They push-off, each of them breaking away from the other.
Angle, past HANS to SABRE. There’s at least fifteen feet between them, now. SABRE is raising her sword in mock-salute as she continues to back away.
As I am not clear on the top of this vessel, what I’d like to propose is that she is nearing a precipice or peak of some sort. Otherwise, she’s reaching the start of the slope in earnest. Figure she’s either going to slide or dive from the vessel in a moment.
1. SABRE: This HAS been grand, Hans. Just like OLD
Close on SABRE, as she collapses her sword. Again, the smirk, the glint in the eye.
2. SABRE: Alas, I’m afraid it’s time for me to go.
HANS rushes towards her, as SABRE turns away.
3. SABRE: Give First Schrade my regards, won’t you?
4. HANS: No, no you–
SABRE looking back over her shoulder at us. If it were film, she’d wink. As it is, the grin and the gleam.
5. SABRE: I’m sure we’ll see each other again, soon.