Preparations [Max/Panic/Jasmine]

MONDAY :: 4:34PM LOCAL TIME

Three dossiers on the table, three dossiers on the table... what to do? It was a dilemma, certainly... and he'd called the other two up to his room... a hand went to blonde hair and rushed through it, and another removed tinted-lens glasses and set them upon the table. Those same two hands touched down on the three stacked dossiers and splayed them out over the table with a sigh. "I need a cigarette," Came a murmur as those same calloused hands again moved, to grasp a half-empty packet of Marlboro Golds and a disposable cheapy 20-cent lighter, stacking one of the cigarettes between his lips and lighting it as quickly as he could.

The body that the hands belonged to slumped back down upon the chair and wiped the sweat from the brow of an American who clearly didn't belong. He was in Portugal, for fuck's sake! He was exiled from his home, because of his family. They'd been here for almost two years now; and he still felt off. "Where the fuck are they..." Came those same grizzled tones, exhaling a mixture of grumpiness and cigarette smoke intermingling and perfectly epitomising the atmosphere revolving about one Maxim P. Jensen, self-proclaimed leader of Gaia, liberator of the people, and other titles they'd graciously given him. Titles he didn't deserve.

He lead because no-one else could and Typhon had programmed him to. And he lead with instinct that Typhon had given him. He was a Typhon-manufactured rebellion. It was ironic, to say the least. The twin pistols in his holsters hung heavy over a simple white shirt; plastic-strap stitches through his eyebrow from wrestling with their latest initiate, Jasmine, when she'd come along. All he did was break legs of the unwilling and tell people where to go. He was a thug, a human weapon turned would-be saviour. The faded, bloody aluminium bat in the corner was a lament of siblings past and siblings to come. He'd threatened all the three in this base with it, and he'd willingly do so again if they made a move towards defecting. But as his god-forsaken father had taught him 'if you lead, do so with an iron fist'.

Max pondered for a moment. What separated them from Typhon except from goals and ideals? The methods were brutally similar. But... then again, you have to fight fire with fire; most people refrain from stooping too low. Gaia had already had to. And 'Gaia'? It was a pathetic moniker for a half-justified group of twenty-somethings with guns and a view to revenge. Thugs on a vendetta. No better than the black-clad PMC soldiers hunting them down.

And did Max care?

No. He knew his methods were brutal, his rule crooked, his leadership far from ideal, but, dammit, he got fucking results. In a world like this, results mattered, and in a battle against Typhon, they definitely fucking mattered. So he didn't care. Because beneath the facades and the bullshit, he knew that these results weren't just with a view to revenge like he'd told himself. They weren't just thugs on a vendetta. Because there was one thing that set them apart from Typhon on a universal level which meant they'd never see eye-to-eye.

Camaraderie. And three brought to this organisation with that same ideal in mind had been moulded from putty, and weeks later, were chiselled of stone. Hell, if he tried, maybe the same would apply for his leadership. But for now, they had a goal to achieve. The petty morals of how they got their results and what they did for that overarching goal with good in mind could come later. For today? It was time to do, and not think.

And, in his mind's eye, Max could see, those two would be coming through into his 'office' - a den of spread papers and cigarette butts - in just a moment. They will arrive momentarily. The blonde heard himself speaking within his head with a voice that he wasn't controlling. Hazel eyes flickered to a door that a split-second later steadily opened.

Jasmine was staring out at the sunset, buttoning her undershirt and adjusting her tie for this evening's meeting. She was given a message about a 'leadership' meeting today, four o'clock precisely, but of course she just had to get that sketch done. She was borrowing some clothes from Sofia today, a business suit, but an almost knee length skirt that gripped her hips and thighs just a bit to hard, her waist size just a bit bigger than her roomate's. She was nesteling a few bruises from sparring with this rebellion's commander, and he hadn't exactly enjoyed it when she brough a knife out of nowhere to get him to let go of the firm grip on her neck, and had accidentely sliced open his eyebrow.

She had curled her hair, had taken a long and thorough shower, brushed her teeth, and even painted her nails, something she almost never did and never had time for. She never understood the need for make up and seeing as she owned none, didn't wear it. Yet she was wearing...heels. God, how she hated them, they were killer on her feet and served no practical use in the field, but she was always told that she had the legs for them. She clipped along in the accursed devices into the bathroom, still heavy with steam. The suit was jet black, as was the tie, and it contrasted well against her eggshell skin. Her cyan eyes looked beautiful and powerful behind the glass of her red rimmed glasses as she peered over both her shoulders into the mirror, examining her curled pink hair that fell beautifully against her back, again two locks of spiraled hair hung in front of her shoulders. She then collected her satchel and walked from the room.

She clicked along with little effort, as much as she hated heels she wore them plenty of times to become acquainted with the walking technique. She moved along up the stairs at a hurried pace, knowing if she didn't hurry she'd be late, and Alpha was not one to be kept waiting. Her heels echoed ticks through the luxurious hallways as she approached the door. Her face hid away her nervousness and with a ginger hand on the knob, opened the door. It smelled of cigarette smoke, she was not surprised. She had seen him many a time with a pack of them nearby or a lighter in his hand. She walked in with quick steps, closing it behind her. It was rather dark in the room, but the embers on the tip lit up his face rather grimly. He didn't look all to happy, but then again, neither did she. She bowed her head to him in greeting and examined the room, finding a nearby chair by the wall. She took very brisk steps to the chair, turning and sitting in one fluid motion, crossing her right leg over her left knee, bringing up a hand to move her glasses back in place.

There was no need to introduce herself. She had already seen the dossiers on the table, he knew her plenty already. She stared at him, trying to read this man. The man who had saved her didn't seem like a blonde haired savior, but more as a...crime boss from an old Italian movie she saw, a baseball bat nearby. She had heard what he could do with that bat, and she didn't want to figure out just yet. With her small and unfeeling voice, she uttered,

"He'll be along shortly."

MONDAY :: 4:00PM LOCAL TIME

The ice cubes rolled easily around in the bourbon that was their newest domain. Besides them sat an open folder, full to the brim of paper, so much so that it was difficult to hold. These were the only things on the table; they were, for now, all Panic needed. The Portuguese sun had done nothing to bring colour to the grey looking man; his skin was still the tone of clay, his hair's colour still seemed washed out, his movements had little life or blood within them. He was as machine-like as ever. Unlike his Anglo-American leader superior, however, he was not bothered by Portugal; it just looked as if he hadn't ever seen it. He was the first of the Children to join Maxim's cause and he was the one who showed it the least. He always looked a stranger in this country, a tourist not used to the sun.

His bony hand swiped across the myriad characters on the utmost document, beady eyes scanning, processing all of the information held within. It would be, to anyone else, seemingly dry, boring and unimportant, but Panic was going to do it anyway without complaint or hesitation. Panic did everything without complaint or hesitation, bar combat. He was never bored, never tired, never too miserable or too busy. He just did it because someone had to do it, and it was a rare case that he wasn't the best choice.

BLEEP. BLEEP. BLE~

Panic immediately stopped the pager. He acknowledged the call, but it was not on an urgent channel; Maxim wouldn't mind being hung up on, at least he wouldn't mind it as much as Panic walking in with nothing to contribute and things undone. With that, Panic diligently carried on.

4:34PM, LOCAL

Panic only finished his work after half an hour; a lot of it was analysing different facts and figures and trying to find both the most secure and least time consuming solution to his problem. However, he did find a solution, and he spent the next five minutes drawing up his solution for Maxim's convinience. Panic would take his own documentation anyway, but he knew Maxim, having more of fire in his personality than Panic, would appreciate a simplified and quick answer; he could always look at the details when he had the time. He heard a door close in the room just below him. The new woman, he supposed. She took her time getting to Maxim as well. Panic stood up and went to a grey metallic drawer in the side of the wall and pulled it out. When it closed, it would drop everything down to Maxim's office; an old mailing system from when the house was originally built sometime in the late 1800's. Panic first slipped the documents, plus the simplified version, into it, then went to a dusty drinks cabinet. He extracted a bottle of Scotch whisky and three glasses, plus a small bag of ice, before placing them in the box. Finally, he allowed himself to sublimate into a pink dust cloud and went into the box too, the gust of wind he pulled closing it. The box fell with a gentle but still audible clatter, landing neatly into the side of the wall by the office of Maxim Jensen.

"He'll be along shortly." Came the voice of a woman.

As the box opened, the first thing Panic felt was the cigarette smoke pulling him involuntarily out of the box and into the air like a pink drop of oil in water. He materialised back into his 'normal' form in shock, coughing and spitting out clouds of tobacco with every splutter. It has always been hard for Panic to put into words what materialising felt like; it was simply that he wasn't there and in another moment was. He quickly regained himself, forcing himself to stop coughing, before pulling out the items he had brought.

"I'm already here." He replied to Jasmine, yet to get a look at her as his attention was focused on placing the things he brought onto the table. He slid the documents in front of Maxim, his summary on top of them.

"Before we discuss anything else, Mr Jensen, I had a look at the various routes to the Americas we can take." He said this with his usual air of sophisticated distance, factual and important sounding but also quite dry in his tone. As he did, he put two ice cubes into each glass. "As I wouldn't recommend using our own vehicles for anything lesser than a full-scale operation, I've tracked the shipping patterns and forecasts to every port leading to North and South America, and I've found three routes of particular interest, though I've included the rest for your perusal; the Caribbean ports are probably the safest choice as Typhon doesn't have many operations there, see San Juan, Hanava and Puerto Barrios, and we can go to either North or South from there with relative ease, but if we want to get to the Americas with any urgency without too much of a risk of being spotted, I'd personally choose Coatzacoalcos for Mexico and the southern US states, Porto Alegre for South America and for anything north of those two would have to be Charlottetown; Typhon's being clamping down on the US east coast, so we'll have to go as north as he can and go south by land."

As he finished, so did the preparation of drinks; a double measure of Scotch whisky in every glass, two ice cubes to keep it cool and give relief to the burning sun. He turned to Jasmine; a pretty girl, objectively, but Panic didn't have much of an eye for women. Beauty was a distraction for a more idle mind than his, he felt. It was to the point where he'd almost trained himself to be asexual. Besides, he was going to be working with her; thoughts such as those were not made for work. He took a seat for himself, his high shoulders making it look like he was stooped into it like a vulture, before grabbing two of the whiskys and extending one of them to her in a bony grip, the other for himself.

"Miss Shiraji, if I may hazard a guess. I don't believe we've met." He said, waiting for her to take the drink.

"He'll be along shortly." No... Max tapped into his power once more and scratched the back of his head with a sigh. Using it twice for such menial things got taxing, but he'd felt lethargic for the day's entirety thus far, and there wasn't much more to do. He could grab some coffee at the airport. He is already here. Max smirked, looking down at the box by his side, before re-iterating exactly what he'd just told himself, exhaling cigarette smoke and running a hand through sweat-flecked blonde hair.

"He's already here," Sure enough, not a moment later, the man of the hour materialised, coughing and hacking up all manner of cigarette smoke, and even fragments of tobacco from his state-transition. Guess that sucked having a smoker for a leader. Max stubbed out the cigarette on the table with an angry black smear for good measure, then flicked the butt out of the window behind him and watching as Panic sidled around and slapped documents in front of him.

"I'm already here." Max nodded, looking to Jasmine with an 'I told you so' look smeared graciously upon his face as Panic set out some glasses and began to pour in scotch. The height of civility, here in their own dilapidated little patch of Hell that had faded from beauty but still just about functioned. Wayward hazel eyes shot to the roof a moment and for a split-second, the blonde filed away an idea of spending their various riches - well, once they had the technopath, anyway - on a decorator or two for this fucking place.

"Before we discuss anything else, Mr Jensen, I had a look at the various routes to the Americas we can take." Then, the spiel began. Trade routes... Typhon... Max switched off whenever Panic did this, not giving him a chance to make a rebuttal of any kind, scratching his head, sipping the whiskey, as all that came through was unintelligible murmurs. He should probably have listened to his second-in-command for good measure, but, now, it really didn't matter. "Miss Shiraji, if I may hazard a guess. I don't believe we've met."

"She's a telekinetic," Max interjected, the leader of Gaia now having his business face on, knowing immediately her power would be of more importance to Panic than her actual personality. "And, for now, we're not going to South America, we've got shit to take care of a little closer to home." Picking up one of the dossiers with a grin, he spun it towards Jasmine. "Shiraji. You're now third-in-command under Panic here. Take Sofia and drive to the airport. There's a Jeep with a shoddy little sat-nav in it sitting out front, I had Fernando bring it around. There's a flight for Auckland leaving in 3 hours," With a smirk, Max immediately recalled the dossier's details. In fine typewriter print: Name: Guido Esposito. Power: Limited Technopathy. Nat.: Italian. "He's a slippery fucker, but you've got Sofia for a reason. Leave in the next hour and a half," Max was moving mechanically, eerily similar to vague, hazy memories of his father; "Zeus".

"Panic. Hold up the fort whilst we're gone. Should be back in a few days, but it's going to be you and Fernando," The blonde held up the two final dossiers, pushing Panic's out of the way, and tucking the pack of cigarettes and lighter into his pocket. "I've got a flight to Cairo. One-way. Hamburg after that. These two gents to catch," He wove the manilla envelopes around rigorously, before tossing them into a conveniently-open suitcase that would soon otherwise be filled with medical supplies, an ammonium-daubed baseball bat, spare clothes, a few actual baseballs for convincing, and as many cigarettes as they'd let him take out of the EU. "I should be back around Thursday. I'm driving the last leg home, but it'll take me some time,"

Stroking at his stubble, Max got to his feet, arched his back, grasped the whiskey, and knocked it back in one with a sigh. Nothing wrong with a mid-afternoon drink or two. Removing his jacket from the seat back and holding it in one hand, he looked from Jasmine to Panic and spoke abruptly. "Questions?"

What was this now? A rather sickly looking man, coughing up smoke and tobacco. Obviously this man had a rather impressive power, and it did hold her attention long enough to listen to his travel plans, a rather long and winded speech, taking thorough mental notes until Maxim had disregarded them, in which she promptly forgot them to save her precious memory space. But there was a glass of scotch staring at her within the pale man's hand, drinking it down in a swift and singular gulp, feeling the effects rather quickly. She looked at the blonde haired figure sitting in his chair rather relaxed, his cigarette doused. He grinned as he twirled over a manilla folder towards her. She looked at the front and back, searching for a indication of its contents. But that was not necessary as her name was called, bringing her attentitive eyes towards him as he explained what she was to do, along with some rather interesting information.

Well, this was surprising, not having even been here for that long and already given a rather high position of power within this little organization and already slapped with a snatch and grab mission, of a little Italian named Guido. She cracked open the file as he explained his own agenda, not entirely interested in what he had to say now. Had he said an hour before she was to depart? ...He had, and that made Jasmine's eyes harshen with annoyance and anger as she pulled out a cell phone from her pocket, punching in the number of a nearby 5-star restaurant...looks like dinner with Sofia would have to wait.

"This is Mary Zalvoe, we spoke earlier of my reservations. Unfortunately, I have a prior business arrangement that I must attend, please cancel them. Thank you." Her words were, besides with a tinge of inflextion and annoyance, were unfeeling and blank. She made the call as she finished reading the folder, snapping it shut with her free hand. Then Maxim asked for questions, and then she opened her mouth back up, looking at him over her glasses.

"How much can I take from the armory"

Panic watched the one-sided exchange silently, his eyes darting from Maxim as he explained her upcoming mission, one that Maxim had assigned unusually early, and his beady eyes scanned Jasmine for reaction. She, like Panic, was silent in the presence of their leader, but Panic didn't look at the man, circling the ice cubes in his glass of whisky before downing the entire thing in one gulp, ice cube and all, which he crunched easily into water and drank, cooling him. He guessed who the details of the dossier were about; one Guido Esposito, the Italian with technopathic powers. Whether it was his business or not to know every bit of information Gaia had collected, Panic often simply made it his business. It was his administrative nature to have an eye on everything in Gaia; if he hadn't done the research on a particular subject, he'd write it in a presentable way for Maxim, or he'd put it in the correct filing cabinets and folders, or even something as hopelessly insignificant as selecting the font. He was involved in everything, as per an unspoken arrangement he and Maxim had; Panic would handle the tiny details of every nook and cranny, scanning and factchecking and spotting patterns and finding contacts, so Maxim could focus on the large scale planning and execution of all the processes needed. Panic didn't often smile, but he allowed himself the satisfaction that while Maxim was the only man fit to lead Gaia, Panic was the only man able to run it; an amazing driver is all well and good, but if the engine's broke and the mechanic's out to lunch, the wheels aren't turning, just as, at least in Panic's eyes, without him Gaia would slowly but surely fall apart at the seams due to mismanagement and a lack of appreciation for details.

"Panic. Hold up the fort whilst we're gone. Should be back in a few days, but it's going to be you and Fernando. I've got a flight to Cairo. One-way. Hamburg after that. These two gents to catch," he said, picking up two envelopes before throwing them into his suitcase. Already open. Panic was irritated that he didn't know about this earlier, but he made no complaint.

"Tell me which airport you're landing in, I can hire a car for you." Panic answered on cue, with a mechanical speed; he knew what he should do when Maxim went abroad, or indeed any of the few current members of Gaia. "I've found a useful transport service for us. Deals mostly with local crooks, have a silent mentality; the drivers are so used to the idea that learning too much would get them killed that they never ask questions." He sat back in his seat, his black beads for eyes looking like endless tunnels from under his large brow.

"Questions?" Before Panic could answer, the Japanese woman beat him to the punch with her own question.

"How much can I take from the armoury?"

"If I may, Mr Jensen," Panic said so he would be allowed to contribute before looking back to Jasmine. "Miss Shiraji, I'd recommend nothing beyond knives and possibly a small handgun for intimidation purposes, though probably best if you bought it in Auckland itself or concealed it somehow. If we're talking about who I think we are, I wouldn't take anything more elaborate. Mr Esposito is a very intelligent technopath, if such a term exists; your tracking systems, GPS and anything electrical would fail you, so I would avoid it as much as possible." He explained, before looking back to Maxim.

"As for my own question, Mr Jensen," Panic asked, "- should I make any preparations for the arriving guests?"

"Tell me which airport you're landing in, I can hire a car for you." Max nodded; this was what Panic was useful for. Tracing jobs, administrative crap; the little things. He was useful to have around, to say the very least. Scratching his neck, Max wandered through all the facts and dug up an online-printed boarding pass from his pocket, before considering the car he'd want waiting on the other end. "I've found a useful transport service for us. Deals mostly with local crooks, have a silent mentality; the drivers are so used to the idea that learning too much would get them killed that they never ask questions."

"Cairo International," He spoke triumphantly, before tucking the card back into his passport, not knowing it'd cause so much chaos later on... "Make sure it's something sturdy, and fast. No fucking Peugeots this time, Panic," Max rose an accusing finger. He was pretty sure last time had been a mistake or just an oversight, but chasing down their siblings in a Peugeot 3008 really wasn't the way to make the right impression. "Jeep or something," He murmured, remembering Betsy locked up in the garage... god, she was beautiful. He didn't bother looking into the future to see what Panic had gotten him. Not worth the disappointment.

"How much can I take from the armoury?"

"If I may, Mr Jensen... Miss Shiraji, I'd recommend nothing beyond knives and possibly a small handgun for intimidation purposes, though probably best if you bought it in Auckland itself or concealed it somehow. If we're talking about who I think we are, I wouldn't take anything more elaborate. Mr Esposito is a very intelligent technopath, if such a term exists; your tracking systems, GPS and anything electrical would fail you, so I would avoid it as much as possible." Max slowly rose his palms towards his face, before laughter began to seep out from within his fingers.

"Take as much as you want," He smiled up at Jasmine. "Provided you can get it past airport security, of course." Portugal wasn't renowned for its security services, but Max wasn't taking any chances. No pistols for Omicron. Just a baseball bat, his own personal sense of drive and motivation, and the knowledge that the more the kid tried to resist, the more brutal he'd get. The smile of a sadist cropped slowly onto his face, but Max pushed it back down once more - he was doing this for his brother, not his own sick sense of enjoyment. But he couldn't help but love the chase.

"As for my own question, Mr Jensen, should I make any preparations for the arriving guests?" Max ran a hand along his cheeks, following the grain of his stubble right down to his jawline in pensive thought. A grin struck his face once more, and he knelt down to zip up the bag - he'd decided on an answer, finally. He propped his glasses on properly, tucked his cigarettes and lighter back in, smiled down at the seated Panic and replied, dragging the wheel-on bag behind him.

"Yeah," He said decisively, pausing for a moment. "Keep the fridge full, and the beers cold," Grasping a baseball cap from a wayward shelf and spinning around to shut the window, Maxim Jensen smiled to himself and checked the clock in the room, before shrugging his jacket back on. It was February - still jacket weather in Lisbon, though not in Cairo. He pulled the hat on subtly enough, trying his best to give himself a tourist-esque look, and winked at the pair of them with a low chuckle escaping his throat, before lowering an accusing finger towards Jasmine. "Don't kill anyone." Strands of golden hair protruded outwards from a fabric rim, clumped together and looking strangely thick as it did so, Max's pallor taking back that happy-go-lucky face not a moment later despite the order's relative seriousness. "I'll be back in no time. Have fun, kids," With that, he made his way to the door, descended the stairs, stepped into the grand Jensen manor foyer, took a deep lungful of air, and barreled straight for the front doors to Betsy, his Jeep, awaiting outside, engine chugging with the manor's carer, Fernando, sitting in the front seat.

And, with that, Maxim Jensen disappeared.

Sigh...And just when she thought it was a private craft...Cramped public airlines, they annoyed her. Too many people trying to make small talk with her, won't let her just read her books. Now...what to send, what to send...well, the pens are easy enough, but a real weapon might be needed...Maybe she could buy one when she got there, hell, she didn't know. So, once Maxim had left and her reading complete, she thought back on what he said. "Don't kill anyone". Not too hard to follow, but collateral damage is collateral damage, so if she can't help it, then it'd happen. She already accepted that people were needed to be sacrificed for their goal to be realized, reflecting on his as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, the cherry blossom color shining in what little sunlight entered the room. Her form rose from her chair, uncreasing her skirt with her free hand; the manilla folder under her arm. She then brought a creme hand up to her glasses and raised them back up to the bridge of her nose, bowing slightly to Panic as she clicked out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.

An hour and a half. To pack, get Sofia ready, get herself ready, and to get in some eats before they left in the lil' most likely piece o' shit Jeep to the airport. Uhh...the only bright side to this was that she got to be alone with Sofia. Finally. Sofia had interested her since the moment she arrived, and not only that, she'd be able to see her at work, see her more intense personality. It'd be nice having a girl with her instead of some guy she'd barely spoken to. It was her roommate, her 'sorta' friend, it'd be less awkward, plus she could talk with her, instead of the others, much better so work would ultimately be better. She slipped off the accursed heels as she popped open the freezer, grabbing the last Fudgicle, one of her favorites. She then went back up to her room, sucking on the frozen concoction and almost whispering into the room, "We need more Fudgicles." then quietly walking back to her room, pulling a suitcase from the nearby closet and throwing in clothes, barring the popsicle between her teeth

"Make sure it's something sturdy, and fast. No fucking Peugeots this time, Panic. Jeep or something," Maxim said, prompting Panic to roll his eyes, though he said nothing. The particular mission that had warrented that was based in a suburban area and required to blend in with the dull looking vehicles. Maxim was just lucky that Egypt, even the cities, required a lot more torque and the big muscular off-roaders he preferred were commonplace. Instead of complaining, though, Panic simply made a mental note to hire a Jeep from the particular company he had found, along with Maxim's other note.

"Jeep and beer..." He murmured under his breath, still seated and his gaze dancing across nothing in particular. "Would that be all... yeah, he's gone." He murmured, before looking at Jasmine as she bowed curtly and left too, leaving him alone. Panic's fingers ground together as his dark eyes glared out from below his dark brow, before he moved to the open window; the cigarette smoke would make it impossible for him to simply clamber up the box, so instead he settled for plummeting towards the ground and disappating into a gas cloud halfway down. The conditions were still, no wind, so he was fine to float up to his own window and slide in. His sight, however, shot to the departing Maxim, the Jeep he lovingly named Betsy rolling off onto the road to the airport. If gas clouds could glare, then Panic would've at that moment. He knew Maxim was the only man who could and would lead Gaia to victory, but Panic, behind closed doors, regarded Maxim only as a temporary friend, unwitting pawn and, whether soon or late, an obstacle to his ultimate goal. If Panic showed his true colours and betrayed him, betrayed everyone, he knew that however successful he was, Maxim would come for him and, in many ways, was the only person who could stop him. He only hoped that the clairvoyent didn't see Panic's true motivation, but a chill passed over him. Somehow, despite not being a clairvoyent himself, the British cold gas cloud could tell that the trip to Cairo would bring much more to Gaia than Maxim would plan to bring. However, Panic shook off this momentary worry with characteristic dryness; hunches were not oracles. Instead, he ignored the bad feeling and floated back into his own room to hopefully finish the drink he had begun earlier.

EXIT THREAD