[ Her brows knit, feeling the wash over of death, familiar - but she had long stopped reacting when she saw it now. But this is different, this is the wash of the first time she saw that shocked her, made her realise there were things as terrible as they could be beautiful. Something terrible there that she doesn't know what to make of, or if she should even speak of what she feels. There is always something to close about death, even when it's merely observed, something so shockingly intimate to those instances. ]

Yes. [ It's a compliment and it's not. For her at least, it is simply so. Her eyes are blue and her hair is black and she is knowledgeable. Her eyes lower, quietly reaching for what she has in mind. Angel's fingers slipping underneath it, grasping the long barrel of the gun and under the upper receiver. Settling it's weight evenly as she lifts it up. It's a long weapon, and where she's only slight in build and height, especially so. ] On Pandora, the planet I come from, ending life is cheap, [ that mute tone to match that blurry body, those softened scratched out details, of screaming in elated pain, yes, it is a blessing to burn, and sometimes people did it willingly to themselves. ] but the bullets that do it are expensive. This is a weapon that needs only one, it's called a Sniper Rifle. Each shot needs care and consideration, done from a great distance and most people who use it study for years to learn how to get it right. You have to measure before you fire, the air, the terrain, and the way your breath moves your body. All to take one perfect shot that will end a life, instantly.

[ She means, gently in the way that they're talking about death and aren't at all, I think it suits you. ]