[Hannah has learned, accidentally or experimentally, appropriate camera distance. Look, it's her whole face, complete with big hair, and those long pointy ears. She--not quite grins, but, well, she looks amused, if not a bit smug.]

Separate of the whole bullshit kidnapping thing, these little faceboxes are fucking cool.

But, [she looks more critical now, kind of squinting] really seems like there's a ton of humans. Where's, you know, the rest of the world?

[Was she kidnapped to fill a quota or something? Because that's just awkward. Maybe they should throw her back and get a better elf.]

[ If you’ve never seen someone who’s very close to death, you have now. The image broadcast is of a wearied-looking soldier who is fairly torn up, sporting dozens of gashes to the face and badly-cracked military-grade armor. The woman in question looks tired, yes, but there’s something almost relieved about her expression, about the way she sighs long and deep before speaking, taking her time in sending out a message. ]

Never thought being dead would look and feel just like living. [ Does that sound too unamused? Ah, well. She pauses, considers what to say; it’s difficult when you’ve recently been more or less dissolved into atoms and then woke up in a gooey pod. Among... other things. ]

This is Command-- [ The woman cuts off, brows knit as she reconsiders. ] ... This is Shepard, formerly Commander of the SSV Normandy, Alliance Navy. I don’t know where this is, exactly, but I think I know what it’s supposed to be.

[ Do the specifics of the afterlife matter so much once you're dead, though? Shepard smiles distantly, voice surprisingly easy despite all the unknown factors. ]

I need to find the bar. Promised someone I’d be there.