Log:Breach of Protocol

2015/04/06 Breach Indira 1

Welcome to Bad Company - a subsidiary of Saberline & Sabot Security Systems Unlimited.

Bad Company takes up most of the 20th Floor of the Corporate Towers. Stepping off of the elevator, one is presented with a short walk along plush red-gold mottled carpeting to a door clearly labelled 'Bad Company - Reception'. Beyond the door, one is presented with a comfortably appointed, generically designed corporate reception area - the image of any number of doctors' offices spring immediately to mind - with seating for about thirty, a small coffee bar, and a reception window built into the same wall as the unusually heavy looking wood(???) door that leads deeper into the offices. Perhaps the only things that set this place apart from other corporate offices is the fact that everything is done in urban camouflage tones and the overwhelmingly cowboy-themed decorations settled about the room.

Photographs and paintings of pastural or Wild West scenes tastefully decorate the drab gray walls. A few movie posters for classic Westerns are tucked into corners, whilst the corporate logo on the frosted glass of the entry door and the reception window feature crossed six-guns. Brilliant LED lights are set overhead, but are angled upward so that the light is diffused by reflecting off of the pale blue and grey of the ceiling.

Seated at the reception window is a very bored looking redhead in a business suit. For various reasons, it is entirely impossible to tell if the receptionist is male or female. A name plate gives the only clue, 'Jamie Gunn', in black lettering on a gold-plated surface.

The other day, the assistants at Indira's diplomatic office made an appointment with Bad Company for Indira, who has no clue what she is in store for. She just knows that it was on her calendar to come to this office suit to request security services. She likes to handle these things on her own rather than delegate.

When Indira arrives, she is accompanied by her personal assistant beside her, carrying her appointment PDA and a small brief case. The decor leaves Indira at a bit of a loss. She stares about slowly to take in the whole reception room. But instead of going to the receiptionist window, she turns left and then faces the wall to look at the pictures, clasping her hands behind her back. She's wearing a long sleeved white dress with black paneling that comes off the shoulders, and reaches all the way to the floor to hide her feet. The style looks like it's come off some futuristic fashion show catwalk. It's not something one just picks up off the rack at the mall.

The assistant pushes onward to the reception window, her brown hair up in a loose bun. She's dressed in a black pencil skirt and a light blue blouse with the sleeves rolled up. "Ambassador Indira Paxis is here for her appointment." The young twenty-something looks like she's still new to her job. She doesn't speak with what one would call confidence. She looks like she's had an overwhelming day so far.

Jamie looks up from her own PDA. Pursing his lips, Jamie sets aside the PDA and brushes and errant lock of red hair out of her face with one hand. His other hand quickly types something into the computer settled on the desk just below the reception counter. There is a long, pregnant pause before a cool, crisp British-accented voice replies, "Yes, of course. Mr. Mason will be with you in a few minutes, please make yourselves comfortable."

Somehow, Jamie's voice is perfectly androgynous. It is probably vaguely disconcerting to your average human's sensibilities. Who knows how an alien might react.

Indira's assistant does seem a bit disconcerted. "Thank you," she states, but it may almost be a question. She walks back to one of the chairs and sits down. But indira continues to browse the photos of the old Wild West and the strange posters. It helps to study the history of the world and country you're working in. But this may be the exact wrong frame of reference for an alien.

As Indira makes her way around, thinking who knows what about the angry looking poster of The Outlaw Josey Wales and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, she finally finishes her circuit and stops to look at the company logo. Specifically the crossed six-guns part. The dark skin markings that are akin to human eyebrows quirk up a little in curiousity, then she turns her head to give her assistant a look that seems to prompt a question, but the new assistant has no clue what the alien ambassador wants.

Without an explanation or an answer from her assistant, she strides over to take a seat beside her and places her hands in her lap, fingertips touching in a steeple gesture, as she waits.

Rick Mason arrives about a minute after Indira sits down. He is dressed in a comfortably tailored black suit with a crisp white business shirt and an obnoxious red-orange-yellow necktie. Emerging from beyond the heavy wood(???) door, Rick glances around the mostly empty reception area before setting his brown eyes on Indira and her assistant.

"Ambassador? If you and your assistant would follow me?"

Indira nods silently and rises up graciously. "Yes, of course." Her Assistant is already on her feet. It's not that her assistant jumped up. It's just that Indira moves at a reflexive pace slower than most humans. It's relaxed and purposeful. She strides forward to follow Mr. Mason, assistant in tow. The assistant is starting to look a bit nervous.

"Jamie, could you get us some tea?" inquires Rick, leaning back in the door to properly address Jamie. There is a very androgynous sounding grunt of frustration from Jamie, but she appears to go to get tea made. Looking back to Indira and the assistant, Rick quirks an eyebrow at the assistant.

Stepping back into the area beyond the door, Rick holds the door for Indira and Suspiciosa, gesturing for them to head a bit to the left of the door. Once they're through, Rick leads the way down an aisle between a bull pen area full of what one assumes to be security analysts analyzing data and having The Office-like shenanigans when Rick isn't looking.

"Thank you for keeping Saberline and Sabot in mind while deciding on your security needs," intones Rick. He sounds like he may be trying not to sound like he's reading a script. "I'm Rick Mason. It's lovely to meet you both."

The assistant gives an embarrassed, apologetic grin to Rick in response to his quirked brow. For future embarrassments, maybe.

Indira is oblivious to the exchange. As she follows and looks about the bull pen, she listens to Rick's script line. "We had heard of this company in the news. It was fresh in Our minds," Indira says pleasantly in an accented, feminine voice. The accent can't quite be placed. She turns her head towards Rick and smiles warmly in recognition as he introduces himself. Her light blue skin shifts slightly with purple and pink colors around her cheeks and forehead. She takes his words as sincere. Once they have stopped, she steps forward and completely invades his personal space and wraps her arms around him in a warm embrace, and gives him a kiss on each cheek. Very European. And also very not, what with how close she is. "It is very lovely to meet you, as well," she sounds most pleased. "We saw you on the news. How you handled a meta-level threat without causing serious bodily harm was impressive."

As Indira lets go and steps back, there's that nervous, embarrassed look on the Assistant. And the wordless apologetic expression from earlier. She was worried something like this would happen.

Rick turns back to Indira and Suspiciosa when they arrive at the door to his office. It's one of those made for television offices with two clear glass walls and a glass door strategically frosted with the company logo. He opens the door, turns to say something, and has a personage full of Indira.

There is complete silence from the Undead Soldier until long after Suspiciosa has offered that apologetic grin to him again. Blinking once or twice, Rick adjusts his suit jacket, then his tie, and quite intelligently observes, "... That was different..."

Gesturing into the office, Rick shoots a dirty glare at someone in the bullpen to the left of the Assistant. He looks back to Indira and offers a small, strainedly polite smile, as he adds, "Yeah. Uh. That was... A thing."

"Do none of your people embrace each other as equals?" Indira asks of both Rick and her assistant.

The assistant whispers aside to Rick, "She greets everyone like that. It...takes some getting used to." Her tone and chargrin imply that it is a daily routine she's still getting used to personally. Come into the office, get hugged and kissed by boss, resist urge to think sexual harassment because of cultural differences.

Indira noticed the assistant this time as she replies, "It is a shame that it is something your people are unused to. There are many health benefits associated with embracing." She sweeps into the office elegantly, and her assistant blushes and follows.

"Yes, you've said. It reduces stress, enhances the immune system, lowers heart rate..." rattles off the assistant, following a list of other things, like the stimulation of serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin.

"I meant the Magma Opal situation," comments Rick, tone bland. He follows the ladies into his office and closes the door. One gets the impression that Rick is the guy stick in the middle of the totem pole, high enough to be permitted to glare at underlings, but not high enough on the list that he doesn't have to sell security to weirdoes.

Apparently having regained his faculties, Rick offers a bland shrug at Indira and Suspiciosa as he circles around to his seat. Waiting until the ladies are seated, Rick sits down in a generic black "leather" office chair and steeples his fingers on the desk in front of him. Glancing back and forth, Rick inquires, "So how may Bad Company meet your security needs?"

Indira may still be one of the weirdos. She seats herself and rests her hands on her lap, fingers steepled again, and her assistant sits down shortly after.

"You'll have to tell me about that situation sometime. My office and Starguard have impressed upon me the need of special security to deal with metahuman threats and otherwise," Indira starts as her skin tone shifts back to its previous blue. "I have refused such because I didn't believe there was a need. But I was attacked by a radical group calling themselves the Allied Champions of Earth for a third time in an assassination attempt. So...there have been those that insisted I could no longer ignore the threat."

It was all over the news a few days ago. Some of it was sensationalized in tabloids. Assassination Attempt on Ambassador, ACE Commits Act of War, Earth At Risk of War From ACE Incident. It ranges from the typical assassination attempt, to conspiracy theories that ACE's transgressions will result in war being declared on earth.

"ACE does pose a significant security threat," comments Rick. He shifts slightly in his seat, brown eyes studying Indira for several moments. There's a possibility that Rick may have only just actually taken notice of just how alien she is. Or may have just come under the sway of her Neurochemical assault.

"Are you looking to have Bad Company retrofit your offices and residence to prevent incursions? Or are you looking for a personal protective detail?"

"I was thinking of personal protective detail for official functions," Indira starts, but her assistant interrupts her.

"She really needs bodyguards for more than just those." Indira gives her assistant a look. In her defense, the assistant explains, "It's what the local government has requested." Her assistant sounds protective of her employer. Perhaps because she's been under the affects of Indira's neurochemical presence for a few hours already.

Indira sighs softly and continues, "I have a consultant looking into security systems. I'm looking for services to help deal with attacks on my person out in the open. But the priority would be keeping the citizens of your planet safe, not myself."

The Assistant starts to make a noise of protest, but she is silenced by a look from Indira. It's not that Indira is being stern. They are just glances, but that seems to be all it takes.

Rick is quiet as things are made clear to him. He nods once, curtly even, as he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. The Undead Soldier takes a few moments to ponder something whilst his eyes are closed. Slowly straightening up again, Rick replies, "I could arrange a personal protective detail for you. Were you looking for a full team or just one bodyguard?"

"If just one can handle the likes of what the Allied Champions of Earth have, then one. The fewer, the better. I stand out enough as is. I do not need a full security detail to make it any worse," Indira smiles softly. "There are non-meta threats as well, but they're just scared people. I don't wish to scare them further."

"Are you looking to have Bad Company retrofit your offices and residence to prevent incursions? Or are you looking for a personal protective detail?"

"I was thinking of personal protective detail for official functions," Indira starts, but her assistant interrupts her.

"She really needs bodyguards for more than just those." Indira gives her assistant a look. In her defense, the assistant explains, "It's what the local government has requested." Her assistant sounds protective of her employer. Perhaps because she's been under the affects of Indira's neurochemical presence for a few hours already.

Indira sighs softly and continues, "I have a consultant looking into security systems. I'm looking for services to help deal with attacks on my person out in the open. But the priority would be keeping the citizens of your planet safe, not myself."

The Assistant starts to make a noise of protest, but she is silenced by a look from Indira. It's not that Indira is being stern. They are just glances, but that seems to be all it takes.Rick is quiet as things are made clear to him. He nods once, curtly even, as he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. The Undead Soldier takes a few moments to ponder something whilst his eyes are closed. Slowly straightening up again, Rick replies, "I could arrange a personal protective detail for you. Were you looking for a full team or just one bodyguard?"

"If just one can handle the likes of what the Allied Champions of Earth have, then one. The fewer, the better. I stand out enough as is. I do not need a full security detail to make it any worse," Indira smiles softly. "There are non-meta threats as well, but they're just scared people. I don't wish to scare them further."

"Fair enough," replies Rick, nodding his head thoughtfully in agreement. He taps his chin once or twice before twisting toward his keyboard to activate a holographic computer pane. Floating in place over his desk, it is inexplicably opaque from the customer side of the desk, providing a certain amount of privacy for data entry and recovery.

"So you're looking for a daily bodyguard - to meet local governmental and diplomatic requests - who will likely not need to be on duty for a full shift."

Rick types away and occasionally uses the touch interface to make adjustments here and there.

"With an occasional need for a larger security team at publically available, medium security events. Threats are likely to be both normal and meta-level. You prefer such threats be dealt with nonlethally, preference given to non-violent tactics."

Looking up, Rick offers a small smile.

"That sound about right?"

"Perhaps not daily, and not for a full shift," Indira nods. "But at least a few days a week. Possibly full shifts for some functions." But she smiles at his other assessments. "Nonlethally, and non-violent if at all possible, yes. You understand me," she looks pleased.

"If that's what you would prefer," remarks Rick. One has to wonder if stuff like that comes off as crass to aliens too or if it's just humans that would find a reply like that unnecessarily blunt. He finishes typing and adjusting the screen before he looks at Indira. "Did you have any other preferences on your security detail I should be apprised of before I talk to prospective candidates?"

Indira just takes is as extra clarification, "Yes. It is my preference. I am here for peace, after all. I would like to keep it that way." She listens to the discussion of preferences and looks to her assistant curiously. When no comment is made by her assistant, she looks to Rick and leans forward a little with interest. "What options are available, Mr. Mason?"

Rick blinks once or twice, his expression owlish. Suspiciosa the Assistant might expect that the conversation in Rick head is going something like:

oO(What are you doing? What do you mean, what are you doing? What are /WE/ doing? Why is this lady keeping us off-guard? What is going on here? /FOCUS/ dummy. FOCUS.)

Offering a quizzical smile and a roll of his shoulders, Rick replies in a polite tone, "Your preferences, personal, professional, and cultural, are your options, ma'am."

Indira continues to smile warmly as she thinks of what preferences may be available. "Well. I have no had personal guard service where I had to personally acquire them. Some travel may be required. There may be certain occasions where all day protection is needed. 36/8?"

The assistant explains, "24/7, she means. For the guard. And passports for when she has to travel abroad."

"Yes. 24/7. I am still forgetful of your time keeping. That is why I require Ms. Wyndell's assistance," Indira unsteeples her hands to gracefully gesture to her assistance. "She maintains my calendar and assists in cultural matters." She clasps her hands. "I do not need protection from the media or good citizens. But...we occasionally get bomb threats. Someone skilled at keeping people calm in a crisis would be greatly valued."

"Hm."

Rick falls silent. There is nary a screen touch nor a tikkatak of keyboard. He simply stares at the women across the desk from him and ponders in silence, having made that single, brief utterance of ponderation.

"Is that...problematic?" Indira asks in concern. "It is a risky job. I understand if this is too dangerous for your company's services. The occasions of full time protection are rare. I would hope, anyway."

"It's not a problem," replies Rick. His gaze focuses a moment, then unfocuses for a few seconds as he stares at Indira. Wasn't she just...? No, it must be his imagination. Rick shifts his weight and comments, "By and large, your preferences have described me. I'm one of three bomb experts in Bad Company."

"So your company can meet my potential needs, it would seem," Indira replies pleasantly. She's having trouble reading some of his visual cues. "It was your performance in the news that put Bad Company in our minds. Your expertise with bombs is an added bonus."

"I'm not what you would call a people person, ma'am," replies Rick. He glosses over the possible difficulties he may have in crossing national borders, considering his current legal situation with the U.S.A.

"Well, you would not be required to answer questions or socialize if you do not wish it. At least, if you were assigned to me and were on shift." Indira offers kindly. "You would just need to be nearby to protect me or innocents if things happen."

"Very well," replies Rick. He tikkataks on his keyboard for a few seconds. A tray on his desk starts to fill with piping hot off the presses paperwork. Embassy functionaries can likely fill out the horrifying supply of papers for Indira.

"Good to meet you, boss."

The assistant is the one that accepts and handles all the paperwork being dispensed. "You'll just have to sign these once we're done reviewing them, Ambassador Paxis," Ms. Wyndell comments to Indira. She gives Rick another look, this time sympathizing that he's now hired maybe?

Indira smiles brightly. "Excellent. That was easier than I expected. And please, you may call me Indira. There is no need for formalities." Her eyes wander to Ms. Wyndell to include her on the comment as well. She looks back to Rick. "Is there anything else I should know involving your services? Perhaps you can recommend safety protocols. Oh, and on occasion, you may have to inspect meeting locations to make sure they are secure."

"Are you looking to have Bad Company retrofit your offices and residence to prevent incursions? Or are you looking for a personal protective detail?"

"I was thinking of personal protective detail for official functions," Indira starts, but her assistant interrupts her.

"She really needs bodyguards for more than just those." Indira gives her assistant a look. In her defense, the assistant explains, "It's what the local government has requested." Her assistant sounds protective of her employer. Perhaps because she's been under the affects of Indira's neurochemical presence for a few hours already.

Indira sighs softly and continues, "I have a consultant looking into security systems. I'm looking for services to help deal with attacks on my person out in the open. But the priority would be keeping the citizens of your planet safe, not myself."

The Assistant starts to make a noise of protest, but she is silenced by a look from Indira. It's not that Indira is being stern. They are just glances, but that seems to be all it takes.Rick is quiet as things are made clear to him. He nods once, curtly even, as he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. The Undead Soldier takes a few moments to ponder something whilst his eyes are closed. Slowly straightening up again, Rick replies, "I could arrange a personal protective detail for you. Were you looking for a full team or just one bodyguard?"

"If just one can handle the likes of what the Allied Champions of Earth have, then one. The fewer, the better. I stand out enough as is. I do not need a full security detail to make it any worse," Indira smiles softly. "There are non-meta threats as well, but they're just scared people. I don't wish to scare them further."

"Fair enough," replies Rick, nodding his head thoughtfully in agreement. He taps his chin once or twice before twisting toward his keyboard to activate a holographic computer pane. Floating in place over his desk, it is inexplicably opaque from the customer side of the desk, providing a certain amount of privacy for data entry and recovery.

"So you're looking for a daily bodyguard - to meet local governmental and diplomatic requests - who will likely not need to be on duty for a full shift."

Rick types away and occasionally uses the touch interface to make adjustments here and there.

"With an occasional need for a larger security team at publically available, medium security events. Threats are likely to be both normal and meta-level. You prefer such threats be dealt with nonlethally, preference given to non-violent tactics."

Looking up, Rick offers a small smile.

"That sound about right?"

"Perhaps not daily, and not for a full shift," Indira nods. "But at least a few days a week. Possibly full shifts for some functions." But she smiles at his other assessments. "Nonlethally, and non-violent if at all possible, yes. You understand me," she looks pleased.

"If that's what you would prefer," remarks Rick. One has to wonder if stuff like that comes off as crass to aliens too or if it's just humans that would find a reply like that unnecessarily blunt. He finishes typing and adjusting the screen before he looks at Indira. "Did you have any other preferences on your security detail I should be apprised of before I talk to prospective candidates?"

Indira just takes is as extra clarification, "Yes. It is my preference. I am here for peace, after all. I would like to keep it that way." She listens to the discussion of preferences and looks to her assistant curiously. When no comment is made by her assistant, she looks to Rick and leans forward a little with interest. "What options are available, Mr. Mason?"

Rick blinks once or twice, his expression owlish. Suspiciosa the Assistant might expect that the conversation in Rick head is going something like:

oO(What are you doing? What do you mean, what are you doing? What are /WE/ doing? Why is this lady keeping us off-guard? What is going on here? /FOCUS/ dummy. FOCUS.)

Offering a quizzical smile and a roll of his shoulders, Rick replies in a polite tone, "Your preferences, personal, professional, and cultural, are your options, ma'am."

Indira continues to smile warmly as she thinks of what preferences may be available. "Well. I have no had personal guard service where I had to personally acquire them. Some travel may be required. There may be certain occasions where all day protection is needed. 36/8?"

The assistant explains, "24/7, she means. For the guard. And passports for when she has to travel abroad."

"Yes. 24/7. I am still forgetful of your time keeping. That is why I require Ms. Wyndell's assistance," Indira unsteeples her hands to gracefully gesture to her assistance. "She maintains my calendar and assists in cultural matters." She clasps her hands. "I do not need protection from the media or good citizens. But...we occasionally get bomb threats. Someone skilled at keeping people calm in a crisis would be greatly valued."

"Hm."

Rick falls silent. There is nary a screen touch nor a tikkatak of keyboard. He simply stares at the women across the desk from him and ponders in silence, having made that single, brief utterance of ponderation.

"Is that...problematic?" Indira asks in concern. "It is a risky job. I understand if this is too dangerous for your company's services. The occasions of full time protection are rare. I would hope, anyway."

"It's not a problem," replies Rick. His gaze focuses a moment, then unfocuses for a few seconds as he stares at Indira. Wasn't she just...? No, it must be his imagination. Rick shifts his weight and comments, "By and large, your preferences have described me. I'm one of three bomb experts in Bad Company."

"It's not a problem," replies Rick. His gaze focuses a moment, then unfocuses for a few seconds as he stares at Indira. Wasn't she just...? No, it must be his imagination. Rick shifts his weight and comments, "By and large, your preferences have described me. I'm one of three bomb experts in Bad Company."

"So your company can meet my potential needs, it would seem," Indira replies pleasantly. She's having trouble reading some of his visual cues. "It was your performance in the news that put Bad Company in our minds. Your expertise with bombs is an added bonus."

"I'm not what you would call a people person, ma'am," replies Rick. He glosses over the possible difficulties he may have in crossing national borders, considering his current legal situation with the U.S.A.

"Well, you would not be required to answer questions or socialize if you do not wish it. At least, if you were assigned to me and were on shift." Indira offers kindly. "You would just need to be nearby to protect me or innocents if things happen."

"Very well," replies Rick. He tikkataks on his keyboard for a few seconds. A tray on his desk starts to fill with piping hot off the presses paperwork. Embassy functionaries can likely fill out the horrifying supply of papers for Indira.

"Good to meet you, boss."

The assistant is the one that accepts and handles all the paperwork being dispensed. "You'll just have to sign these once we're done reviewing them, Ambassador Paxis," Ms. Wyndell comments to Indira. She gives Rick another look, this time sympathizing that he's now hired maybe?

Indira smiles brightly. "Excellent. That was easier than I expected. And please, you may call me Indira. There is no need for formalities." Her eyes wander to Ms. Wyndell to include her on the comment as well. She looks back to Rick. "Is there anything else I should know involving your services? Perhaps you can recommend safety protocols. Oh, and on occasion, you may have to inspect meeting locations to make sure they are secure."

"There may - or may not - be restrictions on my ability to travel abroad to certain locations. Such restrictions, if they exist, are contingent upon active litigation that I am able to inform you of, but not permitted to elaborate on due to its on-going nature," replies Rick. Again, it sounds like he's reading off of a card.

"There may - or may not - be restrictions on my ability to travel abroad to certain locations. Such restrictions, if they exist, are contingent upon active litigation that I am able to inform you of, but not permitted to elaborate on due to its on-going nature," replies Rick. Again, it sounds like he's reading off of a card.

Indira nods thoughtfully. "I believe, if I recall correctly, that as a person under my employ, my diplomatic immunity would extend to you under certain circumstances." Indira looks to her assistant for confirmation.

Ms. Wyndell files away the Bad Company contract papers. "Yes, that is correct, Ambassador. To certain extents. So long as he has a passport for identification, they cannot legally bar him if you extend diplomatic status to him as a member of your staff."

Indira nods and looks to Rick with a hopeful smile. "If it would assist your company, I can deal with the official documents for such for any members of your company under my employ. Would this been helpful?" she asks with a soft, inquisitive tilt of her head.

"That would be very helpful, yes," replies Rick. He actually seems... Happy. For the moment. Rick waits until Ms. Wyndell finishes packaging paperwork before he rises to his feet again. Moving around the desk, Rick offers a hand first to Indira and then to Suspiciosa Wyndell for a business-like handshake that surely cannot go horribly awry with an alien ambassador in the room.

Indira rises up to her feet and smiles brightly. "Excellent. We will make it so. It has been so lovely to come to an agreement with you. I look forward to having peace of mind with your services," she says in delighted tones. She says goodbye in much the way she said hello. She steps forward and gives Rick a warm, affectionate embrace, and a kiss on each cheek again. Her people must be very open. When she steps back, she asks, "So how should I address you when you are on duty? As Rick? Or Mr. Mason?"

Ms. Wyndell has that look on her face again. The one that earned her the title Suspiciosa. It's the embarrassed chagrin of Indira's openess and affectionate nature that causes her discomfort and looks of sympathy. Like apologizing with just a look without daring to say it.

"While I'm on duty?" Rick tries not to flinch or blush at the "European" reverse-greeting. It helps that he's focusing on a subject that is not that. "Just call me Breach."

"Breach? Very well. I shall remember," Indira says graciously as she rests her hands before her with only the fingertips touching. "We shall get this paperwork submitted as soon as possible. The Allied Champions of Earth escaped after their last attempt on my life, so they could try again at any time." She bows her head towards Ms. Wyndell. "If you have any questions or details you need to know to do your duties, Ms. Wyndell can accept your queries and I will answer them to the best of my ability. Or we can discuss this in person once Bad Company is officially hired." She lifts her head and turns it back to Rick with a smile. "So then, until another time?"

"Until we meet again," agrees Rick. He may or may not be lost in Indira's smile, thanks Neurochemical Attraction.

"I look forward to it." Indira bows her head with a slight tilt, then straightens up again and turns around with a sweep of her dress. She walks out with Ms. Wyndell in tow. "I am sure you are busy, Breach, so we can see ourselves out. A thousand thanks again," she says as she turns and heads for the reception area.

PRECISELY ONE MINUTE LATER:

Rick Mason gently closes the door to his office. He walks over to his seat and rams his face into the desktop hard enough that /SOMETHING/ cracks.

"Fifty years in the tank and /ONE/ alien chick makes you act like you're back in high school again. You are a hell of a piece of work," grumbles Rick to himself. Or his desk. Stupid beautiful European alien elves. Stupid sexy Flanders.