δ ; â Again the question was raised, how in Sam Hill did she get on board? He and
FILSS were going to have a very lengthy discussion later; just because she let him
sneak around on board didnât mean she should turn a blind eye ( ha! pun. ) towards
those who werenât PFL infiltration specialists. Ugh. Computer programs these days.
At least one such artificial intelligence was useful; Delta proved himself daily, and
today was no exception. He was already informing MoI security to be on alert. What
a trooper.
     Eyebrow was raised in a silent questioning statement - even blank eye
deadened by a grenade seemed judgmental of the information she offered. Mystery
man had a bandaged hand - a wound probably not caused by a kitchen accident, in
his opinion, and Deltaâs agreement only served to reinforce this idea - and carrying
a carbine rifle of unspecified sort ( standard issue military or SPARTAN-III MA5K? ).
And yet he was not dangerous. York was thinkinâ maybe this guy was Special Ops,
then, though certainly not affiliated with the Freelancers. No matter what, though,
this situation would have to be treated with caution, as would the friendly stowaway.
     âYouâve gotten yourself in quite the mess, huh?â A bit
     of an understatement - mess was for getting stuck in
     a building with a thousand rocket launchers trained
     on him. Being stuck on the Freelancer flagship was
     more like a hurricane, earthquake, and volcanic eruption
     all thrown into one. âWell, then, I suppose itâs in both
     our best interests to find this carbine-wielding, utterly
     undangerous guy. You got any idea where he might
     be headed?â
That's usually how it goes: one mess after the other, especially with company like hers. (Even when they weren't together they were still creating some such quagmire). This predicament was especially different, however; since Fitzroy, they had seldom been too far from one another--and for good reason. The goal was that they render Songbird, the adamantine keeper of hers, dormant long enough to eliminate a more dangerous obstacle.
But when has history ever allotted its occupants still waters to sail on? This was too semblant, too close to the ilk of the ludicrous fictions she'd read whilst in her tower; almost akin to a tale purveyed by an opium dream.Â
From akimbo do her arms fix themselves into a position barring her torso; the riposte is weaned on a lick of certitude, or an appearance of it.Â
â He'll be trying to find his way back to me.
  He's not really the quietest person around, either. â
As it were, she was rather sure that she could find Booker without the extra set of eyes; though, there's no imagining that he'd let her wander around this place alone. But it was strange that he hadn't made everyone in the vicinity privy to his presence already; generally he shouted 'Elizabeth!' down every corridor until things fell into place, or until he found what he was looking for. Unfortunately, it was up to her to do the searching now--or so it seemed; leaving wasn't an issue, but she couldn't bring herself to depart without him.