Elodie keeps her eye on York for a good three minutes after he takes his pill potion, watching for any adverse reactions. It only happened the once, but it was a very memorable once, and she's added activated charcoal and ipacac to her carry-with-her medkit in response. When he fails to fall over foaming at the mouth, climb onto a building to howl at the other side of the station far above them, or do anything other than vibrate impatiently at her to hurry up and go, she stows her gear. The mic fits in her bag, barely, but she's held industrial tools less hefty than this camera and it just goes across her back on a sling rig.

"Okay. Go use the magic lanyard to make nice and then mean with the fancy people on the red carpet. Between the tentacles and the media profiles from the bad days" she says it with less bitterness than normal, her therapist would be proud, "'m useless over there. I'll go chat up the workers around the stage, be helpful, and see what they've overheard that they technically shouldn't've." And for that, she gets the point of view camera that attaches to her jacket out and on, along with a old and thus AI-proof cassette recorder. There's a brief moment where she's got her eyes closed and her breathing pointedly steady, silencing old ghosts that haunt memories of the bad days. Game face back on, total time, maybe two seconds.

She turns to York, quaking at the leash like a hyperactive Terrier and eager to be let off to work his magic, about to find truth and speak it to everyone but especially power. One of her tentacles poke out from her coat and makes a shooing motion. She turns towards her own destination, knowing the man's off through the crowd already and leaving an empty trail behind him that oozes closed as those shoulder checked or elbowed between resume their original place. With that, she's off, getting out of the damnable crowd herself and around the side where nobody's paying attention, hopping the chest-high barrier in one fluid, abhuman motion. From there, pick your moment. Watch. Wait.

Wait.

And step in as the workman in battered jeans and a high-vis vest is about to lose his balance with that scaffolding, take the weight and turn it so he falls and looks like a dumbass instead of breaking a leg. "You okay?" She asks, and it's genuine concern in that moment, nothing faked. Make a friend, then ask them for favors and juicy bits. That's what friends do for each other, right?