Cassandra takes a deep, sharp breath and holds it for a beat.
"I would appreciate it greatly," and her voice begins unevenly but steadies itself as she speaks, "if you could give me some idea of the risks you mean, when you say 'not a very good idea.' If that isn't something you can tell me, I understand."
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[which isn't an answer, so, like.]
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"Indeed. Well, I mustn't take up any more of your time."
But she hesitates, before turning away, in case there's anything else Friday has to say.
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"Did you know the prior passengers? The ghosts?"
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Almost all her poise is gone. Her arms are folded around herself as though against bitter cold, or in some useless sketch of self-protection.
"Is there any way to, to communicate with them now? Any way at all?"
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[...]
I'm very sorry...
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"I would appreciate it greatly," and her voice begins unevenly but steadies itself as she speaks, "if you could give me some idea of the risks you mean, when you say 'not a very good idea.' If that isn't something you can tell me, I understand."
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Breathing out, this time, slow and weary. "Or regardless, it would be risking something similar."
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Sometimes... dead is better.
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She twists her face sharply away, cutting herself off.
It'll be another moment before she can say anything else.
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"I'm sorry to have troubled you. Thank you for answering my questions."
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