[b]Three Days Ago, Monterey Regional Airport[/b]

Yngwie was furious.

To the world around her, she was just a lonely woman sitting at an empty gate at the airport. Her posture was slightly above average and her coloring was greatly below average, sure, but she wasn't different enough to arouse attention. Her face was kept carefully neutral.

Heracles, however, wasn't fooled. Seventy-ish years spent in constant contact with a person gives a special insight into their inner workings, after all. Or perhaps it was just that he was in the same situation and understood why she was upset.

"These Americans... Vhy ve didn't put them in place years ago astounds me. Transport schedule not kept... and they not provide in place of mistake! Irresponsible..."

A slurred voice only she could hear, full of feigned optimism, sounded from behind her head. "Hey, look at the bright side - you get to spend quality time with me! I just know you looooove keeping me company. After all, I am the strongest, the fastest, the mightiest, the one and only Heracles! Who wouldn't want to buy a few drinks for a guy like me?"

"Knock it off. Bragging not helping, yes? Cannot stand eight hours of this, so up shut early."

"You're telling me to shut up already? Aww, and I thought we were friends." Yngwie gave no response to his playful prodding. "Well, it's kind of chilly here. Since we'll be here a while, would you kindly hold me closer to your heart, that I may feel its warmth?"

The corner of Yngwie's mouth twitched upward. "You know my heart cold like motherland. Now, quiet, for sleeping to help vait faster."

[hr]

[b]Present, Boston Outlaw[/b]

The door to the warehouse opened once more, admitting the tall form of Yngwie Romanov, The Bleak Taskmaster. With a simple glance she surveyed the interior, her trained eyes taking in as much information from the scene as possible. A bar, a number of youthful Flame Hazes, suspiciously labeled laptops, and two people who seemed the most authoritative of the bunch. The other options being a bartender, a lush at the bar, a girl with a bottle of whiskey, a meathead biker, and a timid teen, it wasn't hard to pick them out.

"Oooh, a bar! Get a drink, get a drink! We're going to have fuuuuun tonight! Paaarty!" Heracles' jovial cries fell only upon Yngwie's deaf ears, as she had other concerns.

Namely, she felt a need to chastise those in charge. America had been a great disappointment to her thus far, and the Outlaw had done little to improve her experience. "Vhat is meaning?" she asked, her voice calm and tone level, but her accent quite thick. "Drink before meeting of importance? Vhy are suspicious laptops 'ere? Disorganized not expecting. Joke is this!?"

"Frey, darling, calm down. Nobody's going to understand you like that." Heracles whispered into Yngwie's ear, though even he knew it likely wasn't going to help much.