2012-11-16 Drawing the Battle Lines (1/2)

To say that Blink's sense of priorities are somewhat incompatible with the modern day is an understatement. When most people are confronted with an apartment, ensuring that it is tastefully and comfortably furnished is the primary objective.

They do not tend to, for instance, line the curtains with chickenwire and staple them into place to make sudden entrance more difficult in a relatively subtle way. Nor do they ensure that all furniture has nice, high backs despite a variety of clashing styles, and are positioned so that the sight lines in the room are totally messed up. Blink doesn't need to worry about exit; only making sure that entry is as much of a pain in the ass as possible.

The traumatized girl, Rei, has been given free run of the bedroom, and allowed to do pretty much whatever she likes there. She seems comfortable enough. The kitchen area (still part of the main living space) is fit to bursting with cheap, hardy supplies. Noodles which require hot water, dried and canned food, with nothing in the way of real refreshment or luxury - with one notable exception. Blink has made every dime that Psylocke has given her stretch to almost superhuman levels.

And she is currently enjoying her one luxury whilst watching the 24 hour news. A cup of steaming hot cocoa pressed to her lips as her glowing eyes observe the daily news cycle. She's slowly, slowly, starting to come to terms with how things hold together in this strange place. It is almost as though the average assumption when you meet someone is that you can trust them not to knife you, rather than having to wait for that evidence to prove itself. What stands out to her more than anything else are the LACK of names.

She'd asked Domino to come by. Rei is sleeping - she has been sleeping a lot ever since her rescue, and Clarice isn't going to deny her that - and besides, the girl's muffled screaming is... well, it lets her know she's still breathing.

For some people, they're still under the assumption that any random person might be ready to stab them in the back with the most convenient pointed instrument on hand. One of these individuals is a semi-paranoid albino that gets around life always looking like she's prepared for both Freaky Fetish Friday at the local rave and the end of civilization as we know it. Because these inhuman freaks? They've gotta stick together.

With a clearing in her schedule, Domino makes the drive out and heads on into the building proper. Blink is one of those curious little creatures that she's only briefly caught glimpse of, up until she tried to point a gun at her head and all. Hopefully this meeting isn't about that. It's worth checking into, seeing as how the Elf-like girl seems to be playing a role within the group that's both subtle and incredibly vital. One should learn to get along with the local teleporters, they're the kind of people you really don't want to tick off.

With this in mind, it shouldn't be a big surprise that Domino knocks on the door rather than letting herself right on in. It's a change of pace, but she rather likes not randomly free-falling from ten thousand feet.

Clarice gets up, and moves to the door as silently as possible. One hand still clenched around the mug of cocoa - because a mug of cocoa can be a powerful weapon in times of distress. She squints through the spyhole for a moment to affirm that it is, in fact, someone she's expecting to see and not - say - the barrel of a gun. Then she lets herself breathe again, and opens the door to the apartment.

"Hey. Glad you could make it." She says, "Come in, make yourself comfortable. I have some cocoa and some chicken noodle soup which is pretty passable as actually being like what chicken might taste like. Oh. But. Please keep it down. The kid is sleeping, she's pretty jumpy around loud noises right now."

Dom's not sure what she expects to see on the other side. Maybe a lot of wood trim and Earthen tones..? Certainly not the results of a liquidation sale from the High Back Chairatorium and windows adorned with whatever might have been in the discount aisle of the nearest hardware store. But..! She says nothing about it.

You should see some of her safehouses.

"I'm good," she almost quickly replies. Yet, now she's thinking about that cocoa. How often does one get presented with this kind of opportunity, anymore?

More importantly, it seems that the Elf isn't upset. This is a good start. The merc helps herself to one of the chairs, though only after shedding her heavy coat. No loud noises, just lots, and -lots,- of weapons. "You called. I came. I'd like to know why." Business, business.

Clarice moves to sit down in one of her chairs, sipping her cocoa over the top of the mug as she considers Domino. She's hardly one to judge on appearances, but there is something in the woman's bearing that seems far more business and standoffish even than Psylocke. A marshmallow is sucked between her lips before she deigns to answer, the sweet and sugary treat really does help to keep her in a good mood.

"Before we did the chicken hunt." That alone probably gets a 'bluh?', but Clarice doesn't seem to really register it. "You said something about 'another one'. Implied that there's someone else from my future running around." Her fingers tap against the cup, "I'd like to get to know Psylocke's friends a little more anyway, but I'd /really/ like to know what you think you know about me. Because as far as I know, the trip I took to get here was one way and one person only. If that's changed..."

Clarice is hardly an expert on the psychology of ancient horrors, but she can't imagine Apocalypse turning down an opportunity to conquer another place. Even if that place is just another time. But, this isn't /just/ another time... is it?

Or IS it?

Ooh, is -that- what prompted this meeting? Well, that's fair and all, but it raises another question right off the bat. "You're from the future?" Blink. "There seems to be a lot of that going around lately." As far as chicken hunts go, Domino's far from one to explain things straight up. She practically helped invent chic mercenary lingo. Ask her about the Shake and Bake expression, sometime.

"Another one from -the- future," she corrects. "Honestly kiddo, I don't know a thing about you beyond your apparent gifts at teleportation. I don't know where you came from, or even -when- you came from, apparently. All I know is that Veev--Betsy seems to have found you first. And she looks out for you." Lest she forget how quickly her aim had been disrupted by a well-placed hand.

As far as parting with information goes, it's a start. Rarely does Dom simply kick back and start divulging information.

Clarice thumbs the button on the remote, and the TV shuts up. The glowbox can be kind of fun, but it can also completely stifle discussion, and she keeps getting distracted by the movement. Well. She hadn't known how much Psylocke had shared before now anyway, so that was worth checking all on its own. It isn't that she doesn't trust Domino; the mercenary has earned major credits by being one of the team to extract her new best friend. She just likes to know who knows, just in case.

"It's, complicated." She says, slowly. Its funny, she'd been preparing for this meeting for a while, but now she still isn't sure exactly how to try and explain her position. What had happened to bring her here. "In my world, a mutant named Apocalypse has pretty much conquered the entire place, and enslaved everyone. Mutants are luckier than humans in that we're generally useful for something other than fertilizer, but often only barely." There's a slight shudder that runs through her. The, emotional deadzone in her voice tends to communicate a lot more eloquently than a more detailed explanation ever could.

"There was an accident. I don't know if I really understand how everything happened, but, I passed into an alternate dimension, and then here. It is, an earlier year for sure. But there's also a lot of other differences I'm learning about. Like Magneto."

It's one thing to be told 'hey, she's from the future,' or 'hey, I'm from the future,' and to start to get some of the details -behind- that future. Domino, in all of her slumped and sassy posture in that chair, listens, and she does so intently. That piercing blue stare never once wavers from your eyes, reading you with care and caution. She has no inherent reason to distrust Clarice in return, but for someone that's not had any personal experience with -time travel?- She's more focused than usual, which is saying something.

She's also mentally bridging the gaps and making connections as much as possible. Did the other displaced traveler say what had ruined his timeline..? A name like Apocalypse she should be able to recall, but it isn't sounding familiar. On the other hand, it does bring images of Doctor Doom up to the front. Coincidental timing, or connected somehow? And what does someone say in regards to that kind of future scenario?

"Welcome to our little world, I guess. To most people here, the biggest conflict they'll have to deal with is whether to friend someone on their social network of choice or not." With that out of the way, she offers "That name doesn't mean anything to me, 'Apocalypse.' I've got more than a passing understanding of Magneto, though. You'd do best to avoid him." After that one job, even she makes a point of giving the man a very wide berth.

The smile which graces Clarice's lips is a very brittle thing. "Your world is a lot bigger than mine." She says, softly. There's a kind of remorse there, that is... difficult to place. Is she sad because she misses her own little world, or because every moment in this one is a reminder of how great; how large, her own world could have been if things went down a different path? She sighs, and her eyes fall to the half-empty mug of cocoa. It is a little difficult to tell, with those iris-less eyes, but her attention is no longer so much on Domino.

"Psylocke has made that clear." She says, "And I will still need to talk to him at some point. To, check, for myself." A second sigh comes out of her, heavier, and the weight of the world makes her shoulders hunch. "Magneto is a hero in my time, the man who leads the few mutants willing and able to stand up against Apocalypse and his minions. I... we, haven't, always gotten along." Every night, /every night/, she replays that last, angry meeting. Will they have moved on by now? Assumed her dead over Mr. Creed's protests and gone on to try and fight the good fight without her? From her initial, cheery greeting, Clarice has been retreating further and further back, sounding smaller by the moment.

"But he saved my life, indirectly. I ... owe it to him not to just believe what other people say."

This is turning out to be quite the cheery meet and greet. Not like Domino's life is fueled by flowers and rainbows, it's more the sudden drop of energy from one realm to the other. Hot cocoa and barbed wire. Here dwells one very jaded soul. It explains a lot about the other meta, though she has to wonder if Clarice is going to keep herself together while under pressure or if she might be one of the first to break?

Hearing that Magneto saved her in her own future isn't met with disbelief. Far from that, in fact.

This becomes the point where Dom offers more information than she usually does. "He looks out for mutants. Cares about them with an almost cultish zeal. I've seen it for myself. If in your world everything has fallen apart, then I could see how he would cling to every remaining metahuman as though his own life depended upon it. Go ahead and draw your own conclusions, but be cautious around him. He has a way of leading people in and not letting go."

It's a good thing that Clarice is a teleporter, because simply trying to run away may not be enough.

The words draw a bitter bark of laughter from Clarice. Few remaining metas? Cling to them? No. That's where she and Magneto fall out the most. He has to make the hard decisions; when to leave the children or abandon the team, when to make the sacrifice. She's selfish. She wants to save everyone. SHE is the one who would cling to every last life. And the few remaining mutants? It is probably the single biggest change that Clarice has had to dealt with.

Her eyes come up, her whole bearing does, a little. She isn't being intentionally patronizing, and her smile returns, a wan little thing. "That couldn't be further from the truth." She explains, "See, Apocalypse has no use for humans without the right genes. They can't be used to breed his soldiers or for ... experimental fodder. No. In my world, Magneto strives to hold on to human lives even more than mutants..."

There's a definite hardness to her tone as she says, with finality.

"Holding all lives equal. That is what it means, to be an X-Man."

Bwuh..? Was it something Dom said? A sudden bout of laughter isn't the sort of reaction she's expecting to receive! In fact, a lot of this is information that she isn't expecting to receive.

"..I see."

"An X-what?"

Not relevant, Domino. Let's just stick to concentrating on one timeline, that can be complicated enough. "If it settles your mind any, I've already heard about this 'coming of the Apocalypse' or however you want to think of it. I'm not a real big fan of the idea, either. In that sense, you're probably in good company. And if this Apocalypse fella decides to stick his head out, I'll blast it clean off his shoulders like I would anyone else." Including Doctor Doom. Man, what she wouldn't give for one lucky shot against -that- arrogant jerk...

"No, you won't."

Clarice's amusement is still with her. She can't help herself. The notion that Domino could just shoot Apocalypse and expect it to stick is pretty funny, but she should probably explain. "I'm fairly sure nuclear weapons were deployed against Apocalypse. He isn't your usual mutant. It might not even /be/ possible to kill him. The best hope, really, is that he doesn't exist in this universe. Which is entirely possible."

Psylocke had said something about beating him but... Clarice isn't ready to believe in that. Not yet. She finally sets down the cocoa entirely, in favor of scooting forward a bit. "Look. I've shared a lot already. So why don't you share some details about these other time travelers? Did any of them mention how they got here, exactly? Or what the future was like where they come from?"

Psylocke hasn't got a key to Blink's apartment; she wouldn't take one, or have one cut for herself. The girl has been through enough - and in spite of all her obvious strength, the telepath has swiftly come to care about her well-being. Whether Clarice acknowledges it or not, having her own space - her own time - is critical to establishing herself here. To coming to terms with what she's been through, and what awaits.

More selfishly, to being ready to do what they must do, together.

All of which, in a roundabout way, leads now to a gently insistent rapping at the door...

|"Knock knock."|

And a more distinctive signal, to put the mauve-skinned mutant at her ease.

"Grand," Domino mutters. "Didn't say that it would -work,- but it's not for a lack of trying. Things tend to have a way of working out for me." Maybe she should look into hitting the launch button on one of those nukes, maybe that will net better results? Can't say she's never wanted to slap someone with twenty tons of fissionable material, for that matter.

Domino's just giving a silent sigh, thinking of what other information she might be able to offer to this peculiar mutant, when there comes someone -else- from the door. In an instant she's sitting upright, one hand resting on the grip of an underarm-holstered gun, when the telepathic message comes through.

Odds of Psylocke showing up while visiting: 1 in 51,420.

Her next sigh is sincere enough to be audible, "Veev's here." All in the timing. Dom's just about to go answer the door until she remembers that this isn't her place.

Clarice's eyebrows raise a little as Domino goes for her gun at the knock on the door. "Wow, this place really is safe." She says, as she stands up. "Enemies knock on the door before bursting in here?" She's prodding just a little bit of fun at Domino's expense, her good cheer coming back a little bit. She... didn't know that Psylocke's name (or nickname?) Is Veev, but she can deal with that. She checks the spyhole, just in case Psylocke is standing there with a gun to her head, and upon seeing that the woman comes in genuine peace, opens the door.

"Hey, good to see you." She says, "Try to keep it down, Rei is sleeping. But do you want some cocoa? Imitiation chicken and noodle soup?" It isn't as though Clarice is blind to the aid that Psylocke has given her since her arrival! Everything she has, she owes to her. Because whilst stealing in a post apocalyptic future is totally kosher, she's not sure she's entirely comfortable with monetizing her powers in a universe where 9/10 people aren't scumbags.

Oddly enough, Psylocke didn't know her name was 'Veev' either. People tend to not to know a variety of things until clued in by the snidely mouthy mercenary; really, the more you consider things the more miraculous it is that these two haven't come to blows? Blink, on the other hand... she gets a smile as the door opens, revealing the telepath standing in a rumpled blazer and skirt, hair pulled back. If said hair wasn't purple she'd look like an inner city lawyer. Draw your own conclusions as to what the statuesque kunoichi looks like instead.

"How tempting," she murmurs, mouth twisting into a wry edge as she takes her arm off the doorpost - revealing an obvious weariness in her posture - and briefly lays her hand upon Blink's shoulder before stepping inside. "It's good to see you, too. Been a long day."

It's been a long three weeks, perhaps even a long lifetime, but who's counting? Glancing around the apartment with a passive air that betrays no judgement on the particular utility it exhibits, her violet gaze settles on the visible edge bedroom door and then onto Domino. An eyebrow lifts, head inclining in a loose sort of greeting to the patch-eyed one.

"Not the first person I expected to find hiding out here. But it's good that you are."

With that enigmatic comment, she winds her way through the obstacle-strewn room to take position leaned against the kitchen countertop. As she leans, she draws something up into her lap from the hand hitherto remaining by her side. A shiny black leather briefcase. Hardly her usual choice of accessory.

Dom rolls her eyes at Clarice's remark, choosing not to say anything in her own defense. The Elf didn't need to know, plain and simple. Knocking can work great for an infiltration, most normal people -lower- their guard at that point. Wait for them to unlock the door for you, plug 'em in the face, boom. Inside.

At least, that trick has worked for -her.-

Keeping people in the dark can be fun, sometimes. Keeps them on their toes. Besides, Dom loves being shrouded in veils of mystery. It's part of the overall presentation (and that generous sliver of paranoia.) "Hey Bets," she offers with a light smile, her hand magically away from her sidearm as she's gone right back to slouching in that chair. What, her? Nope, totally wasn't about to blast Psylocke's face off. "Don't you just look like hell."

Because she cares.

"Business, again? What's on tonight's menu?"

Now that Psylocke has finished busting into the room, Clarice's attention is returned entirely onto Domino. She's pretty difficult to shake when she gets her teeth into something, and so far, Domino has done a great job of not sharing! The purple-skinned elf returns to her seat, and sits down. "Not that it isn't great to see you, Psylocke." She says, still preferring the formal title to 'Bets' or 'Veev' or 'Frank', because, well, that's what she knows Psylocke by!

"But we were just about to get to the part of the information exchange where you answer my questions." She's not quite getting up in Domino's grill; because she's just not that aggressive of a person when she doesn't have a reason to be, but it is clear she is anxious. If there's a hole in reality that people from her universe are spilling through from, well...

She casts her mind back to the detonation of the Annihilation Cannon, and how strange and terrifying that had felt...

... it is probably her fault.

Business. Always business. There's a small sigh at that remark from Domino, though it's long-suffering in a way entirely unrelated to the mercenary; there's a strong undercurrent of camaraderie in it, even, a gentle roll of the telepath's eyes acknowledging both her own tendency to indulge too heavily in 'work'... and the world's constant demand that she do so. There may be no rest for the wicked, but there's little rest for those attempting to plant butterfly-shaped bullets in their brain either. Or the regular kind.

Rather than respond, Psylocke glances toward Blink. She may not invade actual thoughts and feelings too often-- but the mauve-skinned mutant has something on her mind. Something important. She'd have drawn that conclusion by the presence of Domino alone, and it's written on the background resonance of the apocalyptic survivor's mind like a name in snow. Glaring.

"I'd listen to her if I were you, Domino." Violet eyes cant toward the mercenary, as Betsy slips the briefcase from her inclined lap to nestle upon the worktop beside that jar of cocoa. "We've been keeping enough information from one another. Time to ante up, Lady Luck."

Psylocke and Domino suddenly get text messages from Shift. The messages are garbled. Clearly, a drunk text.

Glance to one woman. Glance to the other woman. "Oh, I did -not- come all the way out here to get double-teamed like this." Also, that Psylocke actually refers to her as Lady Luck, -that- most definitely gets a glance. Okay, more like a stare. Domino never told her about this. Is Betsy finally starting to catch on?

Took her long enough.

Odds of two of them receiving a text message at that exact moment: 2 in 313,701.

Odds of it being something more useful than drunk ramblings: 1 in 3.

Domino has her phone in hand, the screen unlocked, and the message held before her eyes. Sigh. "Almost, kid. Almost." With an easy flick of her wrist she drops the phone back into hiding, returning her attention to the other two mutant women. With a posture like that, it's kind of amazing that she doesn't ooze right out of the chair to pool onto the floor. Slouching in a way which defies physics. She's mastered it.

"Finally getting to the interrogation part of our visit, I see."

Out comes an all matte-black throwing knife. So Domino can pick at her fingernails with it. Seems like she's going to be here for a while, and her hands are suddenly needing something to do that doesn't involve strangling people. Natural reflex, honest.

"Guy's name is Cable. He came from some sort of apocalyptic future. Metal arm. Nasty big scary weapons. Plasma, I think. Either a pre-cog or a mind-reader, has a habit of teleporting around when it's least expected. He's in the same boat of trying to prevent our future from becoming his present, or whatever. I don't know, call Doc Brown about it."

"He's probably not from my world, then." She says, and her relaxation is visible. All but sprawling back against her chair as the relief floods out of her. She doesn't know anyone called 'Cable', and she definitely isn't aware of anyone else who fits that kind of description. Heavy weapons were, rare, in Apocalypse's nightmare world. Better that people rely on themselves in their battle for survival, in his warped dream. Not that advanced weapons and big guns are unheard of... but they aren't exactly common either.

"I don't think this is my past." She says, honestly. "I, don't know what it *is*, compared to my world, but... I had to travel through a place called the Negative Zone to get here, and I suspect I got shunted off into another... kind of world." She nods her head to the television, even though it has now been turned off.

"Mutant registration, for instance. I'd have only been a baby around now, but there weren't any plans for anything like that. My parents moved to America because it was very accepting of mutants." The fact that there's probably another Clarice, another family, is something she hasn't let herself mull over too much. Does she even want to know? She could never have it, even if such a family did exist here. Seeing herself might be... too painful. "Do you have a way to contact him, anyway? It does seem like a strange coincidence."

A secret agent's role is often rarely different from that of a telepath; it's all about knowing things, ultimately. The trick in the former is seeming as if you know a great deal more than you genuinely do. The trick to combining the two? Precisely the same, with a pinch more paranoia. Psylocke isn't positive what information Domino is going to be unveiling-- but she knows there's at least one thing that needs to be wrested from the mercenary. She's playing the odds.

Perhaps some of the hired gun's luck is rubbing off?

"And you've waited this long to tell anybody?" Betsy's brow arches once more, though the expression beneath certainly isn't rageful or even faintly irritated. Her query isn't entirely what it seems; what she's asking is whether anyone *else* knows about this. It's no revelation that trust has been slow in coming. Cable himself is the revelation here. Her other question, unspoken but with a sidelong glance, is whether Blink feels the same way.

The answer's hardly long in coming.

"It's *a* past," Psylocke states with hard simplicity, allowing the comprising logically-mirrored statement to draw itself. "Whatever path you used to get here, there's a link between our worlds - perhaps all possible worlds. If you're capable of traversing them, so are others. Which makes our job even harder, doesn't it? To fight a menace in one world, we risk driving it to another. By changing something here, do we always affect something *there*?"

Quantum mechanics and alternate universes are not her area of expertise. The X-Woman is experienced and highly skilled in a variety of ways, but she's neither a physics professor nor particularly gifted intellectually. All she can do is ingest information and extrapolate theories based on the circumstance she hears and sees. It feels as though pieces are coming together, slowly, but it simultaneously feels as though all the rules could change in a second. There's something else the mauve-skinned mutant says; a hint toward another possibility. Perhaps there's more that Psylocke can do here than simply fight. Perhaps...

"Contact him, Domino." One step at a time. "I don't care how, but I need to meet him. We all do."

That seems to settle that, then. Questions answered, matter closed. Clean and simple. ..Or is it.

A slight scowl is cast back to Betsy with the initial accusation, Domino countering "How is this in any way -my- business to be sharing with the world? The guy could be some teched-out whackjob for all I know. I wasn't planning on telling anyone at all. Who knows, maybe I would have told the wrong person and triggered the whole damn thing? That's for him to decide. The whole thing's way more crazy than I feel like dealing with."

Then Betsy says something extra-crazy. Once more Dom looks up from fussing over her nails, head cocked to one side as she peers over the top of her hand and held weapon. "How the hell do you expect me to do that? It's not like the guy's on the other end of a line of string. He's shown up twice, and told me that -I'm- hard to find."

Clarice listens, but whether or not she understands... that's difficult to gauge. These are big concepts being thrown around, and she's not certain she can grasp them immediately. She's coming to terms with the basics, yes, but the implications of the events unfolding around her are tough to grasp. Worse, she keeps thinking about home. About how she has been forced to abandon that fight. Even if she could focus entirely on the here and now, would that just be abandoning people who are relying on her for good?

But if Domino doesn't know how to find Cable, Blink thinks she knows. Mr. Creed had taught her a lot about hunting, after all. The first thing to do is get in the mind of the prey. And if there's one other person in this world who can think how a post-apocalyptic refugee can think, it is Blink.

"Leave finding Cable up to me." She says--

And suddenly, there's a raw, animal scream from the bedroom. The sound is piercing, high pitched, and it has Clarice on her feet in an instant. "She's, just woken up." She says, "And she's forgotten where she is. You two... might want to clear out for a while. I'll calm her back down and get her something to eat. She's starting to remember my face."

There's a quiet resignation to it. Clarice will do everything she can to soothe this girl's pain, but, it will be... some time before she is functional. If she ever recovers completely at all.

Blink's confidence is a curious thing. A strength born from the most frail weakness. But that seems to make it all the more solid-- Psylocke is learning to trust it more rapidly than she's learned to identify the not-quite-singularly bizarre nature of Domino's mutagene. Betsy is bowing her head in acquiesence of the mauve-skinned girl's pronouncement, when that scream erupts. Surrounded by the noise of the city, the telepath is working to suppress a lot of things right now; but the pain, the anger, the uncertainty of it still blindsides her.

It's not the most pronounced thing, on the outside, but she flinches.

"Go, Blink." She hasn't started using the survivor's real name-- a concession to her own decision, perhaps. Another small sign of care and respect. "We'll get out of your way." There's important business yet to discuss, but it's through the same feeling that she won't labour that. Protecting Rei - protecting those like her - is why they're doing *anything*. The duty Clarice has taken upon herself pales in comparison to anything else.

Violet eyes shift to Domino as Psylocke pushes herself upright with a soft grunt of effort.

"Call Kwabena. Let's find somewhere else to talk."

Domino's gaze shifts back to Blink when she says to leave it up to her to track down Cable. Then with the horrified shriek, she's all too quick to flinch. "..Well alright. I was just about to offer to blow something up, too." She motions Blink onward with an almost graceful sweep of the tip of that blade, rolling the balanced carbon steel around in her half-gloved fingers before the blade gets tucked back into the rest of her gear. "That offer still stands."

A moment later she's back to her feet as well, slipping back into her heavy coat. "Oh sure, because calling up the drunk guy sounds like a brilliant plan," she kids in a level tone while pulling her phone back out.

"Yo, Shiftkit. If you're done sending us vulgar texts, mind making yourself halfway presentable? Veev wants to pow-wow."