[quote=@Liaison]
[i][color=f7941d]He noticed the stealth gear littered all over the floor. It was fishy, and not in a good way like filleted flounder. The detective deduced she infiltrated the Cavala residence and was near the young heiress, mildly concerning him. Their rooms being so close made sense. As suspect of a character Merse was in his own right, not trusting the woman, the information broker left fine traces of his fur as any cat would all over her apartment. One here, one there. Anywhere. These hairs were peculiarly sensitive. Always connected, Merse could identify where every single one was without much thought. Though a protective measure, it was susceptible to backtracking if he wasn't careful. He wasn't. Maybe that's what he wanted. It was.[/color][/i]
[/quote]


		A giant goddamn tarp. That's what she thought of the strange golden blanket that covered this strange circular bed-table-thing.

	Ryuko clawed and kicked like a cat with yarn until the sheets escaped her grasp, exposing her to intense illumination. She had to squint to see, not in due part to having just come to. [i]They must love their bright lights,[/i] she thought, spinning to throw her legs around and hang them off the edge. She took care in slipping off the bed—the [i]platform[/i], really. This was no good. She'd been abducted.

	She took a moment to take in her surroundings and let the facts of the matter sink in. The girl wasn't there. Her espionage clothes were on the floor. She was naked. Her right arm, bare. It glinted under this [i]brilliant[/i] (UK definition in use) array of lights. No labels or logos or other graphics. No serial number—filed off and then lacquered to hide that fact. Paranoia drove her to check for differences in texture of the lacquer, check the material—plastisteel, transparent aluminum screen—check the design—custom, teal and black paintjob, with all the cylindrical and geometric robustness of a [i]Monolith[/i] brand prosthesis serving a more accurately proportioned hand that matched her left, which she ran up and down the length of her right arm, particularly focused around the stump of her elbow.

	It was real. Wasn't tampered with at all. She heaved a sigh of relief. Then another of disappointment. [i]That was all unnecessary...[/i] She shook her head. [i]No it wasn't. I needed to be sure. I've been abducted, it's alright to not trust them.[/i]

	The question now was, who were "they"?

	The architecture seemed to suddenly pop out at her, as if she hadn't been lucid enough to be aware of its beauty before now. Perhaps she hadn't. Combat drug therapy had that effect, a blunting of emotional coloring; some chemical or other bonded to adrenaline and other stress hormones, she figured. She could examine her environment with a clearer head now. She tried the door, then when that didn't work, she tried other doors. A bathroom, a closet... a kitchen!? She couldn't believe it. Had they thought her innocent and decided she deserved house arrest or protective custody over a cell?

	Taking this blessing on its face, she grabbed a wine bottle and poured herself just a single shot, to soothe her nerves. She'd remembered there being a TV in the other room. She exited the kitchen, sipping wine and, still newly enamored with her environment, running her left hand along the wall and whatever it could reach while she circled the room.

	As she neared the balcony, a scream entered from the outside world. The girl—Cavala's girl. Victoria. No, Veronica. Yes, it had to be Veronica. She stepped through the beige curtains, sighing as the heavenly soft cloth brushed over her skin, and leaned on the balcony with both arms. When she got close enough, she could hear speech. Veronica, and... Mr. Whiskers..? She must've had a cat. She frowned. No, that wasn't right. The idea conflicted with all the dead cats that apparently littered the Cavala premises. Had the Orichalca caught him right as he was turning a new leaf?

	Another voice, this one definitely the TV—[i]No need for my own, then[/i]. She hoisted herself up onto the ledge of the balcony, swinging her legs like a teenager at a pool. She wasn't as worried now about being nude: No one, save those with binoculars, would be able to see her well; most wouldn't think to even look up at here. This planet's population was almost entirely female too, she recalled, and the ones who weren't probably had seen enough to not care. She guessed it was warm outdoors, but the shadow of the building robbed her of any heat; the wind took bites as well. She'd put on clothes after getting the info she wanted.

	After the long list of crimes had been explored, and the wine savored, she did not move; she stayed put, waiting for more info—she'd be remiss to miss anything that came after.

	What came instead were words from a masculine voice. This had her piqued. Mr. Whiskers the [b]special[/b] cat...

	When the cat leapt onto the railing, her eyes widened and she quietly threw a leg back over the railing to slip off in silence. She was glad he didn't turn her way to look at his human. She waited until after Veronica padded away, meaning the cat had likely jumped and probably survived the plunge by esoteric means. She was in the clear then.

	Her eyes fell on the poofy fabric she'd worn over top everything. Not wanting to wear such silly spy clothing anymore, especially amid this lovely décor that deserved—[i]expected[/i]—much better fashion from her, she gathered it all on the edge of the bed, neatly folded. Then she placed her robotic hand on the pile. She worked through the simplistic militaristic UI on the screen. An energy spread through the pile like the blue ring of the initial ignition of a gasoline spill, except this blue left no yellow-white blaze in its wake and followed the surface of each stretch of fabric in each article. It rebounded and retraced its steps, taking the atoms with it. Then the clothing was gone. Locked away inside memory wells in her arm as quantum... non-matter... or whatever the whitecoats had told her. Holodecks and related technology on Star Trek, made into reality in a manner.

	A benefit of this novel method of storage: Most trackers can't function when converted to energy; mere information without the ability to act out its functions or to interact with the world the way it was designed. If they'd bugged her clothes, joke's on them.

[b][color=0054a6]Unbeknownst to her, the memory cells quantumly entangled with Merse in peculiar ways... just as he could normally track his fur, so too did her arm enter tracking mode of its own accord to track him. This anomalous behavior was lost on her for now.[/color][/b]

	She wondered whether it would be better to materialize a weapon and scale down the building's no doubt similarly extravagant exterior or play along for now. She decided against it. All they knew her as was the sorta-runaway daughter of the head of Japan's most lethal private militaries... unless they had information about her family ordeals beyond magazine covers at All-marts. But they clearly hadn't leaked any of it to the public if they did. She would play the part of socialite for now.

	She wondered how the girl was doing.

	Materializing and donning a skirt, bandeau, elbow-length gloves, and knee-high, flat-soled, kneepad-included boots—all black leather and minimalist—she crossed the gap between balconies with a running start on hers' whole railing and a wall-run, skipping off Veronica's railing and onto the pristine floor, her momentum becoming a spin that faced her towards the apartment. She then strutted into the room. She would strut about the whole apartment if she had to.

	When she found her, she clasped both hands behind her back, taking on a soft, friendly tone, though it hardly made her voice less husky, and the tone was also lilted somewhat dramatically, out of habit. "Hi there, Veronica. We got off on the wrong foot... let's start over. I'm Ryuko."  She bowed her head to the girl. Half-Black, half-Japanese, with an English accent... and of course, the amplifier of Veronica's frightful awakening and, no doubt, ensuing confusion that night... she wondered how the girl would receive her. She seemed to receive a talking cat just fine. Ryuko had hopes for this conversation. Not high hopes, but hopes nonetheless.