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Rosa had seen her fair share of people from all sorts of different backgrounds, which is why she was a little disappointed in the line-up. All of the people here looked as if they could afford breakfast; maybe even luncheons, if she was going to be adventurous with her musing. She was even a little offended that Sam Wu, Esq, had such a fancy-pancy way of speaking. Where was the honour? The integrity, the pride in your own heritage? She dished out some disappointment in her stare. Maybe that’ll get to him. Or maybe he’ll just wonder why this chocolate ragamuffin was giving him the stink-eye.

Whether it worked or not was irrelevant, Samuel Wu (Esq) still gave out his business cards and Rosa was temporarily placated with the notion of an offering. She didn’t quite know what to do with cards like those, especially since her time on the telephone was severely limited after racking up that bill talking to the girls back in Louisiana. However it wasn’t hard to spot a bored young lady, and a bored young lady was she. Rosa knew how to amuse herself, and waiting was probably one of her fatal weaknesses. Now she had a card.

Another woman walked in but barely said anything - no introduction this time - as Rosa was perfecting her masterpiece, a paper boat that could weather all the storms and shit you’d find in the New York gutters. It was intriguing to see her handiwork, especially given she was still wearing those gloves and hadn’t taken them off when she came in. In fact, out of all the people who came in, the only one that really introduced herself was the dirty young blonde who [i]looked[/i] like she’d come from harder times, but hadn’t, because she was a LeBlanc. In fact, that name alone made Rosa nearly drop her paper boat.The LeBlancs made everyone’s life hell. Even being near one made Rosa bridle with disgust.

This didn’t mean Rosa didn’t [i]like[/i] any of those assembled. It was just-...she wasn’t impressed by them. There was something lacking - something they needed to prove to her first before she could really appreciate who she was working with. For Samuel, it was a bit of relatability. For the two unknowns, it was primarily their names. And the LeBlanc-...well, Rosa didn’t know how anyone could redeem themselves if they’d openly call out that name in a high rise apartment. But she knew a thing or two about the path to redemption. She was willing to keep an eye out for some sort of miracle.

When the contract arrived, Rosa had completed the business-card-turned-sea-vessel and was ready to set sail into the dangerous waters of binding agreements. She regarded the paper with scepticism. It crinkled under her clunky grasp - but only a little. She inhaled through her nostrils. She rubbed one eye. She looked up at Joseph, then down at the contract. She did not - could not - mention nor react to the absolutely absurd amount of money she’d be making, on a salary. She barely batted an eyelid at the reimbursement clause. She absolutely, positively did not make any sort of indication of surprise or excitement whatsoever, on pain of death, or the loss of such a good deal-...

...A deal too good to be true.

Rosa’s finger traced the circle of the symbol painted on the letterhead. She was at least vaguely aware of what her employer was trying to tell her, but her thoughts went back to the cereal gypsy of her ill-fated discovery of the investigation unit. Her blood seemed to curdle in her veins, as if she was dumped into a bucket of ice water. She knew there had to be a condition somewhere. A ‘but’. She had an inkling of a suspicion, that had now blossomed into a great big ugly bloom of hypotheses.

When Rosa spoke she stood out immediately, which probably explained why she was so quiet in the first place. For starters, a voice like that didn’t come from New York. In fact, it was really difficult to place her anywhere geographically from the sound alone. Sometimes there was a Louisiana drawl. Her consonants had all the heavy heat of [i]Maghrebi[/i] plains. The Irish in her came out like a little leprechaun elbowing its way through the sentences. And, as if it were an afterthought, there was that unmistakable New York varnish on top of the entire debacle, as if tossing some loose semblance of familiarity onto the most otherworldly accent known to man would make it a little easier on the ears. It was coherent enough though. You could hear her. She spoke in a way that could be understood.

She said,[color=#800020] “Do you know what this symbol means?”[/color] Her gaze snapped up to meet Bitsy’s in the eye, a ballsy move for someone with more patches in her pants than dollars in her pocket.[color=#800020] “Or did you just draw this on for the hell of it?”[/color]