She turns to face him, and although the resemblance is striking, is blaringly obvious, she is not the same woman. She has his jaw. She has his sleek economy of moment, although she doesn't advertise it in the same way, she has the same deep careful coldness in her eyes. She's too small, too deftly hidden to be a knife: she's a little razor tucked in a friendly palm.
He is - he's being threatening, a little, but it's a paltry thing compared to the man she's afraid of. (She is not afraid of him; she killed him; she won. He is nothing.) He doesn't know what's going on either, so he doesn't have the upper hand. It puts her - not on the offensive, exactly. But not on the defensive, either. She feels like she can handle this.
"Yes." Crisply, not as coldly as it it could be. They appear to be in this together, after all. "That seems too much for either of us to ask."
Her accent is just a shade to the west of Magda's, years of French and Swiss German and English as lingua franca leaving their mark on Russian and Romani roots.
no subject
He is - he's being threatening, a little, but it's a paltry thing compared to the man she's afraid of. (She is not afraid of him; she killed him; she won. He is nothing.) He doesn't know what's going on either, so he doesn't have the upper hand. It puts her - not on the offensive, exactly. But not on the defensive, either. She feels like she can handle this.
"Yes." Crisply, not as coldly as it it could be. They appear to be in this together, after all. "That seems too much for either of us to ask."
Her accent is just a shade to the west of Magda's, years of French and Swiss German and English as lingua franca leaving their mark on Russian and Romani roots.