On instinct, Jericho reached for his side arm, every fiber of his being screaming at him to protect the only place that had ever accepted him for who he was, but he stopped, watching the missile fly towards it's target with a clenched and shaking fist. [color=Gold][i]Sneaky, no good, vile pieces of chocobo crap. When I get my hands on the person who ordered this strike...[/i][/color] He made no verbal reply, instead opting to turn and slam his fist into the door of the car and leaving a dent in it. It was evident that he was less than pleased about loosing Trabia Garden.