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She had risen early for breakfast, but that had turned out not to be needed. Still, there was nothing wrong with a refreshing continental to start the day off right. A cup of coffee, unlimited refills, that was very nice, a blueberry muffin, croissant and an orange. Not a whole lot, but she was a girl who had grown up used to full Englishes- anything smaller than a plate literally overflowing with food was a 'small' breakfast to her. When it turned out they were not to be summoned until later, she returned to her room, glad to have packed books and her laptop. She checked the world news, and then did a little idle digging.

So, it seemed that some of her thoughts had been correct. Devyn was a journalist. Hard hitting investigative journalist, lots of stories- including her heading to Sierra Leone and covering the Ebola epidemic. Quite the woman indeed. Lots more details about her neatly filed away in the brain of the Northern Irish lass, and indeed on her laptop. She saved a few choice quotes and links to files, before dragging it into a fresh folder and burying it deep within a labyrinth of other files, before finally encrypting it. Random password generator... I`0Kxy+oA= . Eh, not the worst it had ever thrown at her. Then onto a little more digging.

Most proved fruitless, sadly. Most... Except for the girl. An Australian serial killer targeting suspected paedophiles. Not only positively delightful, but also most likely one of her new colleagues. That... Disturbed her. Especially the messes left of some of those victims... Brr. More details were not forthcoming, which did irritate her, but she supposed that was the nature of "IS THIS THE NEW JACK THE RIPPER?" as one clickbait headline splashed across her laptop screen.

Now she had the advantage. People often said that knowledge was power, but they never seemed to understand how much that was the case. Plugging in her laptop- glad she had bought an adaptor at Heathrow, she slid in her heels and took out a more practical set of clothing. Loose jeans, a pair of running shoes, with heel support, a top, and then a denim jacket over that. Then onto the makeup. A little bit to hide her more harsher features, and then a little blusher, making sure to leave it a little unblended. Not so much she looked like a clown, but enough to give her more than a rosy glow. Then she slipped on her glasses. Lunch, then it was. Still no summons.

Instead of eating inside the hotel, she decided to take a walk. Annoyingly, being a residential district, there were no sit-down places for her to eat, so she dejectedly returned back to her hotel, another cup of coffee and a club sandwich secured. At least, she supposed, she had learned a little more of the neighbourhood, and that was something that could come in handy. Her meal was not that bad however. Ignoring the fact that the crisps, (not chips as the waitress kept insisting,) were sharp enough to turn the inside of her mouth to neat little ribbons, it was at least prepared well. 

Then, finally, came the call. They returned to the parlour, another glass of milk in a crystal decanter (really not needed- cream was not a sufficient sedimentary product to require something like a decanter, but she wouldn't complain, really,) and then... Hellpact LLC. Of course. She restrained herself from smacking her own forehead, before doing so once she heard the details of the mission, audibly groaning. [color=f26522]"Of course. How typical that we end up investigating one of the most stereotypical cases- to the point where everyone from Sherlock Holmes to Professor Layton has covered it."[/color] She finished the glass of milk, and was tempted to ask for a White Russian, but refrained. Alcohol afterwards. [color=f26522]"Cream and coffee please, no sugar. Lots of cream."[/color] was her request when the butler returned. She supposed she had signed up to this.