[indent]The swift change of mood came as abruptly as the power returning earlier; turning the colourful gouache of the scene in front of Eilidh, melt to a darker and more intense palette of edges and lines - spikes in energy and wobbles in mood. A flash of truth. All bar Vincent, who remained, until his exit, a splash of liquid violet - specked with gold shimmer until his voice was carried away into a void - as if he was zipped and folded away into a pocket. 

The time for fun, whimsy, and cups of tea had been shattered.

The Scottish woman frowned slightly, the elder in her interested only in the partially secret experiment of Conor and Julian's making. That Julian expected this team of Renegades to trust and have sufficient enough rapport with each other to make it through a dangerous situation unscathed. With a tilt of her head and a shy bite of her lip, she let her mind seek out the Irishman. Eilidh had felt him leave and so she envisioned a tethered line from her own self to him and she focused on the words reaching him.

[color=a187be][right][i]"What have you been doing, Conor? Is this going to be safe?"[/i][/right] [/color]

Telepathically, her words held more weight - as if the quirkiness of her being a wee smiley blind girl from an obscure fishing town now in a penthouse of superheroes had been erased. This voice was older. She didn't often do this. Speak to someone directly, deliver words to their inner self, but truth be told - she was concerned. She felt a sense of responsibility for each and every one of the team. 

Wasting no time, she rose from her seat and began carrying herself away to her own room. She felt very silly; barefoot and in her nightwear. A feeling of self-consciousness trickled down her spine and soaked into her skin. She wasn't like the others. Was she simply the silly blind girl from Scotland, collecting herself a Harem of her colleagues? She wanted to be more. She wanted to at least try.

Eilidh tugged on a pair of Cherry Dr. Martens she had left adjacent to the door frame of her bedroom - a quiet spot in the penthouse that was illuminated from above by a skylight. She could feel the light in front of her, twinkling in all of its azure quality, becoming a deep pond of cool tones on her bed. She would very often climb up and out of that skylight and enjoy a beer on the roof in the dead of night. The ambient noises of Seattle her only company. [i]"No beer tonight,"[/i] she thought to herself.  Next, she wrapped herself in a clay coloured peacoat. The feeling of the felt brushing against her bare arms as she readied herself helped to assuage those insecure thoughts. 

If she stayed behind, she would be wrought with concern. She had to go with them. Not strong enough to take on a beefed up baddie one on one, and not willing to be a burden to the team by putting herself in front of one, a thought occurred. She had made up her mind that she would be outside of the bank; looking in, the best way that she knew how. If only they were willing to trust her too. [/indent]