"Tolkov's a people person, aren't you Tolkov?" Kovacs asked. Though before the blonde could open her mouth to confirm, Kovacs answered her own question. "Of course you are. Good choice too. She's part--"<br/><br/>"Shalan, thank you, Kovacs," Tolkov snapped. "I doubt I'll have much of an effect. The Shalans of this city see the uniform first and the face second. If they even go that far." She fiddled with the skirt of her uniform out of what must've been sudden self-conscious. "I think it would be wise to have a...a..."<br/><br/>"More decisive contingency," Kovacs finished for the blonde. "I'll have my sharpshooters posted on perches overlooking the prison. If possible, I'd recommend baiting out the fire starters. I have a hunch they're more than just related to the insurgents from yesterday."<br/><br/>Arriving in the main operations room, a large study converted for the purpose, Kovacs and Tolkov would take their places at the table, Kovacs on the head of the table's left, and Tolkov next to her. While Tolkov pulled out some documents from her bag and went about preparing a diagram of the prison, Grashe, face just as clean and cum-free as it had been before she had barged into Yuna's room, and a fully dressed Rasovna arrived. Rasovna took the other seat immediately adjacent to the head of the table, the artillery commander grabbing the last available seat that wasn't meant for Yuna. Grashe appeared to still be fuming beneath an otherwise placid countenance. Rasovna, was do everything she could to avoid meeting Grashe's eyes.