[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/6PAtRMC.png[/img][table][row][cell][sup][color=gray][b]𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎[/b] - it's morning[/color][/sup][/cell][cell][sup][color=gray][b]𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗[/b] - New York City: The Rookery[/color][/sup][/cell][cell][sup][color=gray][b]𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗[/b] - General Roth, Mary, Five, Seven[/color][/sup][/cell][/row][/table][/center]
[color=lightgray]Meetings like these rarely dragged on, even with such... prominent attendance. Even then, this one was wrapped up in near record time. Orwell supposed that having so many creatures like them stuffed into such close quarters was giving the military men goosebumps or something. They blinked, tried to catch the gaze of a few of the stoic, silent soldiers that did nothing but stand by the door, but gave up quickly when it became obvious they were going out of their way to ignore everyone in the room. Instead Orwell looked over at the Archbishop just as the old man's eyes glanced at them, flashing a small but toothy smile at them.

Which was when the orders were given that Nine was to stay in the city for the time being. So there was no change from those early plans, then. Orwell saw O'Brien finally move, just a shift of his weight and a twitch of his face in acknowledgement of the orders, even as they closed their eyes and hung their head backwards, letting out a low groan. [/color]"I always get all the boring stuff..."

[color=lightgray]There was some saving grace though, and that was the fact that they would not be the only one of the Numbers left behind in New York. Seven and Five were going to be along for the ride - or whatever the opposite of that was in this case. Orwell observed them from their casual sprawled position. The were so very different from each other. And from Orwell too. 

Nine was looking forward to getting a sense of what they were [i]really[/i] like.

While Orwell half-dramatically lamented their role (lately they had really been playing up their pretending, O'Brien had noted), their handler turned to one of his colleagues. Calmly his gaze moved from Mary to Five, and then back again. He gave her a short nod.

[b]"Of course,"[/b] he told her. O'Brien had been at this job for a long time now, and he was at least passingly familiar with most of the Numbers, including Five. He very much doubted the man would get up to much trouble in the time Mary dealt with whatever her business was. He would come to know it sooner or later whether he wanted to or not.

He had his own business to attend to as well, but most of it could wait. As the general moved to leave, granting Thirteen's request for some downtime (which surprised both O'Brien and Orwell enough that the latter abandoned their acting), O'Brien cleared his throat to get the man's attention. [b]"Sir, a few packages have been prepared for those heading to the border. In the east wing's conference room, for collection at your earliest convenience."[/b] A simple reminder. 

He turned his attention then to Five, but Nine had already gotten up out of its seat and wandered close to its 'older brother.' Abruptly his gaze snapped to Orwell. He could already picture the words forming in their mouth, what kind of game was taking shape in their mind. He clasped a hand on Orwell's shoulder, knowing that Orwell had let him do it, and gently spun them away from Five. [b]"Not now,"[/b] he said.

[i]Not now.[/i] That was permission for later, as far as Nine was concerned.

Orwell smiled, little bit of their tongue poking out as they let O'Brien gently steer them away from the table. He could tell the expression was not as innocent as it looked, but... Resisting the urge to shake his head, O'Brien pulled out the chair two down from Five, and gestured for the golden haired man to retake his seat. 

[b]"Patience, Number Five,"[/b] he said, purposely neglecting the familiarity of using the name Five had been given. [b]"The threat has yet to be confirmed, and patrol is more than covered at the moment. As soon as we confirm an attack is imminent and determine the targeted area, we'll need your power. I'll go over a few key defense points with you and Mary as soon as the next report gets back to me."[/b]

O'Brien collected the business card and pointedly handed it to Five. [b]"And in the mean time, why don't you two take up Number Thirteen on his suggestion? Get to know the city you'll be protecting."[/b]

Not that the Empty Vessel would actually reflect much of Big Apple, and he doubted it would dull Five's edge, but it was either that or keep the man cooped up here, anxious and unguided. Once Mary returned, he would speak with her and Mo Ye about immediate plans whether at the bar or at HQ. 

Speaking of Mo Ye, or rather not of Mo Ye, after being turned away from playing with Five, Nine drifted toward Seven. It ignored the handler completely as it crouched in front of Seven, though of course it was watching even without looking. Orwell mimicked Seven's pose, though with their arms hanging down in the space between their knees. They tilted their head, more curious than friendly for the moment.[/color]

"I've been wondering about the mask," [color=lightgray]Orwell said to her. [/color]"Can you speak through it? It looks loose enough, but you haven't said a thing! And [i]you've[/i] still got [i]your[/i] head."

[color=lightgray]Even the shyest Numbers had spoken up at this point, even if only a word or two. [/color]"Take it off," [color=lightgray]Nine suggested. Then, a pause. A lowering of its voice, playfully conspiratorial.[/color] "Want me to?"