<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e3/RoanQuinceCyber3.png)</div><strong>“Reb doesn't drink. She inhales alcohol, like a fish swimming in bourbon.”</strong>Trance's humorous grin and wandering eye caught Roan's, who reciprocated with a smirk of her own.<br/><br/><strong>"If I could inhale this shit, I'd be bankrupt already,"</strong>the Rockerboy answered, indicating the bottle with a jerk of her head. Her fingertips rapped soundlessly upon the back of the chair upon which she lounged, and her hair swayed back and forth across her shoulders, almost as though trying to match the ebb and flow of the pervasive music.<br/><br/><strong>"I have one inquiry,"</strong>said Vivian, her dispassionate tone of voice cutting through the rhythmic din like a knife through butter. Roan looked to her directly and offered an upwards nod, indicating that she should continue, and so the Solo did.<strong>"You talk about scouting the location directly. So far my impression was that developing a believable legend to get inside the secure perimeter of that residential area is one of the prime obstacles to the execution of our plan. But wouldn't scouting our target require just such a cover as well. Not only that, but it has the potential to endanger us further if some or all of our faces are seen within a rather brief time frame in different roles? Unless of course you intend to survey the perimeter from the outside in search of potential back entrances or exits. That is definitely a feasible endeavor."</strong><br/><br/><strong>"I've no intention of being seen by the <em>suits</em>,"</strong>replied Roan;<strong>"the plan is to get a general idea about the local area - both surrounding the target's hidey-hole, and just beyond it. Only so much we can get from this, after all."</strong>The Rocker jerked her head towards the holographic display circling round and round between them all.<strong>"So no, I'm not intending to wander up to the front door and politely ask for blueprints."</strong><br/><br/>Roan reached again for the bourbon; she sampled it - a smaller draw this time - and then nodded to the others.<strong>"Looks like we have a rough idea forming of what everyone's looking into. That being the case, be sure to pass over your numbers - can't exactly wander off from each other if we can't stay in touch, or arrange another meet."</strong><br/><br/>Lifting her weight off of the seat, Roan reached into her back-pocket and pulled free a folded slip of paper; she tossed it into the heart of the table, causing the holographic image to undulate and crack momentarily as the object breached its threshold. Upon the paper was scrawled a number - that belonging to one of her burner phones.<strong>"That's mine. Make a note of it; last person to do so be sure to rip it up."</strong><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Streetslang</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong><em>Suits</em></strong>: Slang for a Corpos.<br/></div></div>•<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">To reiterate, Roan has given the number of one of her burner phones, and <em>not</em> her Agent.</div></div>