// 034. [video]
[Do you recognize this place, Anatole? Well, you probably won't unless you're Yazoo or Ezio. Or Mustang or Scar. Or maybe Riza. (Or someone on the police force BUT WHATEVER, YOU GET THE PICTURE.) Regardless, it's same old not-so-same-old. The stone walls are the same, as is the stained and charred floor. Even the chair.
What's different is the occupant. It's not an Anatolian this time, but one of the invading red elves. Some of the blood covering her skin is her own, and not mistbirthed. A line of broken skin arcs along her brow, split and bleeding into her eyes. Pooling into the coppercrusted wells that are already there, old blood mingling with new.
The shaft of an arrow protrudes from her shoulder, pinning her upright in the chair. An elven arrow.
And now Dawn is yelling back over her shoulder out the window.]
Fine. You won't trade her for one of ours, I'll just do something else. But at least I'm not eating her!
[Jerks.]
Where do I turn her in?
What's different is the occupant. It's not an Anatolian this time, but one of the invading red elves. Some of the blood covering her skin is her own, and not mistbirthed. A line of broken skin arcs along her brow, split and bleeding into her eyes. Pooling into the coppercrusted wells that are already there, old blood mingling with new.
The shaft of an arrow protrudes from her shoulder, pinning her upright in the chair. An elven arrow.
And now Dawn is yelling back over her shoulder out the window.]
Fine. You won't trade her for one of ours, I'll just do something else. But at least I'm not eating her!
[Jerks.]
Where do I turn her in?