LIBERTY
Canvas would have gone almost as pale as his namesake when Heather seemed to make note of his disorderly entrance if he hadn't had the rosey glow of Erubescan wastefulness in his system.
"Did you know the Crown employs emotion manipulating Gifted whose entire jobs are to spike bits of feelings into liquors with so much alcohol content you can barely tell the difference? Terrible waste," said the field supervisor with only barely enough feigned indignation to keep the comment from sounding flippant.
Canvas gestured to the rows of bottles. "It goes without saying that you shouldn't get stupidly drunk during the mission, but you're going to look suspicious if you refuse every drink you're offered. Today you're all going to be testing your tolerance for the stuff. Pick one from the left, first. Have fun. It's easier than pretending to have fun. In twenty minutes, we'll run a drill and see how you do buzzed."
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Ranch House
Toby followed Midas at a short distance, his weapon still drawn, but held low now. The sooner they got rid of this sicko the better, so he didn't want to draw the process along by keeping him hesitant and on guard.
"Dare I ask whose that is?" said Toby, nodding at the blood running into the dirt and trying to keep his lip from curling in disgust.
Toby's attention on Midas flickered a bit with the new arrival - the mercenary. The man seemed to keep his surface feelings in check, but, "He's sincere, far as I c--can tell," called Toby to Eld Fen and Montana, chiming in to assist from afar though his hands were full with their other visitor. He almost wished this Specter was pulling a trick. That would be less worrisome than his warning.