[@KatherinWinter]
[center][color=a0410d]Argus[/color][/center]
Argus stared at the ceiling in his office/bedroom at BOSA HQ. He had spent a sleepless night mulling over the previous day's events. A field mission that could barely classify as a success, a meeting that was definitely not, and a training excercise which could have gone far worse than it had.

When the text from the Director arrived, the Djinn rolled out of bed and retrieved his phone from the charger on his desk, [color=a0410d]"Time to get yelled at by the boss again."[/color] he sighed, glancing down at his clothes. His shirt and pants were wrinkled after the training match and his jacket had acquired several bright red splotches from being hit by training rounds. With a grunt and a yawn, a ripple of cold fire traveled up hiss body, repairing and replacing the outfit. One perk of being a shapeshifter; never have to do laundry. Argus retrieved a few necessities from the locker in the corner of the room and headed towards the director's office.

[color=0087BD][center][h3]Rost[/h3][/center][/color]
Few men possess Rost's capacity for getting a proper night's rest. During his time as a student he had gained a reputation for falling asleep wherever he happened to be when his eyes grew heavy; rarely needing an additional transfusion of caffeine to get himself going the next day. As such, when the text message arrived, he awoke laid out awkwardly in a chair in the Agency's library. Not terribly surprised or disgruntled from the rude awakening or his unusual resting spot, the agent slid a bookmark into the tome resting on his chest and checked the message.

[color=0087BD]"Wonder what he's up to now?"[/color] the researcher pondered as he straightened out his uniform. He had showered after the training game the night before, but the stubble which had appeared since he shave the previous morning would be a less easily remedied situation. Rost, though decently skilled at planning ahead, did not generally keep a shaving kit at the office. Resigning himself to a short period of not being as neatly groomed as he preferred, the agent locked his grimoir in a magically sealed safe at the back of the library and departed from his lair to meet up with the director.