SABRE is on her feet and facing DRAKE. DRAKE is as calm and complacent as ever.
SABRE is – not unreasonably – insulted.
1. SABRE: It’s fortunate for you that I’m a woman, then.
2. SABRE: You play dangerous cards, Miles Drake. Even in Tanitin, a
challenge to one’s honor must be answered.
3. DRAKE: Answer it, then.
DRAKE has moved a step closer, so they’re all but face-to-face. He’s not going to back down.
SABRE has turned coldly furious.
4. DRAKE: You’re sailing to Makers knows where, with a map which –
5. DRAKE: - if it does as you say –
6. DRAKE: - foretells the fates of nations…
7. DRAKE: …I’ll damn well question both your honor and your intention.
Face-to-face now, even closer.
1. SABRE: You’re very provincial, you know that?
New angle, SABRE has turned away, leaving DRAKE frustrated and somewhat surprised. He was really hoping he’d get an answer or two.
2. SABRE: It’s almost charming.
3. DRAKE: Dammit, woman—
DRAKE has reached out for SABRE’S arm. She’s turning back to him, surprised.
4. DRAKE: —I’ll know your intentions!
5. SABRE: You’ll take your hand from me is what you’ll do, Marshal…
Dangerous light flickering in her eyes, despite the easy smile.
6. SABRE: …or you’ll need one less holster on your hip.