[ She watches the Espurr, continuing the staring contest with no particular aim to make it a contest, only blinking at the word Invader. Some part of her is darkly amused, wondering what Bertolt or Armin would make of it, if they paid attention to this conversation on the network. So many public statements, and then one unintentionally close to a reality she wasn't sharing with people at large.

Oh no. Had to protect what she could here, since she could do jack shit about it elsewhere. Failure as a soldier and a warrior though she may be, she doesn't need to fail to allow people their happinesses where they can find them.

Still, it's an apt calling. Being the Invader is not so far off from a truth she'd been trained for most her life. Also preferable, really, to being the hammer brought down on the population: another truth she'd trained for most her life. Was it better being a nine year old used as an instrument to crush an opposing nation, or an eleven year old used to infiltrate an isolated, ignorant kingdom, hoping to steal back the royal family's trump card and lead to what would be the eradication of her people? Which really, was going to happen eventually anyway. ]

Seems like the kind of position I could manage.

[ No humour in her voice, dry or otherwise, but an almost absent acknowledgement of possibility. As for Cherrygrove: ]

It's a decent stretch of road to walk. Anyway, that makes it easier on the Pidgey Post. Expect something headed your way later this afternoon.