Por Favor, Mantenga Sus Brazos Y Piernas Dentro Del Vehículo


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Scene Title Por Favor, Mantenga Sus Brazos Y Piernas Dentro Del Vehículo
Synopsis Bienvenido. Team Alpha, or at least most of them, meet their guide and their mission.
Date November 24, 2009

Argentina: El Palenque

It's a warm near-summer dusk in Argentina, and cooling quickly as the sun descends down a rocky horizon. There's a refreshingly chill wind blowing off the giant lake made freezing from the mountains it runs from, which doesn't prevent the rustic docks from being plagued with mosquitos. A sharp slap claps through the tranquil silence — Stewart Ross inspects his palm to see the tiny insect smeared splayed on his palm, a greasy little spatter of blood as well which he wrinkles a prominant nose at before he wipes his hand off on his pant leg. "Annoying little blood suckers, aren't they?"

Not that Ross has to defer to Veronica Sawyer about such things, tilting a look up towards her. And he does have to look up, the shining dome of his skull revealed from his receding hairline coming to approximately her shoulder. He's clad entirely in khaki and has been since Veronica has met him over the course of a couple of days. That, and consistently, if very politely, hitting on her.

They're waiting for something, and they don't have to wait very long since Ross received confirmation on the arrival of the rest of Team Alpha. Very soon, there's the motor roar of the tiny plane descending down from the sky, having rounded around the looming mountain named Cerro de Hierro Negro in direct trajectory to land— not on an airstrip, but the vast lake Sawyer and Ross look upon. Directly behind them, the village of El Palenque sprawls out sleepily, the distant sounds of a closing market place abruptly drowned out by the incoming flight.

It's a graceful descent, or so it would seem. From the outside.

Inside, the plane feels like it's lurching wildly. Richard Cardinal, Magnes Varlane and Jensen Raith are not treated to the first class flight that Team Charlie received — supposedly, this is the quickest, most direct route to the village, their first stop. Supposedly. They sit on what appear to be plastic and metal picnic chairs, strapped to the sides and the floor of the plane with bunji chords that allow for only a little eslasticity. In theory, it's supposed to help.

In practice, it really doesn't. "Here they come," Ross notes, unnecessarily, as the plane makes sprays of crystal water on either side, foaming white, before rippling through the lake towards the docks, where a couple of the village inhabitants are moving to greet or at least make sure no one falls between plane and pier.

Treading across the ground between a canvas umbrella shaded picnic table and the docks, Peter Petrelli looks largely out of place in this welcoming party. His crisp black suit has to be uncomfortable to wear in the jungle climate, let alone the buttoned-collar shirt beneath and tight necktie. He stops a few paces behind Sawyer and Ross, sunlight gleaming off the handcuff on his wrist that is attached to a far more matte briefcase held fast in one hand.

Dark eyes narrow as he watches the plane's descent and slow taxi across the water towards the dock. Then, once the vehicle has lurched to a stop, his footfalls take him up to stand by Agent Sawyer's side, offering her a side-long and wordless look before staring back out at the plane again. Something, however, is notably missing — Gillian was supposed to already be here.

"You know," Cardinal called out towards the front as they started to rattle and thump down, gripping the picnic chair strapped down, feet spread to brace against the floor of the tiny little plane, "I can fly this puddle-jumper instead, if you're having any difficulty up there!"

The shadowman's dressed in tan BDUs and a grey tank top, with a flight jacket complete with ballistic weave tossed over it all. Once the plane starts to slow, he pushes himself up to his feet unsteadily, reaching over to snag his duffle off the hook it's hanging from on the wall, sliding his shades on as he mutters, "You'd think Autumn could've afforded a better plane."

"I think that's their purpose in life," Veronica says amiably enough. For whatever reason, however, despite the fact her arms are bare — she wears a tank top, cargo pants, a pair of hiking boots, with a long sleeved shirt is wrapped around her waist once the temperature drops even further — the mosquitos don't seem to bother her. Her arms are unmarred by any bites, which her companion can't say for himself. What does bother her is the suitcase handcuffed to Peter Petrelli's wrist, which she noticed first about the man.

When he looks at her, her head cants in an almost questioning way, before she turns to watch the plane descend. She makes a face, having already made the same ride herself earlier. "Hope no one on there gets air sick," she says lightly.

Poor accommodations, lousy service and a rough flight? Just like being in the Army, again. And as uncomfortable as it is, it's something that makes Jensen Raith feel at home. Much like Cardinal, he's up almost as soon as the plane has hit the water and slowed down, but he's in a markedly better mood than his compatriot. "Welcome to the Army, son," he says, "It's all downhill from here." The biggest difference between him and Cardinal is that Raith is wearing both halves of his BDUs. Everything else is basically the same, save for his sunglasses being the familiar, round-lensed style, rather than an Army issued pair. How he secured them, the world may never know. "Argentina's nice this time of year. Ever been before?"

"They could have just given me a GPS, you could have shadowed on to me, and I could have carried King of Swords!" Magnes says as he holds on tight to his seat. Sure, he can fly, but he's in this death trap! Not much he can do if it explodes, or falls apart, or just nose dives! Well, not much he can do that would involve saving everyone else… He's wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, an unzipped tan-colored vest with lots of pockets and survival tools loaded into them, a pair of dark green cargo pants, and some black boots.

For all the world, the pilot doesn't respond to Cardinal, only concentrates on making certain the plane is guided to where it's meant to be. Once it has, he sits back and secures himself a pack of cigarettes from his breastpocket, as if in celebration of a landing— well— done. Well. A landing. And everyone is alive, which the Argentinean native sees when he wrenches open the door to the sardine can, giving the crew inside a bright white smile and a handwave in offer to help them out and into the dwindling sunlight.

At least Peter's presence means there is at least one person who fits in less than the small, balding Jewish Company agent who glances at him sidelong, but says nothing for now as he watches the three men that make up some of the muscle of Team Alpha are led out onto the pier.

Already, the view of the lake-side town nearby is coming into focus. In contrast to the verdant flora that lines the waterside, the glimmering sunset bouncing off the idyllic lake, the village itself seems like it's had a rough time, even at this vantage point. "Good news," Ross announces, as the three are led to solid ground, where the waiting three are standing. "We're in the southern hemisphere and we're promised to have some pretty easy weather from here on out. Welcome to El Palenque, ladies and gents - enjoy it for the next couple of days. My name is Agent Ross - how was the flight over?"

He's moving forward to offer a hand out to each of the men in greeting, sunglasses swinging from where it's hung from his collar, a wedding ring on his finger.

Varlane. It's almost the first thought in Peter's head as he sees Magnes getting out of that plane. His brows tense, one hand coming up to rest at his forehead as he dips his head down with a muffled groan. The last time he saw that lunatic, he was leaping from rooftop to rooftop questioning Peter about his stalking habits. But even as Peter's dark eyes are lifting up to cover the rest of the cadre, it's Richard Cardinal's tired face that sets his spine rigid.

Swallowing back a scowl, Peter breathes in deeply and suddenly feels more comfortable with the Company Agent and DHS operative he's been waiting here with. Giving a shake of his head, Peter waits enough to make eye contact with Raith, then departs from where Veronica and Ross were waiting, meandering a few paces away to look less like a welcome party and more like a disinterested straggler, or someone impatiently waiting to get on with things.

"Can't say that I have," Cardinal admits, words punctuated with a subtle grunt as the duffle slings up over his shoulder and impacts his back, "I've been readin' up on it a bit, but my personal briefing was a little… disjointed." Given that it was in the form of some apparently random maps, factsheets, and other notes and scribbles from the desk of Doctor Ray. The fact that 'Where is the nuclear weapon?' was included in the 'useful Spanish phrases' sheet has confirmed his decision to punch the man in the head if he ever turns out to be alive.

He's a person or two back to emerge from the plane, stepping out onto the pier and grimacing as he adjusts to the light - dusk or not, it's brighter than it was in the flying tin can - before faces start to come into focus. Veronica he recognizes vaguely as someone he met once, although her identity eludes him for the moment, and then—

— a pause, and a smile curves faintly to weary lips, one brow lifting. "Petrelli," he murmurs, likely only audible to those stepping out with him, "I should've known."

Then they're off the pier, his head shaking, "I've had worse flights. Should've seen my first landing, I think my instructor's head was going to explode."

Veronica's dark gaze also turns darker when she sees Magnes, and she shakes her head with a bit of disbelief. The other two men are regarded with some curiosity. She's seen Cardinal before; she offers the trio of men a nod of greeting, but waits for the short balding man to make his greetings, standing back on the dock. "Well, they do say that any landing you can walk away from is a good landing, and one where you can use the plane again is a great landing," she says, that amiable and easygoing manner a mask in all the uncertainty that this operation holds for the strange motley crew.

"Flight was just fine, Agent Ross," Raith replies to the much shorter man, giving his hand a good shake, "Don't listen to a thing these nancies say about it." So far, so good. Even the mosquitos are welco- SMACK!- welcome familiarity. And, of course, there's still one more welcome familiarity on the pier, and Raith gives Petter Petrelli the once over as they stroll away from the plane. "Nice suit. The fuck are you supposed to be? Maxwell Smart?" And there's an unwelcome revelation.

They're all stuck in Argentina with Jensen Raith.

When Magnes steps off the plane, he offers everyone a friendly smile, clearly not recognizing Veronica, even from that one time they met in a club. But Peter Petrelli causes his eyes to widen, certainly not seeing that coming. "Peter Petrelli. What are you doing here?" He seems to have even more of a distaste for the man than the first time they met, but for completely different reasons this time. "Oh, right, we're stopping nukes, you control nuclear explosions, I get it." There's no sarcasm, that really is his conclusion.

Ross' eyebrows tick up at what the gravity manipulator has to say about what Petrelli is doing here, glancing towards Peter with vague uncertainty. That sure as hell wasn't in his dossier. "We're here," he cuts in, a hand raised, finger pointed towards the sky, "to find nukes. But rather than chat about highly classified information on the pier, I have a motel at our disposal." Not that they aren't a suspicious little motley crew, but then, perhaps — this village is used to suspicious motley crews.

They don't trek right through it, moving only shallowly into the urban vicinity, but the character of the place is written as plainly as grafitti on the walls. They move on an informal dirt road, passed squat houses and buildings. Off one road is the market place packing up for the early evening, the food all but gone by now. There's a bar, rowdier, open to the street with seats and chairs set out, and adjacent stands the motel.

Ross all but ignores the crew behind him as they familiarise with each other, save to toss over his shoulder some information he deems okay to, well, toss over his shoulder; "We'll be trekking to a base camp about a two days hike up from here. Agent Sawyer will tell you the joy that brings, let me assure you."

On the walk from the insertion point towards the village, Peter keeps the company of Raith exclusively. There's at least a sense of some begrudging camaraderie there, even if somewhat difficult to bear. "You seem to be in good spirits," he admits quietly, following Ross' lead along the packed dirt sterr. This is somewhat nostalgic, isn't it?" A look is afforded towards the others, Magnes specifically, followed by a slow exhalation through Peter's nose in a sigh and a shake of his head. "I'm interested to see what intelligence has been gathered about this location and how much has changed in the last year here. How thouroughly were you briefed?" Dark brows furrow as Peter lays a stare on Raith.

Notably, now closer to Peter, Raith notices a familiar benefit of jungle travel with someone harnessing a destructive gift like that of Kazimir Volken's — mosquitos that wander too close to Peter simply fall dead out of the air. While his ability is restrained, life as small and fragile as a mosquito is stopped dead in their tracks around him, creating a small comfort zone from the relentless bugs. If, of course, you consider being in close proximity to Peter Petrelli comfortable conditions.

"No, Varlane," Cardinal observes blithely as he walks past the gravity controller to walk along with the rest of the motley little excuse for a paramilitary team into the little excuse for a town, "That's not why he's here at all."

Somewhere along the way he gets tired of swatting insects, digging out a can of bug spray from the duffle he's carrying and spraying down his arms as they walk. "Peter," he calls over after the news that they'll be taking a two-day walk, his tone casual and gaze not actually lifting towards the younder Petrelli, "We should probably chat and some point along the road, you'n me." Then— Sawyer? He looks over to Veronica, memories finally clicking into place, "You were Agent Dahl's friend, weren't you?"

"I don't have a problem with the amenities or the hike," says Veronica; after all, she spent a month in the remote mountains and beaches of Costa Rica for fun — why not Argentina? "But it might be taxing for those less used to this kind of thing," she adds, meaning Ross himself — the rest of the group looks perfectly able to hike. Well, if one wasn't wearing a suit along with a suitcase as an accessory.

She glances at Cardinal, her eyes suddenly guarded. She gives a short nod. "I was, yes," she says, her husky voice dropping in volume, as if in respect for her fallen comrade.

"'Somewhat's' an understatement, Pete," Raith replies, indeed sounding in good spirits, "This used to be my backyard, don't forget. We should have a barbecue to select, if you ask me. Spend the day in a boat, grill us some wicked fish as the sun sets, invite the villagers up for a few cervezas. That's my kind of vacation. Maybe we can even find Richard a pretty senorita."

"But, hey. I'll settle for galavanting around in the trees, too. I'm easy." At least someone is relaxed about this whole ordeal; with any luck it'll spill over and keep morale higher than it otherwise might be.

"Agent? You Homeland?" Magnes asks, not questioning why Peter's here at the moment. He could possibly gravity the mosquitos away, but he's not about to risk shooting someone in the head with an insect, so swats them away like everyone else. But he has more questions! And this one is for Raith, subtly raising his hand. "Oh, and hey, King of Swords, why are you here anyway? I mean, you don't seem like the 'get arrested by the government' type, or the work with the government type, from the times I met you."

"He was both arrested and is now working with the government," Ross interjects, as he opens the door to the motel and gesturing for everyone to go in, ladies first. "We can have pillow talk later while you— " His mouth goes into a line as he thinks for a moment, before settling on, "— bond during your stay. Trust me, we'll have long hours together."

Through the motel and out towards a fenced off section of outdoors, a decline in Spanish roughly translating to no food, no drink, thanks anyway so that there's an aura of privary. If the light military presence that is not quite as apparent as the village's neglect is to be of any indication, they certainly have it. "Everyone take a seat," Ross invites, moving to do so himself. In comparison to the stiff-backed ceremonies on the carrier just yesterday, this seems exceedingly casual.

Hooking an arm over the back of his chair, he takes the time to glance from face to face. "I know that Special Agent Kershner and General Autumn debriefed all of you on the situation on a basic level. Do any of you have any questions?" A glance to Magnes, and he feels compelled to add, "Relevant to our mission?"

Peter shoots Magnes a stare when he addresses Raith, then cracks a smile and falls back a bit out on the street. His pale stare focuses over on Cardinal, then towards Ross. "Alright, I'll give you try two, Cardinal." Then, more offered towards the man he's looking at. "You and I can talk tonight…" a nod of his head is offered towards the building across the street from the motel, "give everyone else a chance to clear their heads."

On the way through the building, Peter tries to keep a wide berth from most of the people inside, at least until they've reached the relative privacy of the back lot. Anxiously offering Veronica a side-long stare, Peter finds a chair for himself, bringing the briefcase he's handcuffed to across his lap, posture straight and hands folded on the back of the Haliburton case.

"I didn't receive the briefing directly, but Agent Sawyer afforded me that video feed on the phone earlier. It answered most of my questions, except for our planned course and local intelligence." A blue-eyed look is shifted towards Raith. "I'll defer asking specifics to Jensen, he'll handle the logistics fine enough." The familiar air, the familiar sounds, all of that is pushing Peter further and further back beneath the sooty background of something more pragmatic and calculating.

"I liked her," Cardinal says simply to Veronica, his chin dipping in a brief, curt nod, "I'm sorry." It's left at that, then, as the crew march although straight through the motel and out into the back lot. The duffle's shrugged off one shoulder, and he drops down into one of the proffered chairs, letting it land in his lap with a muffled thump of fabric and whatever else is within in.

"I don't know much about the situation on the ground here," he admits, leaning forward slightly, one arm resting on his bag as he looks to Ross — and Raith, "What's the status of the local remains of the Vanguard? I'm gonna go out on a wild limb here and assume they're connected with those brandings I've heard about in the news…"

"More or less," she tells Magnes. It's not like the Company is the secret entity it once was, and it's not like they weren't outed in the debriefing to the various "volunteers" for the operation, but she's aware that she is already the odd one out in this group. She doesn't have her vigilante merit badge like the rest of them.

To Cardinal, she nods. "She was a good person. And we have a lot to thank her for, apparently," Veronica says softly. They wouldn't even be here if it weren't for her — not that being in this particular group on this particular night is something she's grateful for. Happy Thanksgiving, Team Alpha! She raises her brows at Peter's glance, as if to say 'What are you looking at?' but she drops into a chair to listen to the answer to Cardinal's question.

"Cardinal's got it summed up," Raith says after he takes his seat, "We've got the gist of it, but that's all. Nothing about the local situation, indigenous forces, any of that. Partially, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to fill in some of the gaps-" He's sure that Ross will know why, even if no one else except maybe Peter knows- "But over half of what I know was strategic level. Maybe I still know someone in the area, but I promise nothing.

"So." Raith leans forward, steepling his fingers. "When can we expect to be filled in?"

"Oh, Agent Dahl, that's the woman who tasered me, and I think she fought Emile Danko, but I never got a good look at what happened. Um, why are you talking about her in past tense? What happened?" Magnes isn't sure, no one tells him anything! He'd probably be a lot more concerned if he had his memories, but luckily there will be no emotional breaks. "And what are we all supposed to do from here? Just… talk until someone gives orders?"

When Cardinal's attention flicks over to Raith, so does Ross'— but he nods in acknowledgement at the man's response. "You'll receive formal intel when we get to the base," Ross states. "For now— " He addresses Magnes directly now, an arched eyebrow. "I can answer a few questions and get you grounded about what we expect to deal with. Once there aren't any questions, your time is your own until we're ready to move."

Cardinal's mention of the brandings isn't quite enough to make Ross show any amount of distaste, but perhaps that's just him. He does pause for a moment, considering his words before he speaks. "Some areas of Argentina have been plagued with targeted violence against openly Evolved citizens, including the brandings, increasing in frequency over the past year. We've collected evidence that a lot of the incidences, especially the initial attacks, were orchestrated by the remaining Vanguard members stationed in Argentina. The brandings themselves— " Ross tilts his head a little. "They don't beat around the bush. A V is seared into the Evolved's face, designed, we believe, to mark them as— well. Evolved. The consequences being anything from permanent disgifurement through to getting gunned down in the street."

Brutality is spoken of casually, but wearily. "The remaining Vanguard cell is an active terrorist group. As you were told, we have reason to believe they could be hiding a nuclear weapon in a former military bunker which is located in the Cerro de Hierro Negro — the mountain we're gonna be having the pleasure of climbing, and home to a mess of guirilla warfare even before we could confirm the location. We have names and descriptions of the supposed leaders of the group, the latter of which you'll receive at the base, the former of which — one man named Iago Ramirez, and the other, Hector Steel." Now another glance at Raith, then back to Peter.

Peter's blue eyes close at the name, a hand lifted to rub at his brow as he slouches back some in his chair. "Right…" When his eyes open, there's a look to Jensen, then one over to Cardinal before he continues. "Then I guess, until we reach the base camp, we're going to have to take this one day at a time. We're not all exactly friends here, but I'll admit that we're going to need to be able to cooperate if we're going to try and ascend that mountain that's familiar turf to hostiles…"

"Especially without support from the local government." Peter breathes out a sigh and shifts in his chair, looking to Veronica, then Magnes. "Despite my inclinations, I think I'm going to try and take each of you aside individually to discuss the situation with and… smooth over any rough edges. Exactly how much time do we have before we're scheduled to move out?" That question, of course, is leveled at Ross.

As the brandings are spoken of, Cardinal's lips twitch in a tight line; he draws in a breath, then exhales it slowly, his head swaying in a slow shake before he leans back in the chair. "Bastards," he mutters under his breath, listening on. Then he arches a brow, "Ramirez and Steel. What do we know about them?"

Sawyer's eyes drop when Magnes asks about the past tense. Minea cared about the rookie when he was under her care. She doesn't want to be the one to tell him she died, even if he doesn't remember her. At Peter's words, her shoulders square and her chin tilts up, as if mustering more confidence for this tense crowd. "I have no animosity toward anyone here, though I'm sure the feeling isn't mutual," Veronica says. "But I agree. We are all on the same side, or we should be, in this at least. Believe me, what Vanguard is doing to the locals sickens me, and Munin is a threat to everyone." Her eyes flicker back to Ross. "Do we have a location on them at all?" she adds, throwing a question in with Cardinal's.

"Ramirez," Raith says, clearly in response to Cardinal's question, "Is one nasty motherfucker, even before Vanguard. All the branding that's going on, I guarantee you was his idea, and odds are good he's done more than a few of them personally." Much like Ross, Raith is casual as he speaks, leaning back in his chair as if he were reporting sports statistics. "Hates the Evolved and anything else he can blame bad luck on. Los brujos, los extranjeros, las pulgas, anything. But write enough zero's on the check you give him, and he'll do whatever you want, as long as you keep paying him.

"Steel's… this other guy. That's all I got on him, except a guess that's he's just a useful and at least half as nasty, if he's still hanging around after upper command disintegrated." How Raith knows so much about Ramirez, at least, he leaves ambiguous. Let everyone else reach their own conclusions.

"We definitely have things to discuss." Magnes says very firmly in Peter's direction, though this time it's not about the bomb, he quickly adds, "Family issues." Nathan? Angela? Who?! "But other than that, I'm good, and the nuke takes priority."

Ross cedes to Raith as he answers about the two Vanguard gentlemen, and picks up where he leaves off, without particular concern for who gets along with who and what issues they have stringing between them as invisible as cobwebs. "Steel's an engineer. MIT background, worked for the government. Disappeared around the same time we're told Volken was terminated, reappeared here in Argentina at Ramirez's heels. We don't exactly know the extent of what he brings to the table, but his history implies that he might be a dab hand at keeping a nuclear weapon around."

He nods to Veronica even as he denies, "We don't have any recent information on their location, but we might hear more when we get up the mountain." Taking a breath, Ross sighs it out, then gestures around. Behind him, mosquitos swarm above the rather sad communal, fenced off pool. "If that's all for one night, they make a fantastic marguirita at the bar across the street. If you want to turn in early, we have run of the building."

Ross cedes to Raith as he answers about the two Vanguard gentlemen, and picks up where he leaves off, without particular concern for who gets along with who and what issues they have stringing between them as invisible as cobwebs. "Steel's an engineer. MIT background, worked for the government. Disappeared around the same time we're told Volken was terminated, reappeared here in Argentina at Ramirez's heels. We don't exactly know the extent of what he brings to the table, but his history implies that he might be a dab hand at keeping a nuclear weapon around."

He nods to Veronica even as he denies, "We don't have any recent information on their location, but we might hear more when we get up the mountain." Taking a breath, Ross sighs it out, then gestures around. Behind him, mosquitos swarm above the rather sad communal, fenced off pool. "If that's all for one night, they make a fantastic margarita at the bar across the street. If you want to turn in early, we have run of the building."

Raith has partially disconnected.
Resting one leather gloved hand at his mouth, Peter sets an elbow down on the chair's arm, surveying the people speaking. "Steel aside, Iago's loyalty to the Vanguard is absolute. While the organization's leader may be dead, there's the simple fact that Rameirez may not realize that fact, or may not understand the particulars surrounding Kazimir's ability. We may be able to use his loyalty to our own advantage, if we can manipulate him properly."

There's a faint hint of a smile on Peter's lips. "It's like what Harry Houdinni did…" comes the typical Kazimir Volken analogy, "Hide the elephant from the crowd by distracting them with a flashing light. Jensen and I could try and infiltrate the organization, while the others take a stealth route to get inside while we're keeping them busy. Once we…" he furrows his brows, "find them that is…"

"But I think Ross here has the right idea." Peter seems to relax some, leather-clad fingers tapping on the briefcase he holds, however. "We should get some downtime. There's no telling when the next chance we'll get for that will be. Richard, Jensen, I think the three of us have some things to discuss. That aside," his blue eyes settle on Veronica, then Magnes, "I guess we'll talk later…"

"Yes," Cardinal states rather dryly, regarding Peter steadily through his shades, "I think we do."

One hand comes up to scratch under his chin as he notes, "Not a bad plan, certainly, if you think you can pull it off. Stealth is my speciality as you know, and I'm sure Agent Sawyer is trained in that sort've thing, but— ah— no offense, Varlane, but you're about as subtle as a Mack Truck through the front door. Mind you, sometimes you need a Mack Truck through the front door, but…"

Veronica chuckles a little at Cardinal's simile. "I speak Spanish fluently, local dialect included, so I might be able to get something from locals, but we'll figure all that out, I'm sure once we're fully brief," she says with a shrug. She could easily pass as a native Argentinian, but then, who can't in these days, in the diverse country? "I'll look forward to it," she tells Peter, a smirk lurking in the corner of her mouth. She glances at the three men. "Don't overthink the plotting of my death, boys. Simplicity's usually best." The smirk becomes a smile as she stands. "Have a goodnight."

That would explain why Raith hadn't heard anything about Steel before today; new hire, as it were. "If we're going to get into more detail about the business," he says, "Maybe we should do it where we have all of our materials and data, instead of here where we do it off-the-cuff? Just throwing that out there, food for thought, and all."

"I'm being subtle enough, I could mean anything." Magnes points out, since, well, Peter's family is rather large, and it's not exactly widely known information that who he's talking about is even related! At least, that's what she told him… "This stuff is going over my head. I've never heard most of these names, back home almost all I focused on were Refrain, Humanis First, and White."

Ross only tilts his head to Raith in an exactly kind of agreement. Perhaps he wants to hit the bar, end of the world be damned, or more intel in hard copies in their hands would intelligent after all. His hands go up, go down in a gesture as if perhaps he could shoo them away. "Meeting adjourned. Don't go past the town perimeter, whether on foot or otherwise." He's been around enough Evolved to know to clarify. "Unless you want your ass hauled back in cuffs."

He gives them a brilliant, fleeting smile. "Relax, sleep while you can. We're not gonna be doing a hell of a lot of it over the next couple of weeks."

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