[i]"I will admit..."

Her eyes flit about the room, drinking in details. Relative details, mostly. How is she dressed? What does her hair look like? Does her perspective of the room feel at all unusual or disjointed? Can she recall details of other parts of her life to measure that against, or is this she is? Does her appearance differ from what she sees of herself in the reflection of Timtam's eyes? Or the griffon's? 

She looks, and she looks, and she looks. The lazy curiosity of a dreaming mind inventing puzzles to reassemble itself.

"I almost always find myself on the back foot when I play games with you. Especially when I agree to let you choose the board."

Her finger lowers toward the Detective, the only piece she has in play. Compared to Timtam's wide range of options and mystery, Eclair's seems both painfully obvious and completely cut off. She has no legal moves that do not lead to her losing it to the Paladins, save one. But that move is costly, painful, and above all else: boring. To invoke it would be almost pure petulance. The battle cry of a sore loser. It might even be worse than flipping the table and pouncing on her directly. At least that would constitute a measure of decisiveness and self respect.

"But if you understood my aims, or the power of this piece, you would not dare to ask me such a ridiculous question."

She taps her finger on the Detective's head. Brushes it fondly, and then lets go. Forfeiture of a single turn. Base, petty stalling. The worst sort of sportsmanship imaginable.

Eclair looks down and then around again. What's changed, what's changing, what's different? Is anything? Is this board secretly a chain around her wrists and throat? Or is what she can perceive all that is going on here? She listens to the rain hit the window, and can't help but smile.

"No. I am not ready. If you think you can end this, then end it yourself. But I will make it cost you."[/i]