Scene #9286: Eye of Ra

Owner	Pose
Distortion Dets.	It's an every day occurrence in the City that strangers may, out of nowhere, hassle Petra or anyone else for their attention, but rare for hooded nobodies to do so by leveraging the names of acquaintances they shouldn't know she has. 'Tennant wanted you to read this', and other insistent prods, result in an enveloped message being pressed into Petra's hands by a courier otherwise easily scared off afterwards. The contents of it are, similarly, far from every day: Their Lady will be making an audience with Petra. No time nor place is mentioned, and if the topic could be communicated in a letter, it surely would have been; the body of the missive is instead filled with Tennant's testimony as to the significance of catching her eye, in formal language brimming with the same tangible excitement Tennant brings towards what they care for. Implied is that the meeting will be inevitable, and imminent- and that Petra ought make herself available. Yet, as the hours pass by since the note found its way to her, no further information nor glaring sign makes itself known. Under the sunset glow and the requisite humming neons, the world outside the diner's dusty windows is painted in red-oranges and warmth; near enough to the primal comfort of a campfire's light that the concrete hell outside is heretical. The Tenth-Street Diner advertises its name first through the heavily-used menus, and if it used to have a sign outdoors, it was swallowed up with the rest of the block by the growth of a massive parking garage for the rows of brutalist residential towers and their long-cast shadows. Not that the name of a diner is every why anyone is there- it has booths, bar seating, and cheap prices for whatever food someone can manage to cook on a flat-top grill. Stickers on the window even say their shakes are made with P-Corp's branded Ice Cream:tm:! Thankfully, perhaps, few of the other booths are occupied by diner patrons. The idle chit-chat of strangers fills cigarette-smoky air, and kitchen noises form the low din needed for those hushed conversations to be born. The tired waitress whom Petra would have given her order to, if she's here for any of the diner's food, drops a beer glass behind the bar with a loud crash and a yelp- but when she's called back from clearing it up by the cook in the back, she doesn't reappear. It's easy enough to brush off as her taking her break, and when others start to get up from their booths and leave, the di-ding of the door is a fundamentally normal sound still.
Distortion Dets.	But the kitchens aren't supposed to go silent all of a sudden. Without a word of warning, Petra is alone in the diner, with her face reflected in chrome paneling the only one in sight. Car doors slam open and closed in sequence somewhere outside, followed by boots-on-concrete, and suddenly, black and gold-clad figures stream silently into the diner, sweeping its exits with choreographed precision. Each and every one is masked, with the Eye of Ra symbol centered on the black ovals where their faces should be. Surrounded at every exit now by others, Petra's face is still the only she can see. One of the masked soldiers presses a finger to their wrist, loosing a short electronic beep, and the diner's door once more di-ding's, this time with a woman's quiet trilled humming accompanying it between the clack of metal soles on linoleum. Dias, Lady of the Udjat enters with the evening sun burning behind her, the edges of her loose brown hair limned in a fire-red halo, her gold embroidery almost molten. "Petra! Oh, you couldn't imagine how many times I've heard your name these last few weeks, and from so many different lips! And there you are, in the flesh!" Dressed androgynously regal, and quite nearly antiquated, with a high collared jacket and layered white frills, the bright tone and loose posture Dias takes is a surprising mismatch. Footsteps close in on Petra's booth, Dias paying half a mind to trail fingertips and nails across the backs of the bar chairs to the other side. The older woman sits herself down on the same bench Petra occupies, placing herself between her and the exit without even a hint of hesitation. She plants an elbow on the table, resting her head in her palm, and fixes her eyes on Petra. "Clearing out that old District's bank, hm? That was quite a stunt! I'm just dying to know," The smile on her face lapses down into just faint amusement, "Who drew you towards doing such a thing?" In the silence between the words Dias speaks, could sit the implied promise that she's made this space into one for open speech, beneath her to bring up- for however much that can be trusted.
Petra Soroka	Of all the names Petra expected to hear, less than twenty four hours after discovering Yuri in the basement of some fucked up Syndicate frathouse, another one of her former coworkers was not one of them. Tennant isn't quite so much of a hostile-aligned name to make her threatened by the stranger in the street-- though, guiltily, the lack of irritation Petra feels at their name being invoked might be largely because of how little social interaction she gets these days-- but the letter itself stirs uncomfortable feelings when she reads it. 'The Lady', Lilian-comparable, if such a thing is to be believed. It's not, obviously; but there's still the fact that Tennant followed her with that same sort of idolatry that they saw in Petra, and that makes her, if nothing else, a force of 'something'. Charisma, probably. Someone who had hooks in L-Corp and knowledge of the Tree of Light, with an investment in the project but not a fixation on seeing it to its true conclusion-- R-Corp, T-Corp, Warp Corp, someone involved in the Smoke War, even someone from the Outskirts where the old lab was. It could be anyone, but at the same time, the wide spread of possible subjects still applies to so few people that it's kind of unbelievable. Not that Petra really devotes much thought to it. She thinks about the letter, of course, but moreso on the writer and the event, than the Lady behind it. Another person who betrayed Lilian, caused problems after years of support, who Petra should maybe not hold any sympathy for if she's holding herself to Lilian's standards, but who was a coworker and a friend for a long time regardless. Should she hold herself to Lilian's standards? Can she? Are Lilian's standards ones she believes in, still, or does she need to develop her own? It seems like tempting fate to linger within the City all day, and that's what she hopes for, a little bit. It's not that different from rotting in the marshes and forests that are her preference lately, just more filthy and dangerous. She drifts around, semi-aimlessly, occasionally meeting up with someone for a low-volume trade with one of the enkephalin boxes or something along those lines, until ending up in the cafe late in the evening. The burger in front of her is her first meal of the day, and the shake is a necessary pick-me-up from interacting with Lilian and Audrey on the radio. Thinking about her string of ruined relationships that way, Petra considers developing an eating disorder about it, but ultimately decides that that isn't her sort of mental unwellness and instead sullenly takes ashen-cold sips of milkshake while her burger slowly cools in front of her. The dull unreality of her surrounding environment is only enhanced by the cafe emptying around her, people vanishing in the corner of her vision and being gone when she eventually turns to look. Like deer fleeing from an impending wildfire, it makes Petra's intuition prickle uncomfortably, so she subtly slides her compact mirror out of her pocket, cupping it against the booth bench beside her for immediate deployment if needed.
Petra Soroka	"And there you are, in the flesh!" Dias's demeanor couldn't be anything but 'The Lady', even if Petra couldn't tell by her dress. She slides her elbow onto the back of the bench while still sipping at her milkshake, twisting a bit to hide her tensing grip on her mirror, and to track Dias's movement with her face. Her forewarning means that Petra is relatively calm about Dias sitting in the same bench as her, but it's still weird and shocking. Petra scoots, awkwardly, closer to the wall to make room. "These past few 'weeks'? And, uh, to whom do I have the honor of having that kind of reputation with already?" Petra flickers her eyes around all the Udjat gathered around the diner, and takes another drink of milkshake. "Or should I just call you 'The Lady' this whole time?" "Who drew you towards doing such a thing?" The particular phrasing makes Petra pause and reassess the entire meeting, and the instant where she blinks and focuses is visible as a miniscule change in her body posture, and a significant change in her perception of time. Instinctively, she reaches for Angela's curse as a shield against involuntary reactions showing on her face. "'Who'? So this isn't a problem as silly as disputes over who that money should belong to, right? Then... 'who' depends on how thorough Tennant's report was, but knowing them... probably extremely."
Distortion Dets.	'Or should I just call you 'The Lady' this whole time?' "Mm, no, no that just wouldn't do at all! To my face, it's 'my lady', but we don't need that formality, do we? Dias works quite nicely." She sighs, a lost-in-thought noise. "Weeks, yes. Oh, don't misunderstand me, I don't mean the stories Tennant has. You've been quite the industrious one, knowing where to be to make people talk, knowing what to say for them to be unsure what they're talking about." Resting more of her weight now on her arm, Dias' free hand traces little scratched circles into the tabletop, eyes still fixed on Petra with flesh-boring persistence. "Tennant didn't say how fascinating your eyes were, so you really ought to look my way as you talk to me, no? I can't get enough of them." One of the Udjat soldiers approaches the booth at a small gesture Dias makes, the blink and you'll miss it sort, a twist of her hand, a tap of her shoe. Silent and attendant, the soldier stands by, as Dias turns her head to side-eyed glance their way, and bring the back of her hand up to their mask-- as if it was their cheek --and trail down it to their jacket's lapel, where her hand stops, tugging it. "Hm, now that it's on my mind, won't you fetch us something from the back? Is that drink you have any good, Petra? I'll have one." The soldier, absolutely not a waiter here, nods. The motion is practiced and befitting the unsaid 'Yes, Lady Dias', left out as to not break the utter silence. Dias tugs their lapel once, and they disappear to the kitchen. There's a moment Dias looks side-long Petra's way, with her hand still yet to be placed back down on the table from handling her soldier, where it's clear she's showing something off. The small shift in Petra's mannerism gets caught- Dias broadcasts that with her own, interest mutating into being satisfied by the confirmation of something or other. Dias' smile returns, as she shifts, both elbows on the table and fingers laced to hold her chin, even as she stares sideways down the booth at Petra. 'So this isn't a problem as silly as disputes over who that money should belong to, right?' "Of course it isn't. Wings rise, and wings fall, it was only a matter of time until someone was sent to liquidate reserves like those. Everyone expected it, nobody was surprised it happened. No, at a point, the only thing that really matters is allegiance, is it not?" A little head tilt, and the smile fades out, whatever sparked it now burnt out. "Yours are, after all, quite the hot topic! I just knew you were doing that for your Angela, of course. The rest? Could you blame them for thinking you an actor on the Head's behalf?" Beneath the table, Dias crosses one leg over the other, fabric shuffling. She leans back into the booth's frame, staring out at the soldiers filling the diner. "I admire loyalty, more than anything money can buy. A certainty of purpose and belonging, that's not something to squander. You're an interesting girl, Petra, and I'd hate to see your efforts here fall to ruin. Hear me out on an opportunity."
Petra Soroka	"You've been quite the industrious one, knowing where to be to make people talk, knowing what to say for them to be unsure what they're talking about." Petra silently mouths the name 'Dias' to herself. The fact that she doesn't recognize the name puts her more on edge than if she did, because in this context, an 'unknown' doesn't equate to a 'nobody'. Given the ease with which the commands attention, and literally commands the Udjat, Petra has to assume she's a Somebody a grade or two above where Petra typically ranks. And, of course, the stories. Petra knew from the usage of weeks that Dias had to mean her work since the investigation with the Pianist, and the intentional seperation Petra made for herself from the Elites. The declaration Petra made of being the last remaining leadership of L-Corp too... if Dias can know about rumors spread from a talk Petra had with Hana Association Fixers, then she can certainly have heard about the much more brazen speech Petra gave in Trideag Headquarters. Still-- all that logical deduction, and she's being praised already. Petra is just interaction-starved enough to feed into continuing the thread about her eyes, justifying that Dias didn't need to let 'weeks' slip, and so it's only right to respond with a little in kind. One hundred times faster thought means better monitoring of her reactions, but it's also one hundred times the chance to confabulate reasoning. She shrugs, looking away a bit awkwardly, but brushing her bangs away from her forehead. "Well, they didn't know about them. They skipped out a little early, you know. A lot of stuff happened for things to turn out the way they did." "Is that drink you have any good, Petra? I'll have one." Oh, she's scary. Claiming ownership over her surroundings is something familiar to Petra in a dozen different manifestations, from Eggman's world being built to serve him, to Lilian's construction and precision in her environments, to Ash's heedless disregard towards the structures that insist they can't own it. If Petra had to slap a label on Dias within minutes of meeting her on this particular subject, she'd describe her as a mix of all three-- people, as a well-oiled machine built for her use, in order to facilitate the use of any resource in her vicinity that she naturally owns. So, she's extremely wealthy. Or a Syndicate leader. Or both. It's cool with Petra to be like that, though. Rather than being intimidated, she waggles her milkshake casually. "Oh, it's pretty good; just plain vanilla. I heard their specialty's the one that's got a little extra mint blended into it, though." "Yours are, after all, quite the hot topic!" Aren't they, thinks Petra, a little sourly, about Lilian. And also about everyone who'd excitedly gossip whether her allegiance to Lilian is rocky now. "Well, in my opinion, it naturally belonged to Angela. If Ayin was happy to treat her like shit as his daughter for so long, then she might as well get his inheritance now that he's dead. But that's just symbolic, mostly." "-- The Head?" Petra glances down at herself, like her plain clothes could somehow reveal some innate government killer-ness about her appearance. She thinks back on... Olivier, Moses, the radio, Binah, the bank. She hadn't thought about it, but it immediately (over the span of several minutes) makes sense. The look of surprise on her face was still visible, though. "I guess I don't disagree. Loyalty's pretty much the main reason I do anything I do-- so you know that everything I do, no matter who else it hurts or helps, will either be for Angela or Lilian in the end, right? Categorically, I'm never going to--" Slight wince. "... Never going to do anything that goes against them." "So if the offer helps with that, what is it?"
Distortion Dets.	'Well, they didn't know about them.' "Then what a lucky surprise I get to have, hm? Here," As if invasiveness of the action never crossed Dias' mind, she follows up Petra's brushing-away of her hair, pushing a strand that couldn't possibly obscure her eyes away, just to have her hand near her head as she stares. "I've yet to meet someone with eyes like yours, who was anything less than remarkable, one way or another. How did you go and get yourself a pair? Oh, but- I'm here for business, not pleasure! Tell me some other time!" 'I heard their specialty's the one that's got a little extra mint blended into it, though.' "Oh, is it now? Then I guess I just have to try it." Instead of calling back the soldier she sent off, one near the kitchen peels away and goes, evidently to deliver that info without even having been asked. How Dias expected to get a copy of Petra's without asking or even much looking at her shake, is up to the imagination. Blender noises hum after just a minute. 'So you know that everything I do, no matter who else it hurts or helps, will either be for Angela or Lilian in the end, right?' 'Never going to do anything that goes against them.' "Naturally, you're that kind of a darling, you make that so clear. No, of course I expected this, I like to be thorough~!" Dias smiles, clearing her throat quietly. "A smart girl like you knows it's only a matter of time, that the Head starts poking its nose into your Angela's, and into your Lilian's business. They didn't permit Ayin's efforts to thrive wholly unbothered, and what you're hosting in its remnants, I'm so sure they won't like either, hm? Artificial Intelligence, that's a term that draws action." "No, the opportunity is, the Head itself, and the ways they operate... they won't be sure, yet, that you aren't one of theirs. If you go on as you are, I'm certain they'll eventually find out, but Petra? What if I could ease the way for you to convince them of the opposite? Would that not," A small pause, with a tight smile, "Place you in the perfect position to leverage the force you're getting so practiced with, for your Lilian, and your Angela?" The humming in the kitchen finished with, the Udjat-- it's impossible to tell the soldiers apart except by build and height, so who can say if it's the same one of the two who first came by the table --returns with the milkshake, whipped cream and maraschino cherry balanced on top. Without a word, Dias reaches for the soldier's lapel again, guiding them to lean down towards her. At first, the motion looks so fluid and intimate that it could only be read like she's about to plant a kiss on the hard polymer, but her lips break into a whisper instead, so quiet that it's inaudible. The soldier immediately rushes off, back to the kitchen, and returns post-haste with a glass bowl full of extra candy cherries. "Want one? I always used to think they were the best parts of these sort of treats. Saved and savored for the end, but that type of moderation feels so wasted when already indulging. Here," She picks one up by the stem- not to offer it like that, but for herself, before gesturing with it at the bowl for Petra to take.
Petra Soroka	"Then what a lucky surprise I get to have, hm? Here," Penned in by Dias blocking the free side of the booth, Petra has no delicate way to avoid physical contact, besides one. She stiffens up when Dias reaches for her face, and she skips a frame like a nervous animal tapping its feet warily, but she ultimately doesn't move anywhere. She lets out a breath only after Dias moves her hand away again. "I've yet to meet someone with eyes like yours, who was anything less than remarkable, one way or another." Petra has no idea how to deal with oddly touchy interactions from people she's just met, so she just confusedly fumbles and then barges conversationally onwards. "Right, like mine-- you've met Ayin before in person, haven't you? Before the Headquarters went underground." She sours for moment on having to relate a similarity to herself to Ayin. That's another part of Angela's curse, though, so Petra wouldn't be sharing it if she didn't have to endure the same indignity sometimes. And then Dias is already talking about later, casual meanings as an assured thing, and Petra has enough time to register the danger of making any promises, but not enough to come up with a more clever response. "R-right, some other time, we'll-- we'll see." "Naturally, you're that kind of a darling, you make that so clear." It's probably a good thing to be predictable, right? That's the same thing as 'consistent', and Petra's always strived to have her reputation and interaction structure precede her. So, maybe it means that she can be studied before she's ever in the room, but as long as she's uncompromising on those principles, it's only a good thing for anyone who approaches her to only bother with asking for her help if they're aware that she'll only agree to further her own goals. Petra tap-taps her fingers on the table while thinking, staring at her plate as an idle middle-distance place for her eyes to land. When Dias starts her sales pitch, Petra blinks and realizes that she's still got her burger getting cold in front of her, so she picks it up in both her hands and shifts around in the booth to face her. 'Eating' as her idle filler action while listening is driven partly out of necessity (Petra's stomach growls, barely audible), but partly because she's just reassured enough by Dias acknowledging that character trait to be comfortable doing so.
Petra Soroka	"No, the opportunity is, the Head itself, and the ways they operate... they won't be sure, yet, that you aren't one of theirs." To Petra, she's already had over an hour to process the suggestion, but it looks like she takes to it really, really quickly. "Right. Binah's said something along those lines before-- that the agents of the Head don't know each other, specifically to facilitate suspicion and infighting and stuff. That would..." Would it work? Putting side whether she could pull it off, she thinks about whether it would actually advance her goals. "An Arbiter is definitely going to come for Angela. It'd be really useful to get an idea of who, when, and what they can do, absolutely. If I really sell it, it'd give me a chance to deal with the threat permanently, by attacking the structure of the City itself, so that Angela isn't in danger again instead of just being better prepared when it comes. So it in terms of being useful to me... it's not a bad idea." Petra's only about a quarter of the way through her burger when the bowl of cherries comes out, clacking on the table in front of Dias. She hesitates, lowering her hands partway to bring it away from her mouth, but she doesn't immediately accept Dias's offer of taking one for herself. "Saved and savored for the end, but that type of moderation feels so wasted when already indulging." "You know, I've got another take on that." From the treasonous discussion of an infiltration on the highest level of City government possible, to idle social chatter about the nature of treats, Petra slides along with Dias's tone in the conversation seamlessly. "Part of the point of an indulgence is the story we tell ourselves about them, right? The satisfaction you feel about it is just when thinking about it in retrospect, so the order matters; the rising action and the cl-- conclusion, those parts stick out in memory. A nice, pleasant ending's called a 'cherry on top' for a reason, right?" Petra drops her burger back down onto the place and wipes her fingers carefully with a napkin before picking up a cherry and popping it in her mouth. "But I guess, sometimes the narrative memory you need is a subversion of the usual order on purpose. What do you get out of this?"
Distortion Dets.	Petra's frame-skip goes perfectly unreacted-to, no abating attention level from Dias' stare; her hand lowers to her own side eventually, and her fingers rub one against another, as if dusting themselves off. Whatever Dias thinks of the interaction is lost behind dark red eyes. 'Before the Headquarters went underground.' "Mmhmmmm, before there really was a headquarters, in the way you mean, Petra. Ancient history, that. He kept such interesting company then... ah, well." 'Before a headquarters' can only really mean 'before the Smoke War', a time long enough ago that it's odd coming casually from Dias' lips- the harder you look at her, the harder it gets to tell how old she really is. Is she in her 30s, or is the the kind of 40s or 50s that just looks to be in her 30s? Does money accomplish that so successfully? Her attitude doesn't clarify much either. 'R-right, some other time, we'll-- we'll see.' "I'll just have to look forwards to it. Perhaps, if it proves convenient, I can have Tennant put in closer contact with you? Otherwise, well." Dias cocks her head to the side, loosely in the direction of the diner's door. Meeting who she wants, when she wants, does not seem to be a problem for her. At the small gesture, each and every Udjat in the building snap to tighter attention, face masks focal on the pair. Dias giggles, smile wide enough she covers it up with the tips of her fingers. "I couldn't ask for better help, than my Udjat. Don't lose sleep over little uncertainties, we'll make work what needs to." 'So it in terms of being useful to me... it's not a bad idea.' "Oh, Petra, you've no idea how glad it makes me to hear that. Permanent harm to structures up above? You don't dream in half measures, do you? That's a special kind of admirable. With the strings I can pull, well, lets see how that dream shapes out, hm?" That interest-sparked smile, a flicker behind her eyes, is back in force. If Petra tries to over-analyze Dias' expressions, it can't be anything other than another reinforcement that Petra is saying the Right Lines to impress. 'What do you get out of this?' "My. That depends on what part of 'this' you mean? Getting you enmeshed within the Head, well, then I know someone in its ranks, who can be trusted to act in certain ways, there's a security in that. Seeing to you being able to hamper the Head's execution of directives? Well, that opens things up for me, too. No, don't think I'd hide my interests, I love when things are neat and clean, that you getting what you need, gets me what I want." She may as well be talking about the maraschino cherries still, with the light tone she takes for it all. "If you mean hearing you speak about desserts, well, I do so love seeing more of the perspectives of interesting people. If you mean the cherries themselves," She bites another that she's held onto, discarding the empty stem onto a napkin. "I suppose I'm getting a pleasant ending out of this meeting, on top of everything else." Dias sighs. "Because, unfortunately, our time is quite limited today. The City moves so fast sometimes, and I'm a busy woman. Decide, won't you? Not now, if you must wait, but before its too late. This isn't an opportunity that will come again." Pleasant, smiling, she swings her legs to the side, and waits for an Udjat soldier to approach, to help her up to standing as a fully unnecessary handhold. Leaving most of the cherries, Dias takes picks her untouched-till-now mint shake up by its heavy glass, sipping it for the first time as she's walking towards the door with soldiers in-step behind her. "They really dared to call this their specialty? What a shame."
Petra Soroka	"Ancient history, that." 'Before the Smoke War', Petra could definitely assume. She knows the Udjat, roughly, from their involvement in the war, and Hokma's Meltdown, and from there, knowing Benjamin's guilt about arranging for the war to happen, she can imagine a vague outline of why they might've met. Or, at least, one of the reasons-- Dias might have been involved from the very very beginning, with how entrenched she is with sending Tennant in as a spy before the time loop, and knowing as much about the Seed of Light as she seems to. Petra's mind wanders to Dias talking to Carmen, and thinking about Carmen's past fills her with an unsettled feeling as it has ever since the end of the war. "Well, it can't be that ancient." Petra considers that she ought to be put down for her own good. She didn't mean for it to come out like that, but it slips out of her mouth automatically. Not to flirt, but worse: because the conversational thread might otherwise end there, with Dias being obviously avoidant about exploring further down that topic on a first meeting, and Petra kind of wants to keep talking to someone. "Don't lose sleep over little uncertainties, we'll make work what needs to." The simultaneous motion of the masked Udjat brings Petra's mental analogy of the machine to mind again. Her eyes trace around the shape of their formation, lingering on the symbol on one of their masks, before returning to Dias. "Yeah, I'm convinced of that part already." "You don't dream in half measures, do you? That's a special kind of admirable." It's true! Petra's come a long way on these sorts of things, so she gets to feel a little proud of it. That kind of decisiveness and goalsetting, along with the power and resolve to achieve it without question, on a grand political scale-- what she said to Ash before comes to mind again. There's a lot of things she regrets and feels miserable about, and for that the siren song of oblivion never really leaves her mind, but she's much happier with the kind of person she is nowadays. "There's a lot more details than just that to figure out, but... yeah, we'll see." She hasn't actually agreed to anything yet, but 'another meeting' already feels certain. "No, don't think I'd hide my interests, I love when things are neat and clean, that you getting what you need, gets me what I want." It does seem really convenient, and Petra can't find an argument against it at the moment. Wing or Syndicate, whichever Dias is, their relationships with the head are the same: held in line, ultimately, by the Arbiters and not much else. Just like Petra said earlier, she doesn't care all that much whether Dias's goals might harm some people, so long as Petra can do more good for more people who matter. "Decide, won't you? Not now, if you must wait, but before its too late." Then, abruptly, Dias stands up to leave. Petra startles out of her thoughts and sits up in the booth, hand placed on the table. "Ah-- well, I..." The sudden departure, the assignment to come up with an answer soon, they leave her off-balance for something seemingly completely trivial to slip past and burrow underneath Petra's skin. Just one drop of disappointment, directed at the very thing Petra had recommended, leaves an unfulfilled, bitter note at the end of the conversation, that absolutely demands another conversation to absolve the abstract tension Dias leaves in her wake. Petra blinks, and settles back down in her seat, disconcerted. "I guess... you'll know where to find me."