[Welp, It's Priscilla. And she looks slightly irritated. Maybe even more than slightly. Her nose is all wrinkly, and she's pacing a little, moving in and out of the camera's field as it sits, perched on her desk, recording her restlessness.]...I don't know how I get myself involved in these things. But I guess I'm going to be fighting in the
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[Yeah, Helen's bouncy too. For totally opposite reasons.]
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Well, it's not so much the beer as the match.
[So she's happier about the fighting than the drinking. Glad we cleared that up.]
It's not like we can lose!
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Well... in theory we could l-- ...well, no, we probably can't.
I definitely wouldn't mind the cheering though. But. Come to think of it, what if Deneve sees you. Or... err. It. The fight. [AND THE OBJECT OF THE FIGHT.]
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[The idea fully sinks in, and Helen blanches. Of all the times she's barely escaped death - Pieta. Isley. Priscilla herself. Nothing would be slower or more painful than the slice of Deneve's lineface.]
I'll just say I let him borrow it. No problem.
[BECAUSE YES, THAT WOULD MAKE IT BETTER SOMEHOW.]
[...]
[AND THIS IS PUBLIC.]
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