<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/Sd9QGHZ.png)</div>Ami arrived by motorcycle, a method of travel that did not fit well with the finely tailored skirt-suit she wore.  Her skirt was bunched up to show off her long legs but, if anyone shouted a comment, she missed it over the roar of the engine and the sound of the wind.  She parked outside and took a moment to straighten her clothes, tugging down the skirt and smoothing a few wrinkles.  She stood out in the poor district, but that was entirely the point.  She was here to make an impression, not to skulk and hide.  That would come later.<br/><br/>She headed inside and informed the young man that she was.  "Here to see Mr. Fernández darlin'."  She took a seat once in the rim, and declined any drink.  An eyebrow lifted at his ramble about cigars.<br/><br/>"I can't speak to that."  She commented.  "Though I've certainly made enough money moving them.  Who's not playing by the rules?  And why do you need a smuggler and a," she paused to look Curador up and down, "mage as I recall to swat his nose?"  She gave a polite nod to the troll and a murmured.  "A pleasure to see you again."  Before she turned her attention back to Mr. Fernández.<br/>