"Fair 'nough," she shrugs, and moves to sort of half sit, half lean against the nearby desk and regards Eight thoughtfully for a moment.

"So," she starts, after a moment, "tomorrow's the eighth day, and you're Eight. Should I be preppin' to fight you tomorrow, or d'you got a different game? Somethin' tells me you're not a performer like Four or Six," she finishes with a grin, and the mental image of this quiet monster suddenly belting out an opera solo.