Jean felt it; DC's urge to snatch the phone out of her hands. And she almost found herself smiling again at the thought of Effie, and the comfort DC must have felt to go snatching things out of the girl's hands. That was the defining relationship between DC and humanity, fascinating as it was for Jean to peek under the surface and realize just how differently the Detective might act around her with similar familiarity and comfort. Not that they were likely to ever get there, but it was Jean's nature to be interested. To care. 

It was a curse that dogged her far more than any X-gene. 

The train was just another chance for Jean to see Opal City, and see how it responded to DC. Opal's trains reminded her, in the slightest bit, of some areas of Australia--like Perth. Though the two cities were otherwise little alike, the very rhythm of a city could be found in the mass transit systems they had. Like veins snaking through the body; with the she and the chimp headed straight into the heart of the beast. 

Crowded as the train was, there was precious little said. Jean wasn't surprised at some of the curious looks he got, but found herself slightly disturbed when she felt anti-mutant sentiment surge: someone on the train recognized her, and hated her. It didn't take Jean long to find the person: a white man in his early 20s, in jeans and a dark hoodie, staring daggers at her. For the entire train ride, Jean met the stare. 

The only thing that broke the tension was when the train stopped, and the process of passengers exiting. Jean fell in behind the chimp, following him out of the train station and onto the street. When he dug out the cigarettes, Jean cleared her throat just a touch, and asked if she could bum a smoke and a light. Little else was said, until he asked her about shell companies. 

Gray smoke from the cigarette cherry wisping up and mixed with a stream of smoke coming from either nostril as she flicked the end of the cigarette with her thumb; a girl clearly no stranger to cigarette smoking, even if it would have surprised people. But that was the game Jean grew up in: projecting the perfect appearance, while having as much fun with the underlying reality as you could. She had spent more than one evening hiding from a parents party by creating a party-within-a-party with the other rich kids, stealing bottles of booze and wine and cigarettes when no one was looking to make it interesting. "I come from old New England wealth, Detective--yeah, I know a little something about shell companies. Need one? I'm sure my uncle has a few lawyers he could put you in touch with."

Her tone was dry, removed from emotion on the subject. Jean found the practice despicable, but it wasn't the only part of her family history she found disturbing.

Jean finished the cigarette, flicking the butt to the nearby curb, looking down the downtown side street he had led her down. "I'm starting to have a fun little feeling about this job of yours. What kind of company bails out all six victims from that lower rung of society? Sure, if they're young execs, or someone with knowledge of something sensitive in nature...any guesses?"