<div class="floatright">(http://i1133.photobucket.com/albums/m592/MistressofPen/Steph01.jpg) </div><strong>Character:</strong>Stephanie Kane<br/><strong>Location/Time:</strong>Penthouse Kitchen, 63 Wall Street, NYC, NY<br/><strong>Attire:</strong>Jeans, boots, sweater,<del>scarf, leather jacket.</del><br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Mr. Valdez, then Ms. Rose<br/><hr/><br/>Watching the man, he seemed at ease.  Stephanie felt like her nerves were on a caffeine overload and she hadn't even had a sip of coffee.  Amused, she watched him dig into his treats and open a candy bar and a magazine.<br/><br/>"Oh?"  She stilled, watching him as he admitted to having a few ideas of his own.  "I didn't really get the impression that our assigned leader was all that receptive to ideas," she noted.  Shrugging, she moved around the wall to grab her bag and jacket.  "I'm going to check out this place.  Not that I expect to be here long," she said, shrugging and heading for the hallway once more.<br/><br/>Ostreicher seemed to have cracked the code to talk to the girl, Quinn.  Stephanie glanced into the room, but faced forward as she hurried past.  He had a decided "do not engage" aura about him and Quinn was a bit prickly, yet.<br/><br/>The first shock she got was finding her name on an envelope taped to a door.  She opened the door and entered the room.  She stopped in the doorway as the room looked a lot like her room at home, right down to the desk in front of the window.  Well, yippee, Stepahnie thought.  Someone's been doing research...on me.  Acknowledging that, she tossed her jacket and bag to the bed and moved to the dresser, opening the top drawer and shivering when she found it stocked with panties and bras.  Would they bother to clothe them if they intended them to be disposable?  They could always hire others with the same sizes...  She shoved the drawer shut and found T's sweaters,  nightgowns of a variety that she didn't buy.  Someone was a comedienne, she decided, picking up the silky items and dropping them back into place.  She swallowed roughly as she had the horrible thought that it might be costuming to get to the man...no...no...he was a target according to Max Headroom on the screen; someone to be taken out, not ... she squirmed even thinking the thought...<em>seduced</em>.<br/><br/>"Well, now I really feel dirty."  She moved to the closet, glad to find real clothes, her sizes, her style.  Stephanie locked the room; pausing to look at the door as she stood in the hallway once more.  Keyhole on the hall side of the door...who else had a key?<br/><br/>She shook her head.  Since she didn't have anything of value with her, she didn't care.  At night, if she came back to sleep, she had her wedge to stop the door.<br/><br/>The next surprise came in the armory.  She entered and started to chuckle.  Guns of many varieties filled their special racks.  She walked around the room, stopping at an old fashioned S&W .38 service revolver.  She had a soft spot for revolvers.  One had saved her hide when her assailant's semi-automatic jammed.  Her trusty revolver had shot true.  Oh...what fun she'd had for just a few months, once upon a time...  Another shiver worked its way down her spine.  Would her team members be surprised that the girl-least-likely had already played in a similar sandbox?<br/><br/>She left the weapons, for now, and moved on, finding the gym.<br/><br/>Ms. Rose was busily beating the hell out of the heavy bag.<br/><br/>Stephanie moved in, not asking, not talking, just taking up a spot to hold the bag to keep it from swinging from the woman’s well-placed strikes.<br/><br/>When she took a breather, Stephanie released the bag.  “Do you use visualization when you attack?” she asked.  For some reason she thought that Ms. Rose might be less into small talk of a personal nature, so asked about her training technique.<br/>