Report 001: Not in Balamb anymore
[There's a young woman dressed in what looks like black motorcycle riding leathers, a dufflebag slung over one shoulder and a large scabbard strapped to her back. She's scowling up at the nearest buildings like she's annoyed with everything, and in a way, she is. She's on a cellphone, and is attempting to be polite.]
I wish to speak with the President please. ...What do you mean? Yes, the President of Template of course--what? Mayor?
[She glowers even more darkly, her lips pressed into a tense line. She pulls a folded piece of paper out of her jacket, unfolds it, and looks it over again before putting it away. She is Not Amused. This does not reflect in her voice, as she remains calm and collected.]
No, it was simply a misunderstanding. Thank you for your time.
[Snapping the phone shut with one hand, she sighs heavily, reaching up to rub a scar on her forehead as if to ease a building headache. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone wrong. Again.]
I wish to speak with the President please. ...What do you mean? Yes, the President of Template of course--what? Mayor?
[She glowers even more darkly, her lips pressed into a tense line. She pulls a folded piece of paper out of her jacket, unfolds it, and looks it over again before putting it away. She is Not Amused. This does not reflect in her voice, as she remains calm and collected.]
No, it was simply a misunderstanding. Thank you for your time.
[Snapping the phone shut with one hand, she sighs heavily, reaching up to rub a scar on her forehead as if to ease a building headache. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone wrong. Again.]