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[h3][color=00a651]Vivianne Laurent - [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CdnYzIxQUWE]Cat Lady[/url][/color][/h3][/center]

Having a best friend had its own conveniences...sometimes.

Vivianne Laurent, sprawled elegantly within the cockpit of her Thermidor with a leather jacket blanketing tanned legs, quietly counted down to ten along with Evan (she was pleased to note that the girl hadn't messed up once; true progress!) after her final warning of 'danger close.' Any who stood in her heiress savant by now deserved to be mulched, and she wouldn't spare an ounce of pity to any whose last moments were spent bellowing at the nesting doll. Not when she could be devoting her attention to pursuits more likely to prolong her lifespan. 

Like ensuring Robespierre's comfort inside the cramped cockpit. He was licking idly at the glass neck of her beer bottle, but she was sure it'd be fine. Better to get him adjusted to the taste of the stale piss Jovians affectionately called beer while he was still a grouchy little bundle of superiority complex and cuteness,  [color=00a651][i]yes you are, yes you are, you galaxy conquering kitty you...![/i][/color]

The dust cloud kicked up by Evan's Pressman rockets was starting to clear, and Viv - with a reluctant sigh - allowed her little floofball co-pilot to take full command of her beer while her Frame hefted its Scapino into position. The custom monocular sight dropped down from the top of her cockpit, and Viv decided to take a peek and assess the damage.

Katya had already pummeled one Frame (whether that suit belonged to a Cronian or to the annoying little boy with the mouth was not Vivianne's concern) and it seemed that Evangeline's bombardment had stunned, if not quite obliterated, both remaining Racers. Like Marianne before her, the haughty French goddess of valor surveyed the two hostiles, sizing up the conditions of their battered Frames as she weighed whose life would be memorialized in her notebook.

Ah, right, the notebook.

[color=00a651]"Evan, my darling girl,"[/color] Vivianne spoke up over the radio for the first time, now that she finally had words that wouldn't be wasted on mindless banter with the other Ghosts, [color=00a651]"I'm going to want my dope."[/color]

She could practically hear the indecision crackling over Sparr's comms.

[color=a187be]"But...Viv, we're on a mission. I don't have any drugs."[/color]

The French girl sighed, disgusted.

[color=00a651]"Record [i]my shot[/i], idiot."[/color]

[color=a187be]"Oh."[/color]

Vivianne was growing impatient.

[color=a187be]"Okay Viv!"[/color]

She spared a long-suffering look at her cat before turning her focus back to her cockpit's monocular module.

[color=00a651]"One day, Mommy is going to teach [i]you[/i] to be a spotter,"[/color] she told the kitten. [color=00a651]"And you're going to be a good boy and record every shot we take when we rule the Outer Sphere."[/color]

She grinned and fired, directly at the shell-shocked cockpit of the farther Frame. The one she had spared could be easily picked off by Camille, or perhaps that drunkard Cowboy Troy. It was of no concern to her who got the kill. As long as there were dead Cronians.

Robespierre's tongue dabbed at his owner's beer.