[hr][hr][center][h1][color=00ccff]Cecily Ashworth[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/7900c075a8213d3c9b609d28ce5af1af/tumblr_oecucj7HCs1up42jgo4_540.gif[/img][hr][b][color=00ccff]Location[/color][/b]: Private Plane[/center][hr][hr]	It surprised Cecily to learn that Mexico had stricter weapons laws. For whatever reason, she had been under the impression that it would be the opposite. It was something that she had never really considered, to the extent that the more she thought about it, the more clueless she felt about Mexico as a whole. She had been there once or twice before, but she had been young--too young to actually comprehend another country, another culture. The mention of "other stuff" also caught her attention. What qualified as other stuff? She tilted her head slightly, but Caesar had been through a lot. It'd be best to let him sleep and she could find out for herself what other stuff meant later. 

	She noticed Natasha putting her hand on the stomach, her heart instantly going out to the woman. Here she was, still on medication for cancer treatment, and she was flying for six hours to Mexico. It didn't seem to be healthy in the slightest. If anything happened to Natasha, Cecily would likely feel personally responsible for it. [color=00ccff]"I'm not that good a shot anyways,"[/color] Cecily joked, taking out her own gun and setting it down. A few classes with it hadn't turned her into Black Widow just yet. And it wasn't likely to ever happen. She wasn't like Natasha or Caesar. She wasn't deadly. 

	Once the pilot announced cruising altitude, some old habits of Cecily kicked in, telling her to take out a laptop and start watching movies. She nipped that small little urge before she did anything, knowing that it was time for Natasha to check out her wound and (hopefully) proclaim nothing wrong with it. She really didn't want to have to get emergency medical services at cruising altitude. 

	[color=00ccff]"Sounds good to me, Doc,"[/color] Cecily nodded, pulling off her jacket and then maneuvering the sleeve of her t-shirt so that way Natasha had access to the wound. Cecily then bit her lip. [color=00ccff]"Does it look okay to you?"[/color]
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=99ccff]Iris Kingston[/color][/h1][img]https://68.media.tumblr.com/5d4a4335c1a91df84ca7ca36a83d611a/tumblr_inline_nv42wt2JDv1qki4lu_500.gif[/img][hr][color=99ccff][b]Location[/b][/color]: 3932 Chicago Heights[/center][hr][hr]	Iris blinked as Amy Adams started talking at a speed that way exceeded a kilometer a minute. She could hardly comprehend all of the words that Amy Adams spilled out, taking a few seconds to recall exactly what had been said. Just a few minutes ago she had been informed of the gag order and now, the press was quite literally on her doorstep. She opened her mouth for a moment, before closing it again. She tried to be an honest person and didn't want to lie to the press, but at the same time, she also knew that it wasn't worth losing her job over. There were still more people in the asylum that she could help. 

	[color=99ccff]"I am afraid that I cannot comment on events happening at the asylum, due to patient confidentiality,"[/color] Iris finally said, smiling nervously and apologetically at Amy. Her eyes darted into the camera every so often, revealing that the young psychiatrist hadn't spent all too much time on television before. In fact, she couldn't recall ever being on television. She had never been involved in something that merited the attention of the press. 

	[color=99ccff]"And...I'm just doing my best to help people?"[/color] Iris finished, shrugging her shoulders slightly. Amy's question about how that made her feel was echoing through Iris' mind. She wanted to tell the woman that she was devastated and felt like a failure, but the gag order had been clear. Information would be released later on and for now, no one was to talk to the press about what had happened. [color=99ccff]"Bien...Anything else I could help you with, madame?"[/color] Her accent was doing a little none thing that happened when Iris was nervous and uncertain--switching wildly between the British influence of her mother and the French influence of her father.