[color=D6FFFF][b]Swathe Street Commons[/b][/color]
[color=D6FFFF][b]Reclaim Zone, South City Sprawl[/b][/color]
[color=D6FFFF][b]April 1, 2065[/b][/color]

[color=00BB77][i]I’m too sober for this shit,[/i][/color] was Theresa’s first reaction.

It wasn’t as if Theresa were a stranger to bars - sorry, [i]refreshment stands[/i]. Could any college student be a stranger to a bar? But the reek of alcohol stood out - this wasn’t an elegant place serving finely-mixed cocktails to discerning, high-class palates. This was a place where people drowned things - internal things. It even needed a security guard towards the middle of the room just to keep order. Now, why on earth had that guy said Ms. Ramana would be here…? For that matter, why would anyone be here?

Ahead of her, a walking crime against fashion squared off against both the security guard and - and Ms. Ramana herself, she noted with surprise. [b][color=lightgray]“Excuse me, but a warning?”[/color][/b] she was saying, in a cool and professional manner. [b][color=lightgray]“In less than five minutes this woman has threatened the well-being of one candidate’s health, drunkeningly wrestled with another candidate, and attempted to provoke some kind of violent reaction from known volatiles. Not to mention, she is clearly hiding [i]something[/i] under her jacket, which is already criminal enough in its own rights even if it isn’t smuggling contraband. “I have read through the safety protocols outlined in the contract with Knight Enterprise. Twice.”[/color][/b] 

Theresa watched from the entrance, transfixed, as Ms. Ramana cooly handled what looked like a drunken confrontation, chiding a security guard into doing something before it escalated. Someone asked her if she wanted a drink; she asked for a strawberry daiquiri without looking away. She hadn’t realized how much hard work it must be, being part of the Mayor’s upper staff. Managing Gatch’s public image must be a full-time job as it is, but on top of that, having to maintain order at public events like this? But it made sense, she supposed - the mayor would look bad if bar fights broke out at campaign events.

As she watched, Ms. Ramana’s phone materialized in her hand, as if summoned by a magic spell. She spoke into the phone without taking her eyes off of the security guard. [b][color=lightgray]“Situations like these must be treated seriously for the safety of the candidates and those in their parties. The proper procedure is to detain any potential security issues and remove them from the room for later questioning and proper threat assessment.”[/color][/b] 

The ability to stay calm under pressure was something Theresa admired in people. Far too many people gave into emotions and panic when stressed - but if she was ever gonna be a space pilot, Theresa couldn’t afford that. She’d have to be like her father - always able to be clearheaded and rational, no matter what. On that note, she tore her gaze away long enough to watch her daiquiri be mixed, poured, and brought over - this definitely wasn’t a place to turn your back on your drink...

[b][color=lightgray]“Your handler is slow to answer. Perhaps by the time they pick up you’ll have reconsidered and properly perform your responsibility when it comes to public safety. If not,”[/color][/b] Lott gave a professional smile, polite and reserved. [b][color=lightgray]“I truly hope they only give you a warning.”[/color][/b]

Theresa had to smile at that. That was how a professional delivered a threat, surely - formally, evenly, not reliant on sound and fury. She sipped her daiquiri, but wrinkled her nose in distaste - way too much alcohol! A mixed drink was supposed to be [i]balanced[/i]; this felt like she wouldn’t be legal to drive if she so much as sniffed it...