Skye's initial concerns with Sam almost felt like they doubled with Zurvan coming in with....holy shit, was that a fox? He had a way of making friends...and the fox looked tame, as if the big man's presence itself calmed it down to a complete stop rather than its' ordinary hyperactive movement, waving across to him and his fox.
"Awww...now that is cute, Zurvan. Looks almost like you want to fit in with all the redheads or something? Good to have you back." Skye remarked, using her whisky glass to remark out, sitting up on the sofa as Sam looked across, a little disgusted, given that while his fox was cute....well, he felt a little triggered.

"What, so Bruce Almighty here can bring a fox, but we can't have puppies on base? Oh, and yes, Zurvan- this weed is the best we get now. Not even proper zest to it, schmoking this is a fucking joke." It got a reciving glance from Skye, with a distinct sigh, almost as if the youngest member of the team was just asking for this shit.
"Yeah, because Zurvan doesn't keep his guests permenently. Or at least, in a method that means I don't know anything about them, now do I? For a guy that murders people in the shadows, subtlety isn't your specialism." She replied, a sharp tone cutting to Sam that he rather drop back his line of enquiry before sipping the rest of her whisky down with a delightful swig, wiping her brow. 

Leaving her glass at the table, she walked up to the tall First-Nations giant of the team, and the fox chittering and sqeaking away, as if to almost chat with him. 
"Aren't you a playful little thing?" It was a mystical talent, but no less impressive, as Skye gave a playful brush of the fox's coat, to an awful lot more chittering, before being interrupted by the other sight and sound of black fabric outside filling the view, before a small black figure landed right in front of the lounge's window. Ah yeah, Astrid had gone out wingsuiting again. Right. And boy, was she getting lower every time she pitched. A sign she was getting bored of not doing anything on base, Skye resolved.  

Within a few minutes Astrid had come in after changing her stuff over, enough time for Skye to give the Zurvan's fox a few more strokes and a playful smile, the team leader easy-going enough to be distracted by the cute fox Zurvan had tamed while waving back to Astrid. The sight of the red and blue haired Norwegian coming in and crashing on a sofa was almost a reminder to Skye- her and Sam were almost diametric opposites for light operatives, one in wintery, long-range and sniping-based roles, while the other was a close range, runner and urban warfare specialist. One could crush your windpipe and the other would slice it open. But they worked alright, and did what they did best, though arguably, were the most dysfunctional part of the team for it. The Scottish operative turned to have a look out the window, finding her own seat by Sam again, before turning her attention back to Astrid.

"Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself- bluebird day, so it was either that or you'd have gone skiing, love. Nothing much to report on that front, Astrid. Mostly post-op mop-up. Considering that El Presidente Alvarez isn't dead, and quite a lot more FARC than I intially thought are, so just a few loose ends. Luckily we don't have to deal with a lot of the usual red-tape a SOF team deals with, so it's onto the next clusterfuck, eh?" She retorted, sitting up and heading back to the lounge, realising she had another comment to make- one she made after pouring a half-measure of whisky, pouring another full one for Zurvan and Astrid, and passing it over to them both.
"Here. This shit is a vintage, so you aren't asking if you want it. To a good job done, hey?" Skye said, raising her glass, not for a proper toast but a litle tipple while they were all here.

"Oh, and Sam, Astrid- and I'm not gonna let you two kick the shit out of each other in the Cavern again, dammit, that was a lot of extra fucking paperwork and needless broken ribs."
"We really fucking went at it, you have to admit that, right Skye? Astrid's fat bu.." Sam commented, Skye almost spitting as she heard it, chuckling and interrupting straight away. Kid had some balls, she'll give him that.
"Get a fucking room if you're gonna do that, you two. And get some more protection than you had last time, if you're gonna fight, or else I'll show you just how seriously I feel about venting my anger about paperwork to the team. You want a Mason special on the lake, till you pass out?" Skye replied, sipping whisky in response with her witted and sly response, as veiled a threat as it could be- the Dutchman not often left speechless, but forced to conceed the point, sighing as he finished up with the blunt he was making. He would provoke shit like that sometimes, being a merc, he worked with that often- Skye, not so much. The Scottish lady put the bottle of fine vintage back away, before looking across to the three, her motherly disposition needed to keep this wild gang together.

"That's what I fucking thought. So we're basically on R&R till tomorrow evening. Oracle is keeping me in the loop on a potential Black Flag facility on Crete, something our inteligence friends gathered that we might find ourselves putting a hole in. Till then, try not to kill each other, yeah?"