The dwarf arches an eyebrow at the request to disrobe, but she's easy going enough that she doesn't bother questioning it.<br/><br/>"I'm doin' good enough. My boss has been on edge the past day or so, but he don' say why, an' I ain' gonna go pryin' into his business any more than necessary. Cyborgs can get a bit funny in the head about that..." The little woman chuckles, but there's a hint of concern playing beneath her voice as her clothes drift down to form a pile at her feet. "But it can make closin' out a hassle when he's missin' his counts and cuttin' up shares wrong..."<br/><br/>At Tzahala's request, the little woman cites a list of ingredients and moves off into the kitchen to start preparing, while the rest of her companions settle in for the games. Vaguely, Tzahala becomes aware of Liza's fingers toying with her short, furry haircut, and the rapt look of excitement playing across Robin's features as the field is set for the day's match. Judging by the data on her recorder, the Israeli woman can tell it's going to be a long, late night...<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>But her guests are all long since gone when she wakes the next morning. A quick glance out the window shows that Robin, at least, is on-shift; and her new flame-wreathed arm is already attracting some intrigued and curious glances from the morning crowd outside. That same glance also picks out a heavily-armored black pickup truck rolling its way towards Tzahala's apartment, the blue emblem of the fists shining brightly on its hood.<br/><br/>As the runner looks on, a hulking troll with gleaming metallic implants covering almost half of his body unfolds himself from the truck's cab, and begins walking up towards the building's main entrance with a sense of singular purpose in his eyes. Vaguely, Tzahala thinks that she can see Tisha still sitting in the cab, watching the man with a mixture of concern and sadness playing across her features...