She’s still, camera adjusting from time to time, but still. She might be considering her move, or how to respond to his questions, but it’s not apparent; at least until she moves the leftmost pawn forward two spots. Then, she replies.
“I suppose I can imagine. A firm image, stuck in that brain of yours, like a screen burn.” She looks up at John. “And it won’t go away without you not thinking about it for hours.”
She seems to think. A billion calculations, every second, rush through that little database she trundles about on. “If you’re not hungry, at least drink some water. And do not let it fly around Thunderbird 5. You know I’m frightened it’ll damage my camera.”
Her worried state drops disconcertingly quickly, probably to try and make him more cheery too. “Oooh, yes please! I think you’ll win, in honesty, but I’ll still put up a fight—“
She swiftly stops herself, before she examines him, his shaking becoming too obvious (to her, at least). With behaviours akin to a not-as-intelligent robot staring him down, she seems to read his behaviours like a book. “Do you… would you like to eat first? Maybe that will help the shaking.” It’s difficult to name the emotion in her voice.