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ａｎｄ　ａ　ｆｕｎｅｒａｌ　ｗｒｏｕｇｈｔ　ｓｅａｒｃｈ[/center][/color]Morning--The Rookery, New York City[right][Everybody][/right][center][color=616161]----- xx -----[/color][/center]

Twelve and Five gave a loud introduction. Nor was Valentine's outbursts something she was comfortable in observing. Seven wasn't good with these types of people. Or that was what she was told, at least.

When Seven's eyes met Eleven while the faux-angel smiled and waved, a warm feeling filled Seven's chest. She couldn't help but smile back--though, the mask hid everything sans her tightening eyes.

Seven didn't quite care for the arrival of the general or the archbishop. Though, it wasn't out of a personal preference. She was supposed to know, but she had forgotten who they were. Important, she knew--but they eluded her understanding.

The bells chimed and gave her thoughts reprieve. 

She looked toward Mo Ye. Her handler didn't pay any mind to Seven and was already walking towards the stairwell. Like a pet, Seven followed her handlers footsteps.

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Seven took a seat at the conference table.

How tragic it was when she watched the video. For people to die as coldly as that was always morose. She bit the inside of her lip when she saw a knight riding a horse. Mo Ye coughed which caused Seven to look over to her handler--though Mo Ye still refrained from looking at her ward. Seven pattered her hands behind her as she sat. Ah--she found a cheap ballpoint pen nestled within the chair.

The archbishop's tasks were at least things Seven could do. Finding things was something that Seven was good at. She had plenty of experience--though the majority came from necessity rather than duty. Such was life when one was forgetful.

[color=DEDEDE][b]"Seven can assist in either,"[/b][/color] she said to everyone except Seven as she volunteered her ward, [color=DEDEDE][b]"though I would hesitate to use her in any sort of combat--especially with these tribesmen."[/b][/color]

Whether it from being bashful or some other affliction, Seven had found herself getting up, quietly moving away from the table, and resting in a narrow squat facing the wall. With her newfound pen, she repeated the same motion--placing the pen perpendicular, holding it with a single finger, then releasing and watching it fall in a random direction.