[For a moment, that smile unnerves Frill. She's reminded of another kind smile from another kind woman, the one who extended a hand to Frill. (To extend the already overwrought metaphor: Azusa hadn't bitten the fruit of knowledge, didn't know what the thing living in her her her home was. She hadn't known even when Frill killed her.) Camellia's expression provokes a jolt of what had been a constant, quiet companion to Frill for the past fourteen years, and she stares at the hand for a moment, face blank and uncomprehending.
Then she looks at that smile and sees something reflected in it. A glimmer of... programming? Practice. Practice, that was it. Not wholecloth artificiality, but that well-worn practiced quality, again and again and again, just like Frill's "so adorable" premade routines.
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Then she looks at that smile and sees something reflected in it. A glimmer of... programming? Practice. Practice, that was it. Not wholecloth artificiality, but that well-worn practiced quality, again and again and again, just like Frill's "so adorable" premade routines.
She grins widely, one of them kicking in now.]
Okay!
[And Frill takes Camellia's hand.]