Alessia, Ilad, Terry, Xen
It has been a long full day of chasing down a tangle of threads and loose ends, some leading to nothing, an others leading to the sour expression sitting on Terry's face, at least. Terry sits back in a chair, resting an empty plate on her stomach while she waits for the others to sample the smorgasboard of room service ordered in in Rossi's dime. "At least we can be reasonably sure it's not /terrorists/ that they are funding."
Alessia is helping herself to ...something edible. At least she hopes it is, before she's curling her legs under her and sitting on one of the couches. Red hair is tugged back in a loose ponytail, a hint of a frown. "At least not with what we've seen. Ah just...somethin' doesn't seem right. But that could be the cynicism of the job talking."
Xen sits on one of the chairs of the room, staring across at the wide array of rich and somewhat unfamiliar foods, his own face pensive and set. His plate is over on the table, waiting for him to pick it up and put that food on it. "So it would seem." Blue eyes glance over to Terry before he gets up and retrieves his plate, putting a little bit of this and that onto it as he samples the food. "Kid's awfully paranoid, though. Then again, considering the reading material you found yesterday, not hard to see where it might be stemming from."
Carefully picking apart a shrimp puff into its component particles, or at least, shreds, with the tiny shrimp fork provided him, Ilad does not appear to be in any danger of actually eating it yet. "If you were to try to compose a profile of me based on the contents of my bookcase," he remarks, and then aborts that line of reasoning with a tink of silver against china. "Although if I were going to donate to a terorrist organization, I would do so with large sums of cash, and I would not hesitate to cover my tracks with more readily traceable financial activity."
Terry drums her fingernails against the china. "It /doesn't/ all add up," she says, agreeing with Alessia. "What prompted it?" She looks over at Ilas and grimaces. "It is hard to put an exact figure on what they have won, so tis impossible to say where else they may be spending the money." Her face pulls into a frowning pout as she glares at one of the dishes. Poor dish. It hasn't done anything to deserve it. "Who is this Marcus, and how does he play into things?"
"Ah'm with Ilad. If Ah was gonna hide somethin', throwin' people off by bein' charitable would be a good start. The guy is /really/ smart, an' he's paranoid on top of it. Ah can't help thinkin' there's somethin' we can find, one little thread to pull, to help us unravel the whole thing so we can see the whole picture for what it is." Alessia toys with some food on her plate, frowning. "He's got to be behind the scenes. Ah don't think he was at the gamin' table, at least."
"Hard to know. Too many pieces that don't all tie in easily. He could be the old guy at the slots, but it's hard to tell for sure. I think we might need to try and get a good look at these folks outside of the casino. Give us a better idea of who Marcus is and what he does." Xen moves back to his chair, plate with food on it, though he doesn't start feasting just yet, despite the smorgasbord. Everyone's SO good at eating, aren't they?
Ilad gathers up flaky puff pastry and creamy shrimp filling and scallions all together on his tiny fork for a bite. Tapping its slender tines lightly against the curve of his lower lip, he says, "If their resources are essentially limitless, their goals could potentially center anywhere, and yet still have room for a little Robin Hood." He cocks an eyebrow in Xen's direction. "Such as what did you have in mind?"
"We are working under a time limit here. If they hold true to their pattern, they will not stay much longer." Terry finally uncurls and leans forward, sliding out of her chair and to her knees to crawl closer to the food spread out on tables and carts. She lifts one cover, and then another, trying to identify it before eating it. "If they are not already gone. Chiu certainly is pushing for sooner rather than later."
"Watchin' him last night, he could clear a whole lot in not so much time." Al pauses, fork digging into something delicious. "Sorry, /they/ could. Ah just think the donations they made are nothing compared to what they're clearing in a trip." She frowns at yummy food. "They've seen me...it would be best to have me off at a distance while one of ya close in, an' make it casual if ya want me listenin' in at all."
"Nothing specific other than not sending me, sadly," Xen responds to Ilad with a darkly wry twist of his mouth. "I almost got spotted in Vegas trying to follow a bartender. Trying to follow any of these people will only blow our cover." His gaze takes in Terry and Ilad, "One of you might be best to do it since you have some skills in it." He eyes the food on his plate almost warily, but decides to try a small bite of something. He must find it acceptable at least, because he has a real bite of it after that. His eyes look over to Alessia, "You could always hang out and try your luck at the slots."
"Surveillance is not a skill of mine," Ilad corrects mildly, with a lift of an eyebrow; puzzlement reflecting faintly in his expression, he gathers more shrimp onto his fork.
"Follow them to what end though?" Terry asks impatiently. "We already know what they are doing in the casinos." A pause and she glances over her shoulder. "In general, if not precisely in specific."
"Find this Marcus. He or one of the others might be makin' more questionable financial transactions. Or have somethin' else of value." Alessia offers, a glance up from her plate between bites.
Xen shrugs slightly, looking at the others. "At least get an eye on him. Make some sort of real confirmation about who he is. Maybe find out what his role is in this little group aside from making these masks. Finding out how he's doing it would be useful, too." The pilot scowls down at his plate, picking at another item of two on his plate tentatively.
Terry's lips twitch and she looks down at a spinchy-looking affair before shoveling some blindly onto her plate. "Or we could just take them in, CIA wishes be damned," she puts out, letting the words hang in the air.
Ilad sets his fork down beside his plate and shifts forward in his seat, roofing his hands together over in a loose interlace of his fingers. "Arrest them all, let God sort it out?"
Xen settles back in his seat, his eyes coming up to look over at Terry and her idea. "And do what with them?" Not like he has any other ideas about what to do. He eyes his plate again, pushing some of the food around on it, though he doesn't eat any further treats.
"We could, but if they are mixed up in fundraising, that would only scatter the other bits to the wind, and we'd have nothin' but a couple of people who were smart enough to beat the casinos." Al points out with a sigh, before she's digging into some fish dish.
"We have, or can get, enough to shut down the scam at least. We have even less evidence that they are doing anything beyond the good Samaritan act." Terry turns and squirms to pull her legs into a cross-legged position. "If we do nothing..." They hand over evidence to the CIA and go home.
"I don't know," Ilad murmurs, tapping his thumbs lightly against each other. "We have not exactly been asked to hunt down hardened killers here."
"No, but they could be getting money to get guns for them. The question is, is it enough, or close enough for us, to be bothered with?" Al pokes at a blini with her fork. "How far do we chase something that may or may not be? How much do we listen to what all of us feel, that there's more going on than we've found?"
"It doesn't matter if we listen, if we run out of /time/," Terry retorts, frustration harshing her voice. "If we do nothing, if we wait and watch and listen, they will be gone tomorrow. Thursday at the latest. Do we risk /that/?"
"If we do nothing, then the CIA gets to figure out where they'll be next, and if they want to shut them down themselves," Xen supplies. He listens to Al, eyes going to her speculatively himself before looking back over to Terry. "What about talking to them directly? Do we dare that? It would give away our cover, but." Once again, he has no answers, spreading his hands a touch helplessly.
"It need not necessarily give away our cover," Ilad says, with the cock of an eyebrow. "We might have to exercise our subtlety, however." He reaches for another hors d'ouvre to match the first he has picked and poked his way through.
Terry makes a face. She has not had good experience with talking to people lately. (Hello, Laura). "We do more than blow our cover. We blow the CIA's as well. Allowing them to know that their paranoia is well-founded will drive them to ground and make them change their game." She looks to Ilad and eyes him curiously. "What manner would your subtlety be taking?"
Xen simply nods to Terry in acknowledgement of her point, choosing to take an item from the plate and chew on it thoughtfully. Maybe so that he doesn't open his big mouth again. He also looks over at Ilad inquiringly. Subtlety is not exactly the pilot's strong suit. But he's not against it, either.
Alessia is also engaging in eating, waiting to hear ideas that could lead to a game plan.
"I am not certain," Ilad admits, slicing into pastry with his fork once more. "It depends on what our goal would be with a direct confrontation, I imagine. If we are most concerned that they might be funding terrorists, however, we might take on that mantle for a cause ... appropriate." He blows a low snort past his nose and adds, "Though the time constraint..."
Terry sets her plate on the floor and scrubs her face before running her hands up into her hair and pulling it from her face as she exhales. "Alright. We will watch for an opening to exploit. Perhaps, if the old man /is/ Marcus, he would respond to some friendly overtures. We find out as much as we can, and turn the evidence over. Maybe we can get another chance with them in the future..."
Alessia slides a hand up to rub at the back of her neck, eyes on her plate as she listens to the others. She nods to Terry's idea, while still picking at her food.
"Personally, I want to know where Chiu's head is at." Xen sits back in the chair thoughtfully, resting the fork on the plate in his lap lightly as he looks at noting but empty space. "He's paranoid and angry enough to worry me with this scheme he's got going because it /can/ lead to what the CIA is worried about if it doesn't already. But then you have Fatima, when she can influence him, possibly doing this to be a better person. I'm not sure I can exactly /condemn/ that, even if their methods aren't exactly on the up and up." As Terry speaks, Xen goes quiet again and nods to her idea. "Hopefully we can get another chance with them in the future. Before they do something really stupid."
Ilad falls quiet in turn, tipping his head slightly in Xen's direction as he forks up another bite of his pastry puff.
Terry looks around at the group, then nods and blows out a breath. Consensus reached, apparently. And that means time to pay attention to the lavish spread. Sometimes, a little revenge is sweet.
Plans!
From the highest points of the city, Monaco is quite simply, stunning. The only reason they know the man standing there is Marcus Paul is because they've been tracking his movements. He's wearing a neat suit and appears to be a rather handsome, olive-skinned man. Nothing at all like his picture. But close inspection reveals that his facial expression rarely changes. On a first glance, there's nothing wrong. But the longer one looks, the odder he seems.
He leans on a railing of a balcony of the Hotel de Paris. A public rooftop veranda with a bar tended to by a man in white linens. Three or four people lounge in the sun as the crystal blue waters spread out in front of them. Marcus fingers a casino chip worth five hundred Euros.
"Quite a sight," Terry breathes as she steps up beside Marcus, a flute of something bright and effervescent in her hand. Dressed for the evening in her borrowed plumage, she is still understated for the venue and time. She leans forward, elbows on the railing, and looks out across the cityscape with an expression that appears unjaded. Out of the corner of her eyes, she keeps an eye on Ilad, while Alessia is settled somewhere behind them.
Ilad is darkly olive-gold himself, though he does not wear the three-piece suit of pale grey mutedly windowpaned in darker grey in a way that suggests comfort with it; rather, his carriage has drawn even stiffer than usual in this unfamiliar uniform. He has claimed a drink in a tinkle of ice and the effervesce of soda, warmly amber as it catches the bright sunlight. He is within range to observe, or to linger inobtrusively over his drink with an abstracted look.
Alessia is ever so casually seated elsewhere, in a pretty light little frock. Some fruity looking drink fills her own flute, the stem twisted between her fingers as she looks outwards from the roof, her expression daydreamy. In truth, she's very focused on trying to listen in, and monitor the others around, in case Chiu or Bowler show up.
Initially, Xen is not out on the rooftop with the others, but inside the hotel, listening to the start of the conversation through the discreet earpiece they are all wearing. However, the pilot soon strides casually out onto the rooftop veranda, dressed smartly in his own rather expensive suit, the sharp lines complimenting his taller, athletic form. And while it is also not his uniform of choice, he seems to wear it well enough as he steps up to the bar, his blue eyes looking around the bar as he orders his drink.
Marcus turns towards Terry. His expression is blank. One might read it as unimpressed, except for the sadness in his eyes. He looks at her only for a moment, then out at the water. "Extravagant." He hauls back and flings the chip off the rooftop, down into the city below. He speaks a bit like one might after a dentist appointment where freezing was required. << Can't wait to get out of here. >>
Terry slides a look toward him from the corner of her eye, brows arching. "Must have been a good run for you, if you can afford to be throwing that away," she drawls. She turns away and lifts her glass to sip at the drink.
Al is doing her best to casually keep everyone in the loop. "Itching to get out..." Murmuring into her comm before she's sipping at her drink. Just dancy juice, so she's not drinking on the job!
Ilad is drinking on the job! He drinks very slowly, though, and the whiskey is diluted by ice and club soda, so for the moment we will presume he is not too inebriated to be focused and of use, should need of him arise. He remains quiet. This should come as a shock and surprise to all concerned.
Marcus turns and gives her a look, head to toe. "How is me throwing this chip away any worse than you blowing ten grand on some patterned gauze?" He's referring to her dress. << What does this chick want? There's better-looking guys here. Fatima better get here soon. >> He checks his watch. He sighs heavily and leans on the railing. "I suppose the city's been good to me." His voice sounds both younger than his appearance suggests and younger than they know him to be.
Al flinches a little bit, shifting in her seat to stretch her legs out. "Suspicious because there's hotter guys, waiting for Fatima." She pretends to be toying with her glass, eyes watching around her from under lowered lashes.
"Borrowed, boyo. Only borrowed," Terry laughs, turning to face him, still leaning one elbow on the railing. She doesn't bother to hide the flicker of discomfort when confronted with features that don't sit quite right, but she chases it away with a breezily good-natured openness. "Fickle city. Must have done something right." Her voice starts to sway rhythmically. "Have any tips for a newbie?"
Xen is completely shocked. And while Xen is normally one to talk to just about anyone that enter his personal sphere, he is quiet himself. Of course, that might also be because no one bothers to approach him to talk, other than the bartender that takes and serves his drink. He takes a sip, then wanders over to one of the railings so that he can watch the rooftop. And upon Alessia's quiet message, his eyes casually wander over towards the entrance to the balcony.
There is the sound of laughter, but not the right facial movements from Marcus. "This city's only purpose is to drain you of your money. At least this place does it with class." Marcus rolls his shoulders. "Irish?" he asks. His own accent is West Coast. Nothing distinctive. << Figures. A woman finally talks to me and it's on the last night. >>
The elevator to the terrace level chimes. The doors open and an older couple. Not Fatima. Not quite yet, anyway.
"That's the ticket." Al murmurs for Terry's benefit, another sip of her drink.
"You didn't do so bad," Terry notes, jerking her chin out across the cityscape where he threw the marker, before looking back at him. "Aye. Here with the hordes for the Week. Yourself?"
Ilad takes another sip of his drink, listening with the slow drag of his thumb down the curving side of his glass.
Marcus' face might not fit, but he has kind eyes. "Heading home on the red eye. Sister's dream trip to see a fashion show." << What a shitty cover story. Dan's so much better at lying. He shoulda been the one who ended up with the clay face. But then he probably woulda set off a nuke by now. >>
The elevator chimes again. Out steps Fatima into the little atrium out of sight of the rest of the terrace unless one is standing within sight of the door. The edge of her shoe catches the carpet and she stumbles forward. Her cell phone jerks from her hand and goes skittering across the floor.
"Our boy thinks Dan is a better liar...who if he had the clay face, woulda set off a nuke by now." There's a hint of tone underlying Al's murmured words, perhaps satisfaction that Daniel is a snake.
Kind eyes that Terry focuses on. Guilt worms it's way through her own thoughts. "I hope she enjoyed herself. Hope you did too. Tis never fun to be the miserable one when playing along with another's dream." A subtle echo dances around her words, like a half-heard impulse to trust and to talk.
As the phone skitters away from Fatima across the floor, Xen steps away from spot, taking the few steps over to the phone, picking it up and glancing at the screen for a second first, looking for her own displayed number and committing it to memory. He is then looking at the woman who just tripped on the carpet with a warm smile. "Are you okay? You seem to have dropped this."
Ilad tips an ear, angling his head slightly from his spot so that he can keep an eye on Xen and Fatima (so to speak). His gaze flickers and then he glances markedly away again, pondering the view as he nurses his drink. "What a happy chance," he murmurs quietly into his own comm.
Marcus breaks eye contact with Terry to look out over the water. But she does seem to be getting to him - powers or no. "Hnf. She's not much of a dreamer. The opposite, really. Can't bring herself to find meaning in anything." << Fuck. I need a shrink. Talking about Dan like he's my goddamn sister. Hah. >> He smiles slightly at the thought.
"Shit!" Fatima goes wobbling after, but it looks like a strap slipped out on her shoe. She is dressed for travel in a pair of white capris and a loose, flowing, flower-print top. She's got bangles on one arm and her dove tattoo is visible as the top droops off one shoulder. It's a text-in-progress, actually.
- "Going 2 meet M. Will have lunch + then meet u @ airpot. I think he's not coming w --" presumably she was typing more when she dropped her phone.
"Oh, thanks, thank you." She smiles at Xen and reaches for her phone.
Alessia smirks to herself, another small sip of her drink. "Sister means Dan...but you've got him hooked."
Terry's face pulls into sympathetic lines. "Self-absorbed, or just young? If it's the former, sometimes getting involved with charity work helps broaden perspective. If it's the latter..." she shrugs and lifts the glass for another small sip. "Is there anything your sister is passionate about?"
Interesting. Very interesting. "You're welcome, Miss...?" Xen hands the phone over easily to Fatima, though his eyes do notice the dove tattoo before returning to her face. His accent gives him away as an American, or as Midwestern if she's that familiar with accents. (Or lack of them.)
"Too smart for her own damn good. Finds fault in everyone and everything. She's not the most...giving soul. More of a taker." Marcus is showing signs of strain. << Can't hardly fucking talk with this face. Where the hell is Tima? >> He looks over his shoulder, but she is, for the moment, out of view.
"Late," says Fatima to Xen with her best polite smile. She tries to move past him and out onto the patio.
Terry tips her head, though a certain tension radiates out from her emotions, easy enough to pick up on. She looks for Ilad from the corner of her eye. "It's been my experience that there is usually a reason for that. Rough time for her?" she asks sympathetically.
Alessia bites at the inner edge of her bottom lip, debating internally a moment. "Feels uncomfortable talking with the false face...getting anxious." A quiet murmur, as Al runs her hand through her hair, seeming unconcerned with anything in the world. Just the lightest lean with empathy, to try and put Marcus more at ease, a little calming vibe.
Ilad cocks an eyebrow at the turn of Terry's gaze, attentive as a habitual watcher can be. He murmurs into the comm, "You seem to be doing all right, hm? Did you want something?"
You don't need a telepath to know that Marcus is the socially awkward sort. You would be too if you looked like the Elephant Man unless you weren't trying hard not to. "You ever..." He hesitates, but the subtle pushes from both women make him continue, "...ever met someone so smart that they..." he draws in a long breath. "Let's just say geniuses don't have it so easy. The dumber you are, the happier you are. D...my.../sister/," << smooth >> "...is one of those people. Hates the world because she understands it too damn well."
For a moment, Xen continues to stand between Fatima and the veranda, where she is headed. He looks as if he's trying to place her now that he's got a clear look. It's one of those looks people see when they're famous or associated with famous people. "I'm sorry, but you look familiar. Are you related to Buraka Saat, by any chance?"
Terry smile turns crooked and she turns to lean on the railing, the gauzy peach over-layer of her dress drifting lightly as she moves. "...getting twitchy," she breathes into her com, voice so low it is hard to distinguish. "People that smart think themselves out of happiness. There's just as much understanding of the world in a contented person. Perhaps your sister just needs to find a way to put her intelligence to better use."
The tall woman is not someone who is easily delayed - especially when the already six-foot-one woman is also in a pair of two inch heels. Fatima tap-taps out the rest of the text message and sends it. Then she gives Xen a somewhat unamused half-smile. "If you want to meet her, I suggest the charity auction tonight to win dinner with her. It's for a good cause." Eyelashflutter. She tries to step around Xen again.
Alessia sits back, drinking more of her juice down, gaze wandering. She holds her silence, for now.
Marcus barks laughter, but the sound is forced through lips he seems to have trouble controlling. His cheek goes slack on one side. The handsome face becomes a little less so. "You can't tell a genius anything. Besides, she makes a lot of sense most of the time, even if she's not exactly cheerful." << God. I can feel my face slipping. Why is she not freaking out? Is she drunk? Tima, for god's sake... >>
Fortunately, Xen is not intimidated by women who are taller than him with heels on. However, he is acting the gentleman at the very least, and so he offers a warm smile to the young lady as she tries to step by. "Yes, of course. I have heard about that." As she makes a move to get by him again, he mis-steps in her direction, blocking her for a moment, and then apologizes, stepping the other way, leaving the doorway open so that she can step out.
Terry bites at her lip, noticing the muscle slip and not entirely sure how to respond. She lets a puzzled look cross her face, then obviously feigns obliviousness. "Sense about what?"
"Fatima is on her way out," Xen murmurs lowly into his comm as Fatima steps by him and out onto the veranda.
"And let us hope he doesn't just play generalities about the state of the world," Ilad murmurs dryly, pausing again to take another sip of whiskey and soda. His thumb taps against his glass, beating a light tattoo's rhythm against its surface.
"React a little. Ask him if he's all right...or you can pretend to be drunk." Al whispers into the comm. "He's wondering why you aren't freaking." She leans forward onto the table, sipping the rest of her juice down before letting her hair shift forward to hide her face as best she can without being obvious.
When Fatima nearly runs into Xen while trying to step around, it's all she can do to not push him or say something nasty. She's got a famous mother and a rich dad. She's used to dealing with people who want to talk to her. SHe gives him a thin-lipped smile and steps onto the patio. She pauses a step or two out, but before she can look around to locate Marcus, her phone chimes. She pulls it out and looks at it.
Marcus turns his face away from her and tries to hide the loss of muscle control. "About everything she says. The world is fucked in a lot ofways." He's having a hard time speaking. A hand goes up to his chin. << Goddamnit. Why does this always happen when I'm talking to women? >> Psychosomatic, maybe? Or maybe poor Marcus is just that unlucky.
Totally psychosomatic. Terry makes a face, then puts her hand to his arm. "Are you alright?" she asks, ducking her head to try and see his face a little better. "...losing it..." she barely breathes for the com's sake.
Al sets that empty glass aside on the table, trying to appear lazy and not ready for action.
Even as Fatima pauses out on the veranda, Xen turns and watches her from the safety of the enclosure. Those blue eyes watch the tall woman's back intently, then glancing out to the rest of his team and the others outside. He takes a step back and speaks quietly into his comm, "It looks like Fatima is here to get Marcus for lunch, and then meet Daniel at the airport. She doesn't think that Marcus is going to be leaving with them."
Marcus flinches automatically at Terry's touch. He holds up a hand to cover most of his face. "I'm fine, fine. I should go." And then he's rocking back a step. He keeps the hand to his face as he starts for the doo...oh look.
Fatima looks up from her phone and steps towards him. "Marcus, what's..." the rest goes into whispers. She sets a hand on his shoulder. He flinches at her touch too.
"Really?" Ilad's interest seems to sharpen as he lowers his glass to the table, leveling his gaze down into the melting slivers of ice that remain in amidst the golden-amber liquid. His voice muted very quiet, he asks, "They're not going to kill him, are they?"
Terry's lips thin at Fatima's approach, then further at Ilad's question. She steps back out of the way, though she keeps an ear trained on the whispered conversation. "Don't know," she admits lowly, frustration bleeding into her voice.
Alessia rises with swiftly, her empty glass picked up as if she's heading for a refill. In truth, she's moving to get closer to Fatima and Marcus.
"I don't think so. She was texting Daniel-- I think it's more that she thinks Marcus will be going his own way after Monaco." Xen remains back and close to the foyer area, though he steps out onto the veranda to watch the scene from across the way.
High emotional states, that's for certain. Distress from Marcus, concern from Fatima. There's no maliciousness coming from her towards the morphing man. So if there's something more sinister in the plans, it's Daniel's doing. They talk in hushed tones for a moment, then both move quickly towards the elevator.
As he goes, Marcus' hand briefly falls from his face. The skin has drooped and become loose and deformed.
"From what Ah'm gettin', she's worried about him. He's upset. Ah don't think they're gonna hurt him. But if we want them, it's now or never." Al says softly, dropping her glass off.
"Not never. Just not now. We decided," Terry says as she turns her back on the pair in turn and ambles along the railing in the opposite direction.
Ilad makes a low "hmm" sort of noise, vaguely acknowledging or thoughtful, and takes a longer swallow of his drink, almost draining it.
Though Xen does a good job of keeping his discontent from his face, it can't help but bleed through to his emotional state just a bit for Alessia to pick up on. There is just the briefest of moments where Xen has this desire to step in and just /talk. to the young pair of mutants. But he knows Terry is right. And that this isn't the time or place to do it. By the time that Fatima and Marcus pass by him, he is already turned away and at the railing, looking out over Monaco, drink still in his hand. Maybe a little less of it in the glass.
There is a certain companionable way that Fatima supports Marcus as the pair head towards the elevator and wait for it to chime. Once it arrives, they step into it. Fatima looks back at the patio, in Xen's direction. Marcus has his face half-buried against her shoulder. The shiny, gilded doors of the Hotel de Paris elevator close.
Alessia moves to take in the view, blue eyes tracking over the buildings, the water. She's very still for a moment, before she turns to glance around for her fellow agents. "Ah'm gonna head down now, Ah think."
Fruition! GMing by Silas.