"Well, a nice ass and smile will get you further than just a nice ass, but really not that much further," Jocasta philosophized around a mouthful of sandwich. The meat was chewy which actually meant it was of better quality that the vat grown alternative that didn't bother with the striations of actual muscle.

"I'm sorry your partner was mean to you," she said, her tone a touch mocking. She was about to continue in this vein when she noticed four men enter through the door. They were chatting with one and other about something, but the threads of their conversations didn't quite mesh with the slight psychic undertone her gifts usually provided her. Nonchalantly she raised her hand to stroke her ear, the dragonfly curled around her wrist providing her with a view behind her where another trio of men, dressed as chefs but far too clean to have been doing the job were emerging from the kitchen pushing a cart. A white cloth was drapped over what might have been an expensive meal, but which Jocasta's expensive enhancements gave a better than 80 percent chance of being a shot gun and a pair of short barreled riot carbines.

"Shit," she said under her breath and reached down and tossed off the final shot.

"I get the feeling someone dosen't want you to get your sentimental attachment back," she told him.