Rather than leave the creature alone with her clothes and belongings, Ianthe gathered them up and stuffed them into her go-bag before retreating to the other part of the building, and the washroom. Just walking was uncomfortable; she'd likely be sore for days, and she lamented not having a bath or a shower to slip into, to salve irritated tissue and, perhaps, rinse off some shame.<i>What the</i>hell<i>was that all about?</i>she upbraided herself, using whatever passed for towels and sinkwater in the washroom to scrub the Grey's seed from her body, and, as best she could, clean up. She had no answers. She was confident Vladsti wasn't telepathically manipulating her, and doubted he was well-heeled enough to afford some kind of phereomone-amplification gene-mod. So she'd<i>chosen</i>to do all of that -- granted, in the heat of the moment, after she'd just blown him, and with his hands teasing pleasure from her body. But she'd chosen it nevertheless. And that thought, more than any other, frightened and sickened her.<br/><br/>She dressed quickly after ensuring that the tryst hadn't resulted in any telltale stains on her clothing, ran damp hands through her hair to govern it, and then stepped, albeit a little gingerly, back out into the shop.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"Anything?"</span>she asked, careful not to sound desperate, while adjusting her weapon belts.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"I'm looking for who might have made or planted the device. I need to have a... talk... with them, about who hired them."</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>