<strong>Location</strong>: The Ritz-Gospel Hotel (First Haven, Watcher’s Island). Elevator to Conference Hall 01<br/><strong>Date</strong>: 5 January 2099. Monday<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Morning<br/><strong>Who</strong>: Afia Durrani<br/><br/><hr/><br/>To say that Afia considered these sort of things to be a waste of her time would be an understatement. Sure, public relations were important, strategically speaking, and all. ADAMS couldn't very well keep the Grigori Program afloat without the support of the people. That didn't change the fact, in Afia's eyes, that she was a soldier, not a diplomat, actress, model or whatever exactly they expected her to be for these events. Surely, she thought, there had to be other people with ADAMS better suited to smiling and answering questions and being a pretty face. Afia wasn't good at putting on a smile. She wasn't good at watching her words, giving the right answers instead of the ones she may actually believe. Afia wondered if perhaps she was supposed to be some poster girl token minority. Was she there to get them the Middle-Eastern support, or perhaps the transgender support. Afia had to assume there were more PR friendly people in either category within ADAMS, though perhaps none who were both in one, and a pilot on top of that. Hell, she was a lesbian too, so maybe she had more PR value than she gave herself credit for. She wasn't quite sure how she felt at the thought of being paraded about like that. Still, she owed a lot to ADAMS, she supposed, without them she had no hope of getting her revenge. When they say jump, she had little choice but to ask how high.<br/><br/>She looked around at the others, her lips neutral, but her eyes expressing her frustration at having to do all of this. Indira's cheerfulness was usually refreshing, but for some reason it just served to further annoy Afia today. It was hardly her fault though, everything that didn't get them closer to finishing this crap and doing something useful was annoying to Afia at the moment. When she asked if they were all nervous, Afia just let out a quiet sigh and replied in a neutral tone, "Frustrated and bored, but not nervous. When can we get back to doing our actual jobs again?"<br/><br/>She didn't mean to come off like the teenager sulking in the corner of the room, but every moment she was here she couldn't help but think that was a moment she wasn't crushing spawn under the heel of a Grigori, or training to do as much. She would go along with what ADAMS wished for her to do, but that didn't mean she would be thrilled about it. Still, as she took another breath she tried to remind herself that, as far as all the horrible things in the world went, this was probably not that bad. Hell, her childhood had been made up of essentially a string of events that could each individually qualify as worse than this. Yet still, this was all just time she wasn't be productive, and more importantly, wasn't furthering her vengeance.