<strong>Magdalene O'Connor</strong><br/><br/>Maggie was already up and in motion, striding to the front of the bus in full war paint, well, what amounted to battle gear in her profession: well tailored jacket and pencil skit, hair in neat no nonsense bun, and eyes caged behind thick, black imposing frames. She gave a curt nod to Aurora as she passed, then drifted down the stairs sure footedly on her flats. Her face had been devoid of a smile since the news broke, stirring her from her sleep in a whirr of texts and calls. In fact, she'd been unusually withdrawn from business on the bus, sequestering herself to her bunk where the dim glow of her laptop could be seen from behind her curtain.<br/><br/>One would never suspect her near meltdown as she charismatically greeted the venue owner, offering her surest smile and most winning handshake. "Magdalene O'Connor, sir. I believe we spoke on the phone." She hadn't heard the exchange between JD and the businessman, but noted Charles was holding a fresh cigar in addition to the bulbous one rolling about his mouth. "The band needs to set up for practice, preferably discretely and before the arrival of any press. In the mean time, I'd be happy to address any of your concerns - perhaps in your office?"<br/><br/>She hoped Ava, JD, and anyone else within hearing range would take the silent cue to gather up the band and get in while she was running interference.