Leftover Ziti and Grey Market Goods

[hazlogs]

It is currently 12:41 Pacific Time on Mon Nov 2 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is raining lightly. The temperature is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the west at 3 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 29.94 and steady, and the relative humidity is 89 percent. The dewpoint is 47 degrees Fahrenheit (8 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waning Gibbous (Galliard) Moon phase (61% full).

The Hub: Main Floor

The main floor of 'the Hub' is a spacious, almost sprawling room, with a two-story high ceiling and a large loft that looks out over the room itself, accessed via a winding metal staircase set at the opposite end from the heavy security door. One side of the floor is completely open, with a bank of windows facing north and offering a brilliant view of the city, especially at night. The other side contains a series of doors and doorways that lead into other rooms, large and small. One is clearly a kitchen (a very nice large kitchen with its own island and eating area), one is a bathroom, and one a repurposed conference room with a smaller central table than likely existed before, and comfortable rolling chairs that have clearly been reclaimed from various goodwill sources. Other rooms serve as storage, with one standing out as a well maintained server room, from which the local Walker server, various databases, and hardware responsible for the block's free wifi can be accessed.

The open floor itself sports several areas clearly designated for various purposes, though none have been walled off from the rest in any real fashion. One contains a comfortable, beat-up couch and armchairs arranged in a semi-circle around a large flatscreen TV and coffee table, another is a bank of multiple computers, each with their own desk and office chair, while a third is a modest exercise area mostly consisting of an open space of floor covered in a cushioned mat and several free weights. A number of monitors have been mounted on the wall next to the security door; the largest displays the area immediately on the other side of the door, with another showing the interior of the private elevator. The third and largest is split into sections, with one section dedicated to the sub-basement, another to the roof, and the others switching routinely between various parts of the interior and exterior of Maxwell Tower.

Salem is hunkered in at one end of the battered couch of the entertainment center, brow furrowed as he browses on a borrowed laptop. The page he's on looks very official, lots of text; as he reads, he absent-mindedly chews on a thumbnail.

It's a day ending in -y, therefore Collins is dressed for work. It's too early in the day to be the end of a proper desk jockey's workday, but even the Tower's building manager steps off the floor once in a while. He gives the same look around the open floor of The Hub that he gives the lobby or any of the concourses (hell, even the parking lot) when first stepping out onto it: a look that scans for anything out of place, anyone needing anything, and anything that might require attention generally. He doesn't even break stride as he does it. That sweep brings his gaze to Salem sooner or later, but he doesn't linger overly long - just confirms the 'youth's' presence, files it away, and proceeds towards the kitchen.

Salem's concentration breaks as Collins enters; he abruptly stops the nail-biting with a grimace and closes the laptop with a muttered curse.

Collins gives a slight grimace of his own, and apologetically glances Salem's way. He doesn't say anything outloud, of course, but he does keep an eye in the 'rou's direction. (It's not like there's a lot else going on to draw the eye.)

Much like the other day, Ghost's arrival is followed by a knock on the heavy security door, and then the code being input to unlock it. She looks tense, but no more and no less than she has been of late.

"Don't mind me," Salem says, catching the kin's look of apology. He sets the laptop down on the coffee table and stretches. "I'm just--" He breaks off as the rogue Walker enters and glances over at her. "Hello, Ghost."

Julian Collins is a slender man who manages 5'10" when he's got a heel on his shoes - which he usually does. He keeps his dark brown hair brutally short, just a skoche over a buzzcut, and wears a seemingly-perpetual day's worth of stubble that hints a touch darker around the mouth. He has dark eyes that, if he's in an ill mood, could come off as invasively intense but more often add warmth to his visage to go with the hint of a smile that he prefers.

Being anglo-white, he favors high-contrast attire that makes the most of his high-contrast complexion. Today it's a navy blazer, worn open over a white shirt and patterned grey tie, matched with light grey wool slacks. Shoes and belt are black leather, polished to a shine and kept immaculate.

Collins looks over at the new entrant briefly, the draw of the knock sufficient to snap his attention away from whatever Salem was going to say. He pauses in his stride, at the fridge, and pulls it open. The inspection of the chilled contents is cursory, but there is something he's after: something in a large bit of pyrex baking dish, wrapped in foil. One of Rina's many deliveries, from the look of it. He studies Ghost with a muted bit of surprise in the lift of his brow. He keeps his peace, perhaps nodding two or three times as if filing something away.

"Hey," Ghost responds, with a glance each for both Salem and Collins. "I'm uh, I'm not interrupting, right?"

Salem shakes his head. "Not in the least. It's been a quiet day." Too quiet, the boy's sour tone suggests.

Collins is echoing Salem's sentiments in almost the same moment. "Not at all," he says, hoisting the pyrex dish a bit higher. "Just getting some lunch. Anyone else?"

Ghost nods once, and darts another glance towards Collins. "Uh...sure. Yeah." The Ragabash moves more fully into the large open room's center. Her hands stuff themselves into her pockets, her shoulders remain faintly hunched. "So I guess Val hasn't been back then?"

Salem gets off the couch and limps toward the kitchen, pushing hair out of his face. "I haven't seen her since the three of us talked the other day. Were you expecting her?"

Serviceware is fetched from its home in cabinetry, and Collins sets about portioning out more reasonable serving sizes than the 'truly ludicrous' quantity of baked ziti the pyrex monster contains. He's silent as he works, paying attention, but not participating in the conversation. Plates go into the microwave one at a time.

"No," Ghost says, then hesitates. "Maybe, but I'm glad she isn't here." She inhales slowly. "She left me the DVD with the time lapse shit on it she was talking about. Said I could watch it or not."

Salem leans against a kitchen counter, hands stuffed in sweatpants pockets, and eyes Ghost, head cocked slightly to favor his good eye. "Have you?"

Collins is busying himself with a large pyrex dish full of baked ziti, an empty plate, a plate he's loading with ziti, and from the whirr of the device's cooling fans, at least one in the microwave next to him, spinning around, taking in radiated energy and converting it to heat. He's nearly present in the conversation between the other two, but isn't saying much, just looking from speaker to speaker.

Heading into the hub is Briari, spinning a set of keys around one finger with her other hand up against her ear as she talks into the phone. Rambling off in what appears to be Japanese in a quiet tone, she hangs up once she spies the three and slips the device into her back pocket. "Hey guys." She calls over with a happy expression on her face. "Cooolllliiinsss.." She drawls over to the kinfolk with a wink, then heads into the kitchen. "What's going on tonight?"

Ghost gives a single, sharp shake of her head. "No," she says again. Rather than elaborate, she continues across the room to the television, where the DVD is produced from her jacket's pocket and placed on top of the DVD player. "She can have it back if she wants, I guess." Her eyes tic back toward the door as Briari enters, and there's just the faintest raise to both eyebrows.

Salem raises an eyebrow -- partly at Ghost, partly at Briari's lasering-in on Collins. He pushes off the counter and limps after the metis. "You're not curious?"

"Tonight?" Collins verifies the question, shrugging in Briari's direction. "Q3 report auditing finals when I'm done with October's End-of-Months." He gestures at the pyrex full of ziti. "Lunch? Rina made it." The microwave beeps and he pulls out one plate which is letting off wisps of steam, slides the next in, closes the door, hammers the 'minute plus' button twice, and then pulls flatware out to stirr the plate he'd just retrieved.

"That sounds super cool actually. You want some help with the auditing? I am itching to get my spreadsheet super powers on. Then afterwards, you can escort me to dinner. I got zero plans outside of invites to this ritzy new seafood place that is opening up and I got special passes for a test dinner." Briari says as she heads into the kitchen, eyeing the ziti. "I will definitely have some of that." She glances over to Collins and Ghost for a moment, but does not invade their conversation. "Pick you up at eight?"

Ghost returns her hands to her pockets. "I kind've want to snap it in half," she admits, with a slight downward twitch to her mouth. "I don't know. I knew she wanted to test some things with my blood, but I didn't know she was going to straight out feed it to that shit." In turn, she also glances toward Collins and Briari, clearly paying attention to what's going on in the kitchen as well.

Collins shakes his head, chuckling. "In order: The auditing's done and over, I'm just going through the auditors' final reports, making sure everything's in place before we accept them and close the process out. I'll pass on dinner, thanks. End of month is busy, and with the holidays coming up, I'll have enough piling up on my desk without a backlog." A third plate is pressed into service, getting into queue behind the 2nd as it comes out, the first going back in for another sixty seconds.

Smirking, Briari leans in against the counter and folds her arms over her chest. "Invites are good for the week. Pick a night then." She challenges him with a grin upon her face, cocking an eyebrow upwards. "And you can always utilize me for paperwork. It -is- my prominent skill-set."

"I don't think he's interested, Briari," Salem says over his shoulder; most of his attention's on Ghost.

Ghost's frown has deepened a little more in the past few moments. "Anyway. Gonna leave it there. You guys want to watch it, you can."

As plate #2 goes into the microwave, a fork and plate #1 begin their trip - ferried by Collins - out of the kitchen, bound for Ghost. He looks over at Salem a moment, confused, then back to Briari. He squints at her a moment, but the demands of navigating around the open-architectured room quickly call his attention to where he's walking.

"He can tell me himself if he is not interested. I am a big girl and I am able to take platonic rejection easily enough." Briari says as she hops up on the counter, letting her legs dangle over the edge. "I just can't take any of my other friends during this time of the month and at least we can talk about analytics until we're blue in the face. It's nice to actually hang out with someone intelligent once in awhile who understands the deeper dives of data and finances, blah blah blah."

Salem just shakes his head a little and turns his attention back toward Ghost; he eyes the rogue Walker with concern. "All right. Are you staying for dinner, at least?"

Salem looks back in time to catch Ghost rolling her eyes ceilingward, but she stops that quickly when she realizes his attention is back on her. "I. Yeah. Sorry, I think I'm gonna be pissed at her for a while at least. She might've fucked me pretty damn hard. The timeline roughly adds up."

Collins finishes his trip, offering Ghost the first plate of reheated ziti, expression a carefully composed neutral - an attorney's necessary talent - without further fanfare or wording.

Briari hops off the counter and glances down at her watch, then taps the screen a few times, then gives the digital crown a twist.

"I don't blame you for being upset," says the Philodox. "Val can be..." He hesitates a moment, glancing ceilingward. "...Lacking in foresight and empathy at times."

Ghost takes the plate with both hands. "Thanks," she mumbles to the kin. Salem gets what passes for an emphatic nod from her. "Maybe that's why shit's so weird for me. You know, maybe she accidentally...maybe that stuff changed me somehow. Is changing me. I don't know." She grabs the fork in a manner that suggests she might stab someone with it, but all she stabs is ziti.

Collins returns the thanks with nothing more than a nod before he returns to the kitchen and busys himself with the second plate. "We'll see," he says, abruptly, to Briari, while he waits for the microwave to tick its final seconds down on the second go-round on Plate #2. "End of month is a busy time. You probably want to find someone else, but I'll keep you posted. If things go well..." He shrugs, noncommittally. The microwave beeps and all of his attention goes there, instead.

"Well, I would take my boyfriend, but he's a cop and he works the night shifts. So, I was just hoping to hang out with someone that wouldn't glaze over three minutes into conversation." Briari says as she slips her car keys out, giving them a spin about the finger. "You got my number." Speaking of, her watch begins to ring and she taps a button on it, flips out her phone and starts to ramble again in Japanese as she ambles out of the kitchen. She gives a distracted wave back as she exits the room.

"Do you, ah, /feel/ different?" Salem asks Ghost. He looks over toward the kitchen at the sound of the beep.

Ghost shakes her head slowly. "I feel the same as always. Even when I'm, uh, over there."

Collins takes Plate #2 out of the microwave, slides in plate #3, and gets the cycle going. He finishes putting a fork into the second plate just in time to catch Briari's escape trajectory from room. He stands there a moment longer, holding the plate in his hands. He blinks once.

Briari turns back around and heads back to the kinfolk, reaching out to snag the plate of food from him, while cradling the phone against her shoulder and cheek. She gives him a wide grin, then taps his foot with hers playfully, then heads back out as she continues to speak. She holds up one hand to him, making the 'call me' motion with it, then sneaks out to head upstairs to eat on the roof.

Salem eyes this interaction sidelong, then turns back to Ghost. "Are you keeping a journal, as Dakota suggested?" He scratches idly at the teardrop scars on his neck.

"In a way." Ghost has also been watching, though a little more blatantly than the older-now-younger Walker. "I'm trying to be non-specific in Veil sensitive areas. And uh, I've discovered I'm not a very good writer."

"Journal for yourself then, instead of an audience?" The suggestion may seem like it comes out of left field, given how much effort Collins has apparently put into seeming like a part of the kitchen. He doesn't look up from the microwave - which he has gone back to watching after the whirlwind of Briari's about-face, food retrieval and return to escape trajectory. His own lunch is spinning around in there, and that's a thing he can watch safely. "Or are you worried the artifact itself would get discovered?"

"That's always a worry," Salem says, going back to a lean against a counter. "I kept one for a while, quite a number of years ago. I worried /less/ because my handwriting's not very legible /and/ I was able to write in Serbian, using the Cyrillic alphabet. But even so, it feels very wrong, writing certain things down."

Ghost nods in agreement. To Collins, she says, "Nowhere's really safe, especially for that kind've thing. But I don't really have to mention werewolves, and I can sort've get around talking about the Umbra. Someone looking at it would just think I was batshit crazy."

"I see," he says, nodding first to Salemn, then to Ghost. "Nowhere's absolutely safe, no. But we've got safes in the Tower, and at the point where that becomes compromised, I'd wager you have other issues. But I follow what you're saying, and it makes sense." The microwave beeps and he stirrs his ziti.

Salem rubs his chin. "I need to get Emma's notes." He glances at the microwave, then looks at Collins. "Would you mind if I took that into my room?"

(...)

It is currently 19:10 Pacific Time on Mon Nov 2 2015.

Sitting on the couch, bent over his guitar, Kavi works through playing a vaguely familiar melody. Here and there he pauses, and then repeats a phrase with a slightly different fingering.

Salem comes down from the roof, red-cheeked from the cold, black hair clinging sweatily to his face. He limp-jogs down the stairs to the main floor, managing to make it the whole way without tripping or almost-tripping, and heads for the kitchen.

Kavi looks up, following Salem's progress, stilling the strings with the flat of his hand. "You-- You're getting better. More... comfortable?"

Salem pauses at the entrance into the kitchen, still breathing hard from his exertions up on the roof. He pushes damp hair away from his face before answering Kavi. "Better, yes. Not wonderful, not great, not even particularly /good/ in my opinion but... better."

"That's good. It seems... I think I could say the same." Kavi says, and then sets about refining the tuning of the guitar in his lap. "It seems to be a process, not a switch. I hope that, maybe tomorrow? I hope I can go out. Maybe seeing other places... other people, will trigger more memories."

Salem abandons his quest for a drink of water, good eye fixing on the Galliard. "/More/ memories? Does that mean you remembered something?"

Once again, Kavi stills the string and turns his full attention to Salem. "A flash. A... An image, and a feeling, mostly? But it's something. And. And I don't remember the songs, but. The more I play, there are things I know?"

The young Philodox nods, though looks, perhaps, a little disappointed. "That makes sense. Our muscle-memory's usually smarter than our brains." He grimaces, nose wrinkling. "Usually."

"The muscles-- the skills are still there," Kavi says, setting the guitar inside its case and rising from the couch. "They just... don't fit? But you're adjusting."

Salem gives a thin, sardonic-looking smile. "'Adjusting' is going to my watchword for the next few years, I think. But!" He turns and heads into the kitchen for that glass of water, saying, "Cockroach's motto -- survive and adapt. Ne?"

"Survive," Kavi repeats, nodding at something unspoken, and he follows Salem into the kitchen. "And adapt," he adds somewhat later. "Have you... Have you been thinking about how you'll adapt? What you'll do?"

Salem fills a glass from the tap and drinks down a third of it in one gulp before refilling it. He also runs a hand under the cold water and wipes his face with it. "I've been thinking about almost nothing else. I think..." He leans against the counter, frowning. "...I think I'm going to see about getting my scars healed."

Kavi pauses and leans a shoulder against the fridge, regarding Salem. "Healed," he says quietly, not quite inflecting it as a question, but still imbuing the word with curiosity.

Time is relative, of course, but Collins might (to Salem's eyes) seem untouched by its passage, save for the haggard expression on his face. The fellow has a three-ring binder under one arm, this time, and makes for the kitchen like he's either going for caffeine, or alcohol. He's slow to look up ahead of himself, this time, but he does so in plenty of time to adjust his velocity downwards on account of the Kavi leaned up against the fridge.

Salem nods, looking rather somber at the idea. Even grim. He takes another drink of water. "It's bad enough that I'm barely into double digits right now, physically, and I suspect that the Curse is going to make things even more difficult." He glances at Collins, giving the kin a nod, then looks back at Kavi. "The scars on top of that... I mean, /yes/, I can work with it, I can make up a story, get a background worked up, et cetera, et cetera, but the thing about a lie is that it works best when it's as simple as possible. And my life is, our lives have /always/ been, a lie where normal humans are concerned, ne?"

Kavi glances back at Collins' arrival, and then steps out of the way of the man's approach to the fridge. Most of his attention remains on Salem as he speaks. "I... understand," he says at the end. "It's... not easy. Either way? It's not an easy choice, and. And either way has consequences."

A nod of gratitude is given to Kavi for the access to the fridge. He drops the thick binder on the countertop with an audible -thud- before pulling the fridge open. It's most assuredly past a time when he'd be forgiven for having a beer while (apparently) working, but instead, it's his caffeine of choice: a Dr. Pepper. A short hiss-crack announces the one-handed opening of the can, and then he's moving back out of the kitchen.

Salem pauses as Collins moves into and out of the kitchen; his eye goes briefly to the binder sitting heavy on the countertop. "There are always consequences. The consequences for having my battlescars healed, though, are /personal/ consequences." His nose wrinkles. "So, certain members of the Sept will have yet another reason to think I'm a goddamn waste of flesh. I think I can live with that."

The door opens, then, to admit Rina--still walking with a slight limp, and carrying that big box-bottom canvas grocery bag that signals "casserole dish." Her smile is tentative at first, but it brightens visibly at the sight of Collins and Salem. "Hey. Suit. Long time no see." She moves with a touch of stiffness, but not enough to signal *serious* injury. "I brought stuffed shells and bolognese, I figured maybe you guys gotta be sick a lasagna."

Kavi's gaze follows Collins, but his focus jerks back to Salem when he outlines the consequence at the sept, and his shoulders tense. "But--" he starts, breaking off when the door opens, and he swallows as he watches Rina's approach. "Hello," he offers her, and his gaze dips downward.

Collins' prior detatched interest in whatever conversations go on around him is much less guarded now with hours of fatigue to wear at the facade he projects. Rina's hail draws a confused look her way, one that doesn't fully register the Lunchbringer's words or their meaning until well after his eyes have visually acquired her. "Oh!" He says, shaking some blear off with a grin. "I doubt it, but variety is the spice of life. Please tell me you're not doing all this cooking on your own dime, at least?"

Salem chugs down some more cold tap water. "You're a godsend, Rina." He seems quite happy to leave behind the subject of battlescars and the consequences of having them removed.

"My dime is the tribe's dime," Rina says easily. "And I can't cook for Jenny and Bug, and I hate cookin' f' one, so..." She heads for the kitchen, to unburden herself. The limp is a little clearer, as she moves; probably no more than a minor sprain.

Kavi winces as he watches Rina move, and this time, rather than step out of the way, he reaches out toward the bag. "Can I...?"

Collins rolls his head to the side, and shrugs - conceding the point to Rina and turning his attention back to the binder he's flipped open to some blissfully late page. A notebook was concealed in all that mess, and he pulls the pen out of it's binding spiral and sets up shop, a man, his binder and notes, and his Dr. Pepper.

Salem gets his short sweaty self out of the way, limping over to the entrance of the kitchen. "At the risk of putting my foot in it, why can't you cook for Jenny and Bug?"

Rina gives Kavi a grateful nod. She hands off the bag, her smile warming for him, only a hint of pain around the eyes. Looking over to Salem, she answers, "I sent them outta town, until we turn these Dancers inta fine red mist." The words 'dancers' particularly brings out the Chicago accent: flat Midwestern ae vowel, and no trace of 'r'.

Kavi takes the bag over to the counter, but it's clear from the way he moves, from the way he keeps an ear toward Rina, that he listens to her answer. "Do you--" he starts, but then turns enough to include the others. "Do any of you need anything?"

"Oh!" Collins exclaims, putting a finger on some part of some page or another, and turning in his chair to face towards Kavi. "We should talk about what kind of work you want to do," he resumes, once he's properly facing the other, "I could put you into anything that isn't public-facing without much trouble, but we never discussed your preferences - or if you've learned enough about yourself to have them."

Salem nods to Rina, expression solemn. "...Another goddamn reason to lose the scars," he mutters, mostly to himself.

There's the sound of the door to the roof opening and closing--it's heavy enough to be distinctive, and there's a telltale beep from the security system. Footsteps, light and even, can be heard before Ghost moves into view on the upper landing. There's a fair sheen of sweat on her face and dampening her hair.

"I, ah..." Left without an immediate task, Rina rubs at the back of her neck, and then starts divesting herself of arms and armor. Jacket first--bared arms making it obvious she's been painting--and then the guns, all of it laid over one end of the couch. "I oughta talk some business with you too, Mister C." Aside from paint and a spattered grey tee, the Kin wears a bandage, wrapped around one upper arm.

"I-- I don't know," Kavi says, and looks helplessly to Salem and then to Rina. Even as he speaks, he moves to the couch, closing the guitar case and snapping the latches. "I-- I'm going to put this away. For now," he adds, and after a nod offered in greeting to Ghost, he heads up the stairs.

"No worries," Collins says, after Kavi. "We can discuss it anytime." He turns to face Rina, "You're in luck," he says to his fellow kin, spreading his arms over his work. "I'm in a business mode, at the moment. What's on your mind?"

Rina rubs at the back of her neck again, with the uninjured right arm. "I, ah, need some help with some... stuff I ordered. From a friend in-- let's call it a gray market. Things the tribe needs, to help take care a those Dancers, y'know?"

Salem eyeballs Rina, noting the bandage, but doesn't say anything. Instead he looks over and up toward Ghost and gives the rogue a wave, inviting her over to join the rest of them at the kitchen.

Ghost makes room for Kavi, nodding in return. She returns the wave as well, or at least she makes a gesture that's at least the start of one, as she lifts one hand about waist high, with her fingers spread. Then she starts down the metal steps with a certain amount of caution, but it seems she's going to accept that invitation to join the others.

"'Grey market' eh?" Collins says, snorting a little. He takes another sip from his DP and then sets the can on the table. "What is it, how big is it, when does it need to be where, and where is it now?"

"Well, um. There are some crates of rifles I need transported, a couple of cases of exploding things... I was gonna ask you and Mouse if there's someplace here we want to store them. 'Cause right now I don't feel like they're in a super secure location. I got people protectin' it, but." She chews on one side of her lower lip, looking slightly pained. "I got more comin' in, a few weeks down the road, and I need to make arrangements for receiving. Cause our last spot is now, ah. Compromised." She gives one of those thin not-smiles.

Salem finishes off his glass of water, frowning. "You mean the Tenement?"

Ghost looks to Rina. One eyebrow lifts, clearly questioning.

"Mmm," Collins says, nodding thoughtfully. "I assume these aren't registered, nor were they brought across state lines through proper channels?" He sets the pen down. "Before I can let you stash something like that on the Tower's grounds, I need to clear it with the Boss. We have plenty of room, mind you, but the danger is in how the weapons have been handled, and whether or not their arrival here would be detected or arouse suspicion. So... are they crated? Can they be disguised as something else before we bring them in here? I have security staff I can task to this, but too many of my storefront staff aren't kin."

Rina gives Collins a wry half-smile. Crated, yeah, and all that other stuff," she says dryly. "We were meeting somewhere in the warehouse district, and there was a leak. On the vendor's side, *not* ours. They're safe, for the time being, and if we need to gift wrap'em somehow, we can."

Salem, utterly deadpan, says, "If only there was some kind of crazed shopping season coming up wherein stores would be expecting a surplus of merchandise."

Ghost halts her approach just outside the group, apparently content to listen.

"The problem," Collins says, pointing a finger at Salem as he invokes Black Friday, "is that such merchandise is handled by my sundry tenants, not by our staff. We give it a basic inspection but that's about it. On the other hand, the Tower itself does require a truly astonishing volume of its own consumables, and the shopping season will certainly have us going through those at an alarming rate. We'll have to fake a shipment from one of /my/ vendors. I'll look through my list and see who has the least contact with the rest of the building staff and see if I can't create a window. How much are we talking about? Boxtail? Thirty footer? Fifty-three? Transit van?"

"Hey," Rina offers to Ghost, a quiet aside. She looks back to Collins, then, tipping her head. "Not much. Small delivery truck oughta do it. Thirty. Or even a coupla vans."

Salem hrmphs, then limps back into the kitchen proper in order to refill is water glass, then heads back out and toward the stairs to the loft.

"Hey," Ghost replies, though she sounds uncertain, maybe a tiny bit surprised. That's all she says though.

"Yeah that's doable. I'll run it by the Powers That Be. When do you need to know by?" Collins gives Ghost a nod, but remains focused on Rina's business for now.