Nothing can stop Margaret from kneeling on a corner and recite the [i]Memorare[/i], not even anyone thinking she should've already put her imaginary friends back in the past. And this was what the girl had just finished wrapping up. Today's special requests for intercession was, of course, for things to run smoothly as the city-- the country, begins busying itself for its annual celebrations. Not to mention, too, an intercession for the Prime Minister to just finish picking his clothes and combing his hair already. She had on herself the Memorare leaflet among countless other leaflets in her front pocket, the white devotional scapular of the Most Blessed Trinity, and a relic of St. John Paul II, a tiny strand of hair encased in glass and decorated with a wooden inscription bearing the pope's name. Whether they actually had mysterious powers, most especially in this age of warring wizards and psychics, is subject to dispute.

Going back to the parliament's courtyard, a bored platoon of troops continued to lie in wait while the good 'ol PM was still wrapping up things on his end. In fact, even the officer on duty himself was keeping himself entertained through his holophone, playing the latest installment in his fancied side-scroller franchise. Though as soon as someone-- one who appeared to be their supplier of sophisticated equipment and gizmos, came hurrying right up to Margaret's face and asked where he was, the officer on duty put his holophone aside and started making his approach as the girl started to explain things back.

[color=fff79a]"The officer is just right there, walking to you."[/color] she replied, her voice faltering faintly as she pointed a finger.

The officer, a tall and mustached, but rather lean man in his late thirties, briefly flashed a small grimace of slight annoyance before walking up to the lady.

[color=gray]"...and you're the one making shipments, I suppose. Where's your load?"[/color]