Bella has eyes only for paperwork. The arrangement of every letter, and then the words they spell, and the sentences they form after that. The spacing of NBX-462's signature, how it flows, the smell of the ink and the pressure on the paper, how evenly it's replicated across multiple forms. She barely bothers smelling the air beyond the pages; these things tell her more about the situation than any scents of lies or deception she could look for. His body language is similarly useless, the eyes, the smile, his posture and the tone of his voice. None of it told her a fucking thing she wouldn't find here in the forest of Artemis. 

"Oh yes. Totally agree," she drones, not looking up, "Backwards as it gets. Wrong way to live and so on. Someone really ought to do something."

Her pen hesitates over top of the contract. Her lips purse and her tail twitches in apparent irritation. Fucking sheep has her over a barrel. She'd invoked this contract as a way of saving everybody's ass from a trap but now he's gone and [i]signed[/i] the fucking thing and it's turned into a trap instead. The question of whether or not she can trust the fluffball or not...

Unmistakable heat rises up to her cheeks. She leans farther over the paper. In clean, sharp lines she writes a name. The only name she can write if this is gonna mean anything, consequence be damned.

[u][i]Bella. Hostilius. Meowmeow.[/i][/u]

Her fingers grip the pen so tight that it cracks clean in half. Snarling, she lets it fall to the ground and rushes to fold the contract in half and then in half again before she hands it back. Her claws tear into the table when she tries to settle back down; she stands instead, and makes a show of smoothing out her dress. With a very calculated breath and a violent toss of her hair, she bows.

"I... appreciate your helpfulness with all of this. Sir. Rest assured, we have enough information to handle everything. We'll be in touch once we've settled your problem."

She does not wait for a response. With the Auspex pouring its baleful power all over the room in murderous waves, it is no problem at all to sweep Dyssia, Ember, and her entourage from the room along with her.

Silver Divers for Silver Kings. Obvious enough. Ember can take her wolves and handle things however she feels like it, as long as it gets handled she's got no reason to care how. Whatever problems crop up she can't handle them until later anyway. 

That leaves herself and Dyssia, with Taurus as an honor guard, alone in a shuttle heading for the surface of the planet. She's calmer here, at least. Though she sits in a dangerous hunch, her claws curling inward and her eyes smoldering in the direction of the floor.

"You can't trust a fucking thing the little diplomat says," she muses, "That's why we're going down there ourselves. I want to see what these people look like with my own eyes. Don't get it twisted, though. Whatever we find down there, we're leaving behind. I just... need to know."