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[indent]The inspector was tetchy, the remaining crews member stalking towards her - she cut him off before he could voice his visible concern: "Don't mind [i]me;[/i] a man nearly [i]drowned."[/i] 

By now, the masses were abandoning; there isn't much excitement to it, because the panic, short-lived, has settled, and the majority simply wants to escape into the city. Following them are those come to Trios for business, and those she couldn't read: two men in black suits; a short, bearded man with a pick axe slung over one shoulder; a soldier, presumably, in full armor. 

The same stoical bearing, but Minot's eyes were wandering the crowd a touch aimlessly - she couldn't come away with anything meaningful, and on top of that, she wasn't especially inspired by her view of the cityscape, nor by the fact that she'd arrived. Recent sounds of sputtering - the recovered man coming to - reeled in her reeling mind. So she wrung her hands before placing them in her pockets, then formed a mental recollection: the lobby - thereof, the faint remembrance of something she may have left behind, and then on deck... there was the seraphim, with her dark hair, with her markings, and with a faint alien sense to her. [i]She hoped she hadn't recoiled too loudly -[/i] it would have been unprofessional. 

Her bearings gradually coming to her, Inspector Minot approaches another volunteer from the vast diversity of the crowd, a brunette crouched over the sputtering man. It's a useless question, but, "You're alright, sir?" She could launch into interrogation, but, "I'm sure you've gotten quite the scare."[/indent]