<strong>Location:</strong>The Ritz-Gospel Hotel (First Haven, Watcher’s Island). Elevator to Conference Hall 01, Conference Hall 01<br/><strong>Date:</strong>5 January 2099. Monday<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Who:</strong>Tianran Jin<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Tianran almost smirked at Afia's comment. At least one of them could say what was on their minds, even if it didn't make much of a difference. To be honest, he wasn't sure which of his duties he preferred, if any. The defining factor nowadays was how many analgesics he was allowed to have in his system, depending on the task. His Grigori cockpit monitor and the seas of cameras that awaited them were just so many blinking lights, at the end of the day.<br/><br/>It was funny that Indira didn't rebuke him by name. Even if he were to conduct himself better in front of the interviewers, he had no doubt that Julie and Afia were more dedicated to the program. In this instance, however, it didn't matter so much what was in your heart, just what came out of your mouth.<br/><br/>His impassive expression broke as Indira reached out for him. His limbs tensed up, ready to respond to the invasion of his space, but they smoothed out again as soon as he realized what she was doing. With all the grace of a schoolboy, he waited for Indira to fix his uniform.<br/><br/>"Thank you," he said, not sounding very thankful. At the mention of Yao, he arched an eyebrow. If she was trying to be subtle, then Yao probably wasn't making a public appearance. If so, why tell only him? It wouldn't change the way he would act. Before he could devote too much thought to it, the elevator doors opened out onto the rest of the world.<br/><br/>The elevators deposited them in the hallway directly in front of the conference room doors, with a pathway to the door marked off by velvet ropes. Several photographers and reporters (probably those who couldn't get a seat in the actual press conference) were crowded around the velvet ropes, looking to catch anything before the doors shut in their faces. Indira led the pilots to and through the doors without a single word or glance in their direction, no clamor and no fuss.<br/><br/>The interior of the conference room was well lit and tasteful, with chairs laid out in an audience format in front of panel tables at the head of the room. Indira and the pilots walked down the center aisle, causing most of the reporters and photographers in the room to get to their feet. However, the atmosphere was relatively relaxed. Not all of the seats were full and the reporters seemed to be showing some decorum, taking a few photos but not in excess. The volume of the room did not raise above a dull hum as the pilots made their way to their seats behind the tables. Those seats were marked with glasses of water and name cards in their native languages and Roman letters.<br/><br/>Tianran walked as he was accustomed to walking. Shoulders back, spine straight, chin up, and as if his side was not throbbing with pain. Casually scanning the crowd, he recognized a few faces from previous conferences. They seemed to have gotten older. He supposed he had as well.