Aoife couldn't help it: when she heard the Victorian accent, she had to force herself to not freeze and lock up. She knew full well that it didn't reflect very well on her, stationed as she was now; but it was what it was as very unpleasant memories tried to force their way back to the forefront of her mind. The life of a Dublinn guerilla. Thirteen years old, watching people she knew brought back screaming, or not brought back at all. She knew that Dublinn wasn't good. That it clearly didn't care. County Hillock had taught her that much. But still...all those years couldn't just be ignored.

So there was a noticeable hiccup in her movement as she walked up to the feline, pulling out her identification badge and holding it up for inspection, and a stammer in her speech noticeable even through her accent that she smoothed out as best she could: "[color=paleturquoise]Rho—Rhodes Island. We're looking for an infected child, a—and have reason to believe he might have been taken out of the city by a group of [i]Victorians.[/i][/color]" It was a bit more difficult to keep the antipathy out of her voice than she'd anticipated, but she did her level best, and thought she did about as well as could be expected.

"[color=paleturquoise]Speaking of,[/color]" she continued immediately, trying to ignore her burgeoning headache as she inclined her head at the Cautus being bundled into the car, "[color=paleturquoise]what's the story with that?[/color]" Then, louder, "[color=paleturquoise]Letting who get away?[/color]"