The last bit brings a hint of a smile to the runner's lips, and she composes another message to the bartender as she turns to head back to her house.<br/><br/><em>"Ha. Wouldn't I? Perhaps with enough of that Irish Whiskey, you could find out instead of just thinking about it..." </em><br/><br/>As she gets closer to home, though, the grin starts to fade. Why had she agreed to this? She's not a wetworker, and never has been... hell, she's a courier! The whole point of her job is to<em>minimize</em>bloodshed while accomplishing her tasks. Still, for Taggart to mention the money in the communique must mean it's a pretty big deal.<br/><br/>So she's going to treat it as such. Immediately after walking into her home, she discards the light yoga pants and jacket, keeping the training bra and bandage wraps for now, and dons her "uniform." On the surface, it looks pretty much the same... but the fibers of her "Uniform's" pants and jacket have been woven through with insulants and nano-armor threads, providing her at least<em>some</em>protection from assault. And the shirt she puts on top of her training bra provides those same benefits, with only a minor addition of weight... and, when she looks into the mirror, all she sees is a dark-skinned blonde girl, wearing a blue-and-green runner's ensemble, with the jacket about halfway zipped. And the last touch... the gloves, and the pistol. Hopefully, her shock gloves should be charged enough to get her through the day... but if not, the silenced Colt American she loads into the well-concealed holster in her jacket should.<br/><br/><em>"So, where do I need to go to pick up Elisabeth? I'm sure she's tired of waiting."</em>