[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar[/color] & [color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img][/img][hr][b] [color=dimgray]Location:[/color][/b] Justice Airport, Private Hangar 
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] Advanced Fisticuffs
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] Stamina [hr][hr][/center]

	Of course Keystone was going to show up to greet them. It would have been painfully impolite otherwise. There was also a little matter of delivering the report of the fiasco from the night before. Going through the black-and-white file on something so horrendously mishandled would be too close to shifting blame elsewhere, so far as Keystone was concerned, and he would have preferred to handle the situation in a much more personal manner. 

	Another good reason was that he was supposed to meet two very important people to him, professionally anyway. One was the person chosen to take over the Director's position from him; an experienced, analytical, business oriented individual who was a more than fair hand with something sharp, among others means of personal defense. Plus the person who was to take over the Tech team; an independently financed technological marvel with several patents to name, plus the budding combat skills of an occidental ninja. These people were part of Caesar's core team from the Head Office and his old homeland of Nuevo Leon. People with whom he had gone through the worst and most harrowing of ordeals. The slate grey wall that formed a bulwark against those that would seek to do harm to he and his. A team with which Keystone would be proud to say he worked, if only for the one assignment. The reality of the situation ...was just a little different.

	As they began to disembark from the plane, the broad man's face showed utter confusion. Caesar, a woman in her mid-to-late twenties in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, and a middle aged (but still vital and attractive) Latina cradling a baby that had not quite left the plane yet. What was more, the two people he saw leave with Caesar were notably absent. Yes, there was confusion. Keystone reached into his jacket, noting the presence of the iZombie complete set to date, hoping to gift it to Cecily. Another time, then. These were guests of his Boss, El Jefe, The Man In Charge, Caesar Hannibal Gonzalez. He was going to act every bit the professional. Keystone found a respectful spot to stand, not quite in the way of their egress, near a small baggage claim station. 

	Caesar made sure to be out in front. He needed to be out in front, and so he put some pep in his step just so that he could, in fact, be out in front. He was [i]so[/i] out in front by the time the others began to emerge from the plane, he was on the ground, damn near at a jog. Oddly mistaking the older man's fleetness of foot as delight to see him, Keystone did not even see it coming. 

	The last couple of steps between Caesar and Keystone were covered at a sprint, an act of suddenness that belied the apparent age of the venerable Mexican. Without word or pause, Caesar leapt bodily into the air, bringing one arm wide for balance even as his right foot found purchase on the railing of the baggage claim. He pushed off from this perch, reaching a new height while simultaneously curling his weathered, scarred hand into a tight rock formation of a fist. The combined inertia of his movement, the gravity assist, and the skill of the punch all came into jarring clarity as knuckles met temple with a sound not dissimilar to a hurled brick making solid, flat connection to a Thanksgiving turkey. 

	Keystone stumbled backwards against the assault but did not topple, though he did seriously consider the idea. Caesar landed hard. He had to put one hand to the ground to steady himself, though he did recover quickly. The grizzled, grief-stricken Mexican did not press his attack any farther. It was quite possible that he knew he could not at this point; Caesar knew what the abilities and limitations of both himself and the younger, stronger Keystone. Even in his youth, he might not have been able to beat the Brit in a fair contest. This point had to be made, however. Keystone should have told him about Alicia. 

	Trying to shake off the near-blackout inflicted upon him, Keystone rubbed the side of his throbbing skull and inquired with much in the way of sarcasm and gritted teeth, [color=b8860b]"You 'ave a good flight then, Boss? Peanut service tip-top? Get one o' them warm towels an' such, yeah?"[/color] 

	Caesar felt that some sort of explanation was in order. To wit, he stared into the eyes of the much larger man and uttered a single word in a mildly accusatory tone: [color=orangered]"[i]Alicia[/i]."[/color] The glint of moisture in his eyes was apparent. There was more to this than just a casual involvement. Keystone waited cautiously for that metaphorical "other shoe" to hit the floor.