[The feed flares to life, the image that of a woman. Her expression is stern - in fact, stern is putting it lightly. The fierce knit of her brow and set of her jaw speaks of restrained fury, of an urge to go forth, to move held tightly in check. Her shoulders are squared, her head held high - the stance is regal, certainly, and her tone is
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Her breath catches in her throat. It's audible - a deafening sort of click.
(Trigger pulled.)
Another wet little click - like she's trying to say something. A retort. A denial. But nothing comes. Only a delicate, shaky little breath. The camera shakes, betraying a tremour in her fingers, and then drops suddenly onto a tabletop, clattering, the sound akin to shattering glass.
She forgets that she can be seen. She forgets that she can be heard. Her breath comes high and thin -]
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P-Princess, it's an honor to meet you!
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Her voice comes not quite so severe as before, but remains firm, set, stoney. She's still wary of whatever the terrorists might toss at her.]
You're a prisoner here, too?
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This could be fun.]
Not everyone is so courageous as you. Or would the better term be foolhardy?
[Making a few educated guesses, trying to sound like this Zero she so despises.]
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Unveiling yourself like this, Zero. You've made a very big mistake.
Briefly, she chuckles.]
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I see. And are you always this unhelpful?
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Are you fighting a shadow, or a ghost?
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I will fight whatever I have to.
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