The Furtive Technician sat at a table in the lively bustle of the Singing Mandrake, staring through tinted spectacles at the cup of liquid in her hand. It was pitch black, sort of viscous, coating the sides. If you knew of the source, of course, you'd be aware that that was more from any botanicals it was cut with than the actual...active ingredient you could say. It was a spring that produced it. A spring that ran from a cave that was near impossible to find...and should not be uncovered. In spite of herself, the woman fidgeted, pushing the glass between her cupped hands. No going back after this. Which had to be a good thing. She would just have to count on her innate intelligence to know how to deal with things from then on. She had her wits about her enough that she could probably carve out some niche for herself in the Fifth City...maybe one day even remove the glasses. If it worked. If not...where to go from there? Would death drive it away? Selling her soul to a devil? Running away to the north to live on a frigid rock among voiceless exiles and miserable monkey colonies? Her mind was full of possibilities now... but none of those would mean a thing if she went though with her current plan. If anything, the decision was already made. Last Echo spent on Bottled Oblivion. Probably not even the best rate, but it was becoming a little bit of a moot point really. If she was terribly concerned about her material goods she probably would not be looking even half as dishevelled as she did now...and might have thought to at least seize a few belongings on her departure from Grand Geode. She'd probably dropped about five social classes in the space of about a week...and she was remotely aware that she was getting occasional looks from the fashionable patrons as someone who did not really belong here. At one point, that probably would really have worried her. The Researcher smirked grimly, swirling her glass once again and peering into its depths. [b] "...hope I get to keep my whole new sense of perspective."[/b]