FLICKER
(calling)
Mom, I'm sorry!

Ms. Quincy whirls around, fury on her face, and holds out her hand expectantly, the other on her hip.

MS. QUINCY
(tightly)
Backpack. Now.

Flicker clutches the backpack to her chest beseechingly.

MS. QUINCY

Now.

Flicker hesitantly hands over the backpack dejectedly and her mother snatches it as soon as it is in range.

MS. QUINCY

We've talked about this, Flicker! You can't mess around with these things! They're dangerous and illegal.

(softer)
Please, for my sake - stop playing with holo-figs.

Flicker hesitates before nodding, her eyes downcast. Ms. Quincy searches her daughter's face for another moment before walking over, bending down, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.