<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/zB1pHVO.jpg?1)</div><br/>Jackson parks the vehicle under an overhanging bay adjoining one reasonably well-maintained building amid a sprawl of run-down hangars and bunkers.  At his comment about ADD-- well, that actually strikes her as kind of funny, and she can't help but grin a bit.  "That's a surprisingly flattering assessment."  She seems content to leave it at that.<br/><br/>Most of the structures are open to the elements, but this one clearly has current use-- there's a limited amount of the creeping dust on its surrounding pavement, a rather serene looking zen garden, and a couple of relay towers with signal repeaters and a small cluster of subtle, high-end satellite receivers.  She exits the car and gestures toward the door.  "If you need anything, we can stop in here.  We'll take the Sikorski the rest of the way."  Closing the SUV's door behind her, she gives him a sly kind of appraising look behind her dark shades.  "There's facilities.  Not much to offer by way of clothes to pack, mine aren't your size." She grins, cocks her hip to the side and gives him a smirking grin.  "The, ah... ADD isn't my only issue.  So I think it'd be better to get this out of the way."<br/><br/>The desert sun glares down on them like an open oven, and she steps toward the shade where, on an old, weather-worn steel table, a collection of rock samples is scattered out as if she was working, but hadn't finished.  "So, you're a bit of a tough read.  Maybe you play poker, I'm not sure."  She grins, more comfortable once the sun's out of her eyes, and removes the sunglasses to meet him eye to eye.  "But, well... you said meta-humans are a myth.  I don't know if you believe that, but I can tell you with certainty that they are<em>not</em>."  With a small shrug of her narrow shoulders under the gray silk jacket, she glances over at the empty span of clay and sage on the horizon before looking back to his eyes.  "I know from, well... having made ahh...contact with a few.  Some quite extraordinary."<br/><br/>She tries not to focus entirely on the afternoon she met Kestrel flying through this desert here... that would be a distraction.<br/><br/>"A woman who may look no more<em>extraordinary</em>than me might be anything but normal.  She might be able to, say, create some sort of energy field within her body that not only amplifies her physical prowess, but could even work with such acuity that she could fly."  She tips her head a bit, drags her toe along some loose sand on the concrete foundation.  "Or, a normal-looking girl might have...<i>synthesis</i>with a form of advanced machine consciousness that, so far, human science cannot reproduce or fully analyze."<br/><br/>She seems a bit embarrassed to even admit such a thing, and it's clear then that she means herself now-- not some abstract 'other'.  "There's<em>always</em>some kind of physical measurement... some mechanism that we can identify that causes the power.  Well... so far, that is.  But rarely do we fully understand the origin of such abilities.  Otherwise, they wouldn't be so uniquely exceptional.  Like cell phones, you see... we'd all get used to them."<br/><br/>She steps out of her heeled shoes and is barefoot-- stockingless, a strange fashion statement-- and stoops to pick up the shoes in her free hand as she manages the dossier in the other.  "So, open your mind to possibilities, Imre, that there is a great deal at stake here.  Not all of these individuals are philanthropic.  None of them," she pauses, lashes momentarily fluttering over her blue eyes, then reaffixes them to his, "none of<i>us</i>are like others.  Some are wracked with physical or emotional pain.  Some are power-mad.  Some have uncontrollable desires for power, profit, destruction-- obsessions that transcend the normal."<br/><br/>Swallowing dryly, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and steps a bit closer.  Her words are rapid, her accent clear and crisp.  "The odds are that, if someone has found the key to this mystery of ours, if may have changed them.  So there's going to be danger.  We just have to try to get as few people hurt as we can."  With the lifting of one hand, she leans closer to Imre's chest, and slows the pace of her speech.  "That includes you.  You could be in harm's way.  And, on a... less globally-menacing scale, that includes your emotions.  I must be frank with you, because I find you attractive and, well... as unprofessional as it is... I find it very difficult to control certain... impulses."  Turning away with some measure of concerted effort, she gestures at the base.<br/><br/>The words come rapid-fire once more.  "Hence-- living out here in the bloody desert.  Keeps me focused on my work.  Otherwise these--" she gestures with her loose fingers in a spiral around her head, still holding her shoes in two half-clenched fingers, "--these damned...<i>impulses</i>I have, they make me obsess over certain acts.  Desires and the like, and... errrr..." she blushes, hides her face behind the leather folio to pantomime shame.  "Ugh, well.  It's still me.  I make the decisions.  But if it's consensual and casual, and it doesn't hurt anyone, or cause confusion.  So... I have to change, and, if you wanted to, we could have sex."  She bites her lower lip gently.  "But, like I said, I don't mean it as a way to manipulate you, or use you, or anything.  It would be casual, kind of a-- well-- friendly thing."  With a steadying breath, she turns on her heel and heads inside, touching a quick series of buttons on the entry keypad.  "I'm quite certain that's not the kind of come-on you'd expect.  And you need not answer right away.  But.  Well, there it is.  Fridge is over there, restroom there-- I'll be-- yes.  Here."  She disappears into the dark recesses of the living space, which is functional but lovely with stark colors, ultra-mod lighting, and a rather comfortable-looking couch.