"Mhm," she hums, shrugging. "Wouldn't be surprised if a couple of them have already snuck out. You know we can't expect a bunch of twentysomethings to actually obey curfew, let alone superpowered ones." Then again she has mixed feelings about this―reasonably concerned about their safety in these recent days while understanding their desire for a break. The mundane has been shattered, and they all scramble to piece together what remains. There's tension at work, too, covered by a thin veneer of civility pulled taut.
A small drone approaches with their drinks. She picks them up from the holder and slides Kiran's toward him, smooth and routinized, countless flashbacks to their early days rolled into the movement. They had sat together just like this, full of alacrity, determined to do some good in the lives of these kids under their care. (The age range of trainees has diversified since then, but the pilot program in the beginning had been geared toward superpowered youth.) And she believes they did. Certainly not all of it was in vain. Was it enough, though? Could they have rerouted the trajectory leading to this disaster while it was still dirigible?
Antonia is not one to agonize over what-ifs and maybe's. Sees no use in it. But she wonders if somehow, in a convoluted, long-winded manner, her actions and decisions have contributed to the current state of things, accelerated this rivalry between technology and DNA.
Sidestepping that particular chain of thought, Andy swirls the drink in her mouth for a bit before swallowing, a nasty habit that she gleefully performs in front of Kiran solely to revel in his look of mild disgust. "I do have to finish up that one status report. How do you feel about the exhilarating task of calculating our quarterly budget?" she offers, eyebrows wriggling. "Speaking of―" (her precursor to a change of topic that's often entirely unrelated, a transition that only makes sense in her head) "―How're your trainees holding up?"
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