[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://www.trbimg.com/img-54da3b87/turbine/sf-danny-trejo-shock-pop-comiccon-lauderdale-20150210[/img][/center][sub][color=orangered][i]His childhood bedroom. Caesar sometimes comes back here to think.[/i][/color][/sub][hr][b] [color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] La Hacienda 
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	The young lady at the computer blew a comma of dark hair out of her face. It was just starting to get a little longer than she liked it; just enough length to put it into her eyes, not enough to pull it back. And she wasn't generally a bandanna kind of girl unless heavy labor was involved. So yeah, it was time for a haircut. Any of the abuelitas would be more than happy to do a quick job, but Thalia knew full well that she would have to sit and suffer through a long lecture about "how pretty her hair was", and "why doesn't she grow it long, like a little princess?", a thing which she was anxious to avoid. 

	These were the thoughts of a person trying to avoid pain, naturally. The corpse of her favorite person in the world was laying in out to view a floor below, surrounded by people who were technically family, but just didn't know her as well as Thalia did. She was thinking of something comparatively trivial to keep her mind off of this, while simultaneously blanking most of her conscious thoughts so that her brain could just do what it did when she sat down in front of a computer, whatever that was. Her hands moved, stuff happened. Keystrokes later, she got what she needed or she ran into an obstacle that required more than she had right then. It was like swinging a machete sometimes, in that once you do it enough, become comfortable with it, it barely requires thought to bring the blade down. 

	When the metaphorical blade came down this time, Thalia barely registered it. Caesar, still looming over her in the room, cleared his throat when he noticed that her hands stopped moving and the screen became still. [color=orangered]"Sobrina?"[/color][sub]1[/sub] he nudged, moving to her side. Her eyes were still moving back and forth as if speed reading, the idea supported by the faintest movement of her lips. "Yah, alright Boss." she responded flatly. The older man did notice that she had slipped from addressing him as family, and more like she was an employee. Caesar noted that this might not be going the route he wanted to take with his brother's child. Thalia piped back up in a distant voice, "Hey, found something on that kid... Wait. That lady you took a contract with in Justice, what was her name?"

	[color=orangered]"Queensguard."[/color] It was Caesar's turn to respond flatly.

		"Elizabeth Queensguard?"

	Time stopped for a second. Ceasar dropped to a knee to better see the monitor, even as Thalia swiveled her machine around to show him. It was a picture of a younger Valerie Pye, holding a young teenage girl in front of a church, as part of an archived newspaper. The caption identified the girl as daughter of Everett Queensguard, Elizabeth. [color=orangered]"This..."[/color] started Caesar. He was unsure of the significance of this image, but he knew it was significant. [color=orangered]"She was there. When Juno got massacred, she was [i]there[/i]."[/color] Well, when this incarnation of Juno bit it, anyway. If the Wentworth file was to be believed, Juno had a very different lineup back in the 80's. How far back did it go? Roman Goddess codenames adopted by a differing series of prominent women, one of whom was (briefly) his Alicia. Caesar entered this new information into the company intranet and sent a copy to Keystone. In case anything happened, others should know. 

	[i]...back in Justice...[/i]

	Keystone and Vinters reached the nearest security checkpoint to the event. Before rounding the corner, he was already calling for a report and making plans to access the heavier arms therein. If those asshats were slacking at their posts instead of being directly on top of a very, very possible physical intrusion of the grounds, there would be Hell to pay. Or worse, there would be a pissed-off Cockney East End Londoner as big as a luxury sedan to pay, and he didn't take an I.O.U.


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1	=	Niece? 
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