Jean Grey tried to sit. She really did. But some things were about as possible as keeping a secret from a telepath; good luck to you. She sat for all three minutes--three whole minutes--before her body squirmed, and prompted further motion. Motion that rolled like a river into more motion. First, she stood, and looked her pretty eyes this way and that. Every few moments those eyes would sneak a peek back at the Chimp, and every time they did those semi-glossed lips of her's would threaten a small grin.

But it never came. 

"Nice digs. It's got the vibe of an uber Private Dick."

The twelve year old in Jean let out a small snicker under her breath. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling; where her body soon followed--freeing itself from the bondage of gravity to float up, and up, and up--until she were a mere few inches below the ceiling. "Almost looks like water damage up here." One little part of the ceiling had a slight yellow tone to it. And while it might be water damage, Jean could instantly think of two other possibilities. But she was restless, and it helped to move. To fidget. To poke at ceilings. 

At least, it helped her. 

Judging by the quick-jerk nature of her host, Jean descended until her feet were firmly back in gravity's hands, her hands stuffing neatly into the pockets of her coat. When he told her "homicide doesn't have enough time" her mind flashed back to childhood, to Boston, to being at her parent's table at a charity function when city politics were invariably brought up. She remembered wealthy men and women from her parent's circles sighing about the state of Boston PD. Talking about it like it had gotten as bad as Detroit, or Gotham City. 

It was a life, and circle of people, so far from where Jean currently found herself it almost felt like it all happened to another girl. Not Jean. Out his window she saw glimpses of Opal City; shadowy, bathed in the neon lights of the bars and clubs, or the pale yellow glow of the street lights. And if you weren't on a street with the neon lights or the street lights in Opal City...odds were you had bigger problems than darkness. 

"...God saves, man kills." A quiet prayer under her breath, again, as she heard that Opal averaged a murder and a half every day. By the time she was done moving about the place, Jean had come around to his side of the desk, and leaned back on it's edge, just a foot away from where he sat, her head in his direction, her eyes pointed down at him. "So the lawyer of pimps and dealers has some touching concern over his clients--or maybe just their money. Given the nature of the victims, maybe it's just some street war you've lucked into?...or is that the kind of thinking Opal PD uses to rationalize not paying the murders much mind?"

It was a sneaking suspicion of Jean's, especially after touching upon a few minds of Opal's finest.