<div align="center"><em>Ethereal Rose</em></div><br/>"I may be soft," he'd said, "but I'm not stupid."<br/><br/>Outside, eavesdropping on this strange conversation, Rose didn't even need the full context to know<em>that</em>statement was self-defeating. If you're not stupid, you don't tell a whole gang of folk armed and eager to put you down that you're soft. 'Cause if you do, well, as Warner came unwillingly back out through the door he'd kicked in, completely swarmed by the Chopper's birds, she thought,<em><strong>That</strong> happens.</em><br/><br/>There's a moment, just after Warner's unceremonious exit from Amanuel's, in which Rose is put face-to-mob with the handful of Vultures dragging him outside. With her gun still in one hand.<br/><br/>Only a breath's worth of a pause before she makes a point of holstering the pistol. Whatever the fuck just went down, she's having none of it. Let these crazy bastards do whatever they're going to do, just get out of the way. Real simple. Walk right on by them like it didn't even happen, even if you do end up stepping in some stray fresh blood on the ground to get in the door. Considering the commotion that got kicked up the last time someone popped in alone, this probably draws more than a little eye contact from the gang members still inside, but Rose doesn't have a gun in her hands, isn't shouting for everyone's attention and, perhaps most importantly, isn't trying to buy their new toys from them with sugar water.<br/><br/>Besides, who'd shoot a fruit delivery girl? Only a true monster, that's who.<br/><br/>What she<em>does</em>brandish is one of those fritters, pulling it out of the bag on her way over to the new techy-lookin' car she doesn't recognize from her last visit to Amanuel's space. Why? Well, given it's the most hot shit tech she's seen in quite a while, it's a pretty safe bet she'll find Amanuel in it, on it, under it, or otherwise immediately nearby. Doesn't take much looking to see the man's behind the wheel of the thing, so she skirts around the driver's side and taps the fritter on the windshield. Maybe not as intimidating a door-knocker as a shotgun, but surely more enticing, even to the gearhead; gotta keep yourself refueled to keep working on the machines, after all, yeah? Maybe it was more concern than necessary, but sometimes she felt like she had to make sure he actually ate something now and then.