. It twists her mouth and turns the shadows across her face into dark valleys, monstrous shades. She doesn't look quite human.]
I know. I want... I want you to be happy. That's all I want. I'll do anything.
Well, that's a start.
[She lets the Forge slip from her hands and it lands on the ground, still broadcasting. Deneve is on the ground, on her knees with her shoulders bent as if they are heavy. The little girl approaches her, touches her hair. And Deneve smiles. A weak little thing, as if she had forgotten how to do it until this moment. And the little girl reaches beyond Deneve's head and takes a hold of the hilt of one of the swords that rests there. She draws it, nicking Deneve's face in the process, though the Claymore doesn't even flinch.
The girl holds the sword, wobbly on her feet from the weight of it, and grins like a wicked thing.]
I don't really like your haircut.
[Her eyes look a little wild and she glances sideways, toward Deneve and back to the giant sword in her hands that she is somehow lifting despite her own small size. She catches sight of the Forge and, suddenly remembering it, kicks it aside. As she turns back toward the Claymore, raising the woman's own sword above her head, the Forge's rolling cuts the transmission.]
[ooc: Responses will be delayed, probably until morning. ^^;]
And it's yours, Deneve?
[As she turns her head and lowers the Forge, the owner of the blue eyes can be seen. She's a young girl, about twelve years old with sunny blonde hair and what seems to be a terminal frown. She glares off screen, presumably in Deneve's direction.]
Yes. It's mine.
[Deneve's voice is strange, uncharacteristically uncertain and deferential.]
You should give it to me.
If you want it, it's yours. Anything. You can have it.
[Shaky. She takes a breath.]
Anything? You do owe me an awful lot, baby sister.
[The little girl smiles and ceases to look like a little girl. It twists her mouth and turns the shadows across her face into dark valleys, monstrous shades. She doesn't look quite human.]
I know. I want... I want you to be happy. That's all I want. I'll do anything.
Well, that's a start.
[She lets the Forge slip from her hands and it lands on the ground, still broadcasting. Deneve is on the ground, on her knees with her shoulders bent as if they are heavy. The little girl approaches her, touches her hair. And Deneve smiles. A weak little thing, as if she had forgotten how to do it until this moment. And the little girl reaches beyond Deneve's head and takes a hold of the hilt of one of the swords that rests there. She draws it, nicking Deneve's face in the process, though the Claymore doesn't even flinch.
The girl holds the sword, wobbly on her feet from the weight of it, and grins like a wicked thing.]
I don't really like your haircut.
[Her eyes look a little wild and she glances sideways, toward Deneve and back to the giant sword in her hands that she is somehow lifting despite her own small size. She catches sight of the Forge and, suddenly remembering it, kicks it aside. As she turns back toward the Claymore, raising the woman's own sword above her head, the Forge's rolling cuts the transmission.]
[ooc: Responses will be delayed, probably until morning. ^^;]