[h2][center]Charlotte Carrolle Lutwidge[/center][/h2][hr][indent].
	"Put those reports on the pile over their, Aida."

	The stoic mannequin complied with her request, placing a stack of papers neatly upon an ever growing pile of them. Her room, in simple terms, was a complete mess.  Large towers of paper up to an adult man's height grew here and there, while photos and maps were haphazardly taped across the wall. Two large T.V. monitors dominated the space at the front of the room, while several smaller ones hovered above them. Presently a large portion of the king-sized bed was occupied by weapons and diagrams. Aida had pleaded with Charlotte more than once to let her clean it, the sight growing increasingly unbearable for her, though she did not voice it, but Charlotte refused. She'd rather not have her notes rearranged when she was quite aware of where she'd placed them; 'organized chaos' and all that.

	As of current, she was working on something. A lead, at least, that was what she'd like to believe. Useful information with regards to her target was becoming increasingly difficult to grab hold off. Most data she was able to process turned out to be junk or simply a different variation of information she'd heard a hundred times over. She was loathed to admit it, but she was getting frustrated with the lack of development, and it may be affecting her judgement. She was even tempted to don White Knight and go into town for simple 'heroics' for a change of pace - as pointless as that course of action was it was still better than doing what was effectively nothing, and perhaps by stirring the rats nest, she might find something useful. She wasn't quite that desperate however, so for now she had to put up with absolutely irksome task of sorting out paperwork.

	Sometimes it was not such a chore - there were times where she even enjoyed such work. Now, however, was not such a time.

	[i]"I hate taxes,"[/i] she thought. It was a thought she wondered how many kids her age could empathize with. Aida may be a capable actress/maid/bodyguard, but she had neither the time nor head for management beyond combat situations. Perhaps she should look into using her powers to invest in a 'child' that could help her sort through all this vile paper work? It was certainly worth looking into . . .

	"M'lady, I do hate to interrupt your session, but it appears we have an uninvited guest at our doors." That was Cheshire. The cat was nestling contentedly atop a pile of pillows that she was sure where not on her bed earlier. He probably brought them in sometime without her noticing. 

	She looked up at the smaller T.V. screens close to the ceilings and saw, that there was indeed someone at their door. She narrowed her eyes at the man. What was he, another solicitor? Or perhaps something more? Whatever the case, she determined that gate-guards would be another thing worth investing on.

	"I don't want to be disturbed right now, Cheshire." She was busy. Whatever the man wanted, he could come tomorrow evening.

	Nodding in response to her wordless request, the cat grinned and launched out of bed faster than she could blink. Aida took a moment, picked up a pistol from the bed, bowed, and followed after him. It was just like her to be prudent, in the case that this man needed to be removed by force. Speaking of prudent.

	[i]"White Knight . . ."[/i]
[hr]
	Cheshire arrived first, which was a given. Rather than meet their guest through the front door, the currently invisible cat perched atop the window sill above the man. Clearing his throat, he spoke loudly and clearly, making sure to get the man's attention.

	"Alack, alay! I say indeed, what is this? What manner of creature are you? And to come to our doors at this unusual hour - how peculiar! Pray thee ser, dos't thou lost? Say it isn't so! We've no choice but to take you in - and yet, it would be better to turn away! Naught but straw-men and ghosts in this home, hee hee!"

	It was his usual infuriating patter of speech. For some reason, whenever he wasn't speaking with Charlotte, he couldn't help but to speak in such a way. Perhaps it was similar to the phenomenon of children changing their way of speaking when not in the presence of their mothers - well, it wasn't as though he minded. He actually liked the way he spoke, after all.

	Meanwhile, Aida had more or less arrived, staying behind the still shut door, her gun trained over at a spot on the door right behind which was the Techsters head, her finger steady on the trigger.[/indent][hr]
[@Old Amsterdam]