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>Lifa’s DNI. Her document, where her hair looks perfectly natural.
Lucinda looks at Lifa, Lifa looks a Lucinda. Neither says a thing.
Lifa: Why are you looking at me like that?
ರೃ Lucinda: Something fell off your pockets. I was waiting for you to notice.
Lifa: What? Really? Oh, really.
But when Lifa bends to pick it up it’s Lucinda’s dainty hand that grabs it first. The blonde turns and turns the ID until the light from the lamp lets her see the Lifa on the document with clarity- and Lucinda whistles. Or at least attempts to, but het.
ರೃ Lucinda: So; you did look like a normal human being at some point.
Lifa: So what? What’s good about that?
A full head shorter, Lifa snatches the identification from the blonde in a blur.
ರೃ Lucinda: Alondra Rodriguez. Nineteen. Twenty in a week and a half. You are hitting the ceiling.
The 'ceiling' is an expression for reaching twenty years of age. It remains a very rare feat.
Lifa: It is much easier to live longer when you are retired. It’s kind of ironic…
ರೃ Lucinda: Retired. You do not hunt Witches.
Lifa shakes her head firmly, as firmly as she must have been when she made that final call: "This is as far as I'm going to get".
Lifa: I have my stash of Grief Seeds and that’s it. The less I fear death the longer I’ll stretch my days.
ರೃ Lucinda: I should not even bother with the mammoth, then.
Lifa downcasts her eyes.
