Quinn

At the talk of one-use items, Morgan just shrugged; frankly, he hadn't the slightest what the others (if he could find any, truth be told) would be wanting for payment. Precious metals was probably likely - if only because gold and silver and assorted others tended to be hell on wheels when it came to elaborate rituals. And fancy enchanted jewelry. And eng-wait what. That line of thought brought his train to a screeching halt, and he blinked several times - completely missing Magnus's talk of metals or tools; he had his own, anyway. Granted, they weren't with the assets of a multinational corporation behind them, but he trusted them more than any other artificer's tools you could assemble. He'd made them himself, after all! His attention dragged itself back as the dessert arrived, and Morgan bowed his head in thanks - lingering over it with a fork as the man asked him to name his own number. Now that was something he'd never heard before - and it made his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. Thank heaven he was a disciplined fellow - all Magnus saw was a quirked eyebrow and a placid face. For the time being, prevarication. "Hrm...naming a number...well, let's list off what you're looking at so far. Services-wise, at least two Anti-Magic Fields (you could hear the capitals) for your requests of general magical intervention; possible magic/illusion detectors, for lack of a better term, for security personnel - I admit I'm adding that one as a possibility; I should have suggested it earlier. Probably about a week of general consultation, another week...no, half-week of actual planning...I'll lowball it a bit, and say then two, maybe three weeks of actual installation, and personnel training - allowing for acquisition of the items we'd need for them. Then I'd want at least two weeks of stress testing and tightening things up." He stroked his chin, leaning back in the chair. "Let's stay grounded on this. Put it in terms of a mundane security company, connecting a new system, replacing cameras, and distributing new equipment to your security personnel. Four, five weeks' work. How much would you expect to reasonably pay them?"

"...Etain, I would like to make something perfectly clear." Morgan let his shoulders settle a bit, and flipped back his hood - and gave Etain as frank a look as he could manage. Straightforward, no-nonsense, as open an expression as was humanly possible. His tone was the same - as sincere and honest as she'd ever heard him - perhaps even a little wavering, given the subject matter. Because given his next sentence, he had to ensure it was absolutely clear. "Of the Irregulars...hell, sorry - of every Claremonter...no. Etain Maher, you are without question the single most frightening individual I have ever met." He shook his head from side to side. "Sorry, I had to say that. And I'm really hoping you take that as a compliment." His hand came up to rub between his eyes, and he settled back into the position of his pose before - save now perhaps he wished he had something to cover his eyes. The mask, maybe. Feh. I can't say I disagree with you. Will you please stop talking? What? I'm agreeing with you! Yeah, I know - and you know I hate that. So? More satisfying for me.

... ... ...! Oh dear God could that boy blush. A mix of emotions, some good, some bad, colored his face a vivid red, and he promptly ducked his head low enough for the hood to fly over it - concealing the whole kit and kaboodle from view. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and promptly stepped back to his position, hiding the fact that the hands themselves were actually shaking for less than a second. It still took a good few seconds to regain himself, but Morgan still didn't actually say a word - trusting his voice was something rather beyond him at the moment. And what galled him worst of all was that he'd basically asked for it. Sneaky devil, isn't she. ...yes. Mmm...I like her. She made you look like a fool, hee. ...be silent. Why? I'm only speaking the truth. You know it, I know it. Why not admit it? ...because giving you an inch lets you take a mile. Maybe so. But still, poor Morgan. Can't even see through the simplest of illusions. Now, if I'd been th-GET THEE BEHIND ME. NOW.

Morgan nodded agreeably as she meandered off, relaxing from his leaning stance and stretching his arms. One arm up, one arm down, other arm up, other arm down - lean left, lean right, stretch the spine...all of which distracted him from the argument currently raging in his head over if he was the sneaky sort of fellow who would try to creep around an easel to get a peek at his portrait. Granted, he was a rather sneaky fellow, almost a devious fellow - at least when halting crime or catching villains was the occupation of the day - but he did try and keep that from creeping into his daily life. Not very successfully. Oh, be quiet. Come on, go take a look, you know you wanna! And draw a moustache on it! ...just a minute ago you wanted to do something horrid to her eyes, and now you just want to draw a moustache on it? Can't we do both? ...I'm sorry I asked. Bah, boring. He balanced on the balls of his feet, looking back and forth from the door Etain had vanished through, to the easel, back to the door, back to the easel. Back to the door. Back to the easel. Back to the door. Back to the ea-oh, hang it. Morgan carefully tiptoed around, peering around the easel to look at the unfinished portrait, a curious look on his face. Please don't be another evil clone. Yeah, we wouldn't want that... Shut up!

A nod. "Good enough, they'll probably find that acceptable." Crow probably would, at least. "And don't get me wrong, the cameras are quite feasible - it'd just take a bit of extra work to pull off, and wouldn't be as fast as the Faraday cages to bring in." Morgan was working through the pasta at a fairly respectable rate despite the discussion, having learned from long experience how to consume on the job or while researching without misssing a bite. Usually by Wisp's constant trying to push food at him when he was neck-deep in research and maybe having not eaten for a week. But damnit, magic science was awesome! And highly distracting. "And one or two fallback cages would be doable - simply link them with the runic equivalent of a time-delay or a no-action failsafe; if one isn't working then the other automatically kicks in. Either that or a killswitch runestone a security head could keep on themselves - we've got them in various flavors for your activation needs, from command words to simple touch-activation (which we can bind to thumprint or DNA) to (for the more lurid-minded) application of an actual bloody thumprint. Though I don't reccomend the third - it's highly unsanitary and generally gives a poor impression to visitors." A slightly crooked smile. "One thing that a lot of folks miss with this is you do save a bundle in expensive metals and tools. We use a lot of rocks."

Morgan squinted at the Norse runes, and there was a moment of head-tilting; to the degree that his head was at a 90 degree angle. The other talk floated by, him logging it for a few seconds in the future, but for now a bit of translation, a bit of pondering, investment of will and mental ability and... "...huh. Turn that algaz rune left and you'll have a fairly decent booby trap, but as-is it's basically a flashbang. Lots of glowy and noisemaking, but otherwise..." Shrug. "It's the equivalent of a school project circuit board - turn a switch and a lightbulb turns on. The algaz turn just makes the lightbulb explode." Magnus might have gotten the impression the young man was rather familiar with the explosive qualities of runes - given his penchant for trial and error (mostly error), he was very familiar with the explosive capacity of a rune array gone highly awry. For a given value of the term 'awry'. "Prevention of scrying and metaphysical intrusion aren't complicated - simplest I can think of'd be proper tactical application of disruption runes; think basically a 'magical' Faraday cage. Outside can't come in, inside can't go out; in layman's terms basically a lot of energy being thrown around that plays merry hell with anyone trying to do something particularly focused. And I like your idea of defense in depth - redunancies are a paranoiac's best friend." Grin. A self-identified paranoiac, Morgan loved it when people agreed with him on the idea. "Though the cameras could be both simple and a pain in the ass - I can kitbash a rune of true sight lens for that kind of thing as a stopgap solution, but they'd play merry hell with the cameras themselves on long exposure, and they're also stereotypical as hell. Fact is, a lot of magic is tossing around questionable energy, and sometimes it screws with other forms of energy; especially electrical. Don't ask me how - if I did, I'd make a bundle writing treatises on the subject. There's ways around it, usually with classic materials like lead shielding or straight up rebuilding the camera with less delicate materials." He stroked his chin for a time then, cogitating on the testing aspect as they munched and chewed. The food really was remarkable, even if with all the excitement of planning and sales pitch it was mostly being distracted from. The idea of stress-testers was giving him some pause, mostly since he had about three people he could bring in, with one of them being himself. Ah, the benefits of a dual-identity in the business world; the pain in the ass was submitting cheques. "My stress-testers are a bit protective of their identities, just as an FYI - they...err...moonlight. I'd have to ask for confidentiality clauses and permission to enter under assumed identities before bringing them in."

"Eh, I won't say one way or the other on the idea of a force to make nice with - gods know I've met several forces where it's somewhat sensible to make nice with them, otherwise they'll probably try and squish you like a bug." Hello Tuatha, are you listening in? "Though in their cases it's not so much mystical and ineffable as arrogant and improbable." Yeah, you still suck. "As for scientific...I dunno, si-err-Baron. Maybe it's just the way I actually work things - in an arcane sense, I'm akin to an engineer or a hardware specialist; I work with pre-existing systems and symbols of power, rather than work with the 'code' itself, like a wizard slash programmer. Which lets me segway right into my list of actual services." He nearly blushed, recalling the fact that he'd actually not said what he could do - still, given what the man was after, it was well within his reach. "My specialty is runes, the creation and manipulation thereof - whether engraving, painting, carving, enhancing, tweaking. For flavor, they mostly come from Celtic traditions, but that's more due to my family ties than anything else - it's easier to think and work in a language you already know, if you get my meaning." He nommed a pastry, with the appropriate noise of enjoyment - now that was a roll. "So fortunately, you're asking for nothing that isn't fairly doable - slap a rune on a doorframe and you're usually good to go, at least for quick-and-dirty stuff. I've got a decent line of wards, from your straight intruder-is-here alarm type deal, to full-bore hexagrammatic circles that can prevent entry by any number of individuals (though the reagents are a pain to get a hold of); I've got a wide range of information available for supranatural creatures and how they can make your day hell; and I know a few folks who can stress-test, though they'd want separate bills."

Aaaand at the word 'intercourse' he was about ready to shove his fingers in his ears and start yelling la-la-la-la-la at the top of his lungs as thinking of that and Etain in the same thought process was the sort of thing that lead to his face turning extremely red and Wisp either going upside his head (which hurt) or making wry comments on the subject matter (which didn't help). Fortunately for all concerned she shifted tracks fast enough that steam didn't start coming out of his ears, and he could approach her commentary on the world with far better equilibrium. "Media has a certain number of standbys they enjoy sticking to, and for the most part it's also a product of several hundred years of cultural mores and adaptations and tweaks and changes that actually trying to understand it is tanamount to trying to climb Mount Everest. I mean, things can be funny, but overexam-..." A beat. Yeah, hindsight, not the best word. "...though, you've got a point there - thinking about why it's funny does lead to a lot of really curious questions. And yeah, characters on screen frequently seem to forget that they have smartphones. But that'd mean it'd be a much shorter movie...remind me to show you a certain webcomic's take on the zombie apocalypse genre at one point."

That explained so very, very much. To his credit, Morgan didn't boggle - his curriculum was no less thick last year, compounded with the training regimen he set for himself. Instead, he nodded understandingly, idly wishing he could scratch his nose. Bloody itches. "Don't change the wardrobe, E - it'd be a travesty to both class, distinction, and style." And he actually meant that - to change the way Etain Maher dressed would be a travesty towards mankind. You just didn't get class and elegance like that anymore. He'd have wagered Wisp would have slugged whoever implied that change, and he wasn't sure he'd have stopped her. Why was he thinking about Etain and fashion now? Oh, right, avoiding thinking about human history. Agh. "I was more on the practical sciences and arts, along with a pileup in criminal psychology and general psych. And a single course in spooky English Literature. I think the Headmaster was trying to tell me something there - though I'll be damned if I start quoting Poe over Blake."

"...ah." What. ...eyes? NO. Morgan's reply pretty much summed up what he could glean from that discourse on human fallibility and tendencies - intellectually speaking he grasped it, but on a fine summer's day with a cookie in hand and a fantastic tan coming, he was a bit lacking in ability to keep up. So he didn't, sadly. Just nodded. Tried to log it away for later. He had a good memory, at least. "Etain, I have to ask - what were your grades like in history courses?"

"Terrible?" was his reflexive word, having seen a particular fantasy movie quite recently. The irony of an ethereal woman saying that was not lost on him, and he promptly bit back further comment - the fact that she cut off that sentence as she looked at him left him with that sick feeling in his gut he got more of these days; for a collection of reasons, truthfully. Clever girl. Can we...do something? To those eyes? Please? It would be so entertaining... I swear to mom, if you had a face I would punch it. That isn't a no... NO! Morgan just shuffled his feet slightly, and made a noncommittal noise to her comment of 'very interesting'. There was a long few moments of silence, and he eventually ventured to speak again. "It can't be all bad - gods only know what man did before pizza was invented, right?"

Hearing her describe her magic as 'not very impressive' nearly made him snort in derision of the very idea - at least until he remembered that guys like him didn't snort in derision. Hearing Etain's reasoning behind it, however, was rather sound - and he cogitated on it for a few moments; at least on the nature of creation versus illusion. There was a sticking point to it, though - one he didn't quite vocalize, at least not yet; it was something that just popped up, and he examined it from various angles. He crafted hard objects, yes - but everything he did...well, he had a reason for it, right? It was a weapon or a tool or something that he used to bust heads for great justice. He never...huh. He knew art, but he never actually made art. And here was Etain, painting for the pleasure of it, and he knew full well she used her magic for more than just crime-fighting. ...the point stuck in his head - and while he adopted a look of pensive internal examination as he did so, he wasn't game to follow the rabbit hole down or start arguing the point. Hell, Morgan didn't think he had the words for it, at least at the moment. It was something to consider, though. "Well, over and under imply a different kind of status...maybe whelmed is basically status quo? Neither over or under, just maintaining a normal mental state?" Unlike you. Shut up.

"Yeah, well - guy's still scarier than me when he's angry; I'd rather not push the point." He adopted a somewhat amusing look of embarassment (not to mention blushing at her compliment) at that, nearly reaching up to rub the back of his head before catching himself. The hand returned to his pocket. "Eh, runes are just symbols of power - you guys wield that power all the time. I'm just a swiss army knife - you're the claymores and the battleaxes and assorted large sharp implements of pointy doom and I think I lost my metaphor there." Inferior. Shut up. Weak. Shut up! At her mention of a singed skirt, he promptly started flop-sweating and pondering apologies, before the significance of the comment entered his head. "Wait, you mean the hotfoot booby trap worked? Sweet! I'd been hoping those spray-on runes would work properly this time; last time all they did was spark and sputter."

"Eh, the scrying pool's useful, but that still leaves you here an' not there. Plus, the last time I used both that and the teleporter, I got splashed and nearly broke the thing, respectively. Better exercise, either way - and lets me stop by some places I'm fond of for lunch and dinner." Straightforward and practical, that was Morgan alright. He would have shrugged if he wasn't holding his casual position for her; or maybe munched a cookie. As-is, he maintained his twitch and eye-shifts, maybe shrinking them a bit so as not to vex her paintbrush. "Still, I'll give it some thought - and hope Nick doesn't drop wrath on me for thinking about it." He had to fight not to give an abashed expression - Nick hadn't read him the riot act for tweaking the teleporter, but he highly suspected the fellow wasn't impressed, either.

"Well, most of the time you see me is in sparring, E - or when we were all together at the same time." He'd adopted a fairly sedate position against the deck, just leaning there - the plate up on the railing, his hands in his pockets, an oddly relaxed look. Or it would be, save for three minor things. One, his eyes flickered left and right - constantly. Evaluating the landscape. Noting movement. Picking up details. Checking peripheral vision. Two, his shoulders weren't relaxed. They remained up, slightly - as if ready for his arms to come up at any second. Either for a throw or for a punch. They didn't twitch, per se - just remained slightly raised; and anyone who knew long combats would pick up on that. And three, he wasn't actually still - though it'd take an eye better than most to pick up on it. His muscles constantly tensed and then relaxed; something usually hidden by his clothes, but staring at him for a long enough time (say, painting a portrait) would likely spot that. Tense. Relax. Tense. Relax. Avoiding cramps, or numbness - keep blood flowing. Every movement he made was calculated, for a reason. Given his temperament, Etain likely wasn't surprised. "Spend enough time on stakeouts, you learn not to budge for a few minutes. Or hours. More fun when you're in the rafters - then you can hunker down. Really can mess your spine up, tho'."

Morgan nodded in sympathy with the non-linear thinking patterns; he knew a few folks like that. Not himself, unfortunately - he tended to be fairly straightforward in his thinking and planning. Crow, on the other hand...he shied away from thinking about that right now; right now he was Morgan Crowe, professional consultant. He tapped his fingers against his chair, pondering the man's next statement - looking a bit more at ease, as well; this was the situation he'd been waiting for and rehearsed answers for a great deal. "Ask a dozen different casters the same question, you'll likely get a dozen different answers. I've tried to make mine at least as approachable as possible. Best we get some points clear right off the bat, then." He took a breath, arranging it in his head, and launched the verbal salvo. "Alright, so - first off, I'm not by any stretch of the imagination a 'wizard'. Not a 'warlock', or a 'mage', 'magus', 'magician', or a pretty staggering number of other choices - so don't bother trying to apply one of those titles while I'm going through my list of services. Secondly, I don't do artifacts of legendary power - I'm not a serious smith or a magical forger. I can do some things, order in others - those'll be on the list - but don't expect indestructible golems wandering about with giant flaming swords. Seriously, those things are a pain in the arse." He was building up steam now, and sounding a lot smoother in the process - even looking the Baron right in the eye as he said so. "Third, don't trust magic wholesale. I cannot stress this enough. Put it this way - I can make something better than a pack of guard dogs and a set of security cameras; and it'll do the job, but determined mundane can get through as the arcane if they know what they're doing. Most don't, but those that do rarely expect guard dogs or security cameras afterwards. Fourth, the impossible is doable, but rarely worth it. And it costs extra." A crooked smile crossed Morgan's features there, and he leaned back in his chair. The disclaimers seemed to be at an end - as he commented somewhat wryly. "The guy who I tested that on said I wouldn't sell at all if I didn't big up the product. But frankly, it saves both you and me time and a lot of headaches if you know what's reasonable. Granted, magic usually isn't, but beat it enough with a baseball bat and it generally can appear close to it."

There was a long few seconds as Morgan processed the question. A painting? Of him? Oddly enough, he hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't picture himself as photogenic or anything like that, more a case of the last time a painting had been done on Parkhurst Grounds. A clone of himself wasn't exactly fun - and given what was in his head at the moment...there was a goodly few seconds of consideration as he addressed the situation in his head. But whilst he expected an inner battle...it was actually fairly silent up there - he found himself oddly at peace with the question. The more he thought about it, the more it appealed - Etain was a good painter, this would be nice for her, and he'd have something to hang on an office wall somewhere. And if clones showed up, he was far more competent than before at expeditious removal. "...uh...sure, I guess. I mean, I'm used to standing still from perching on lampposts all evening - you want me to find something to stand on?" Beat. "...and should I get rid of the cookie plate?"

Morgan's eyes would have narrowed if he was a different sort of person - as is, he just shrugged and flopped back into the seat; a root beer being his choice of drink. So fizzy, and cloying, and happy. It was insidious. "Not that exclusive - I got lucky on a scholarship." For a given value of the term 'scholarship'. As to the interesting business angle, he'd already worked out several dozen explanations for the link without drawing back to Claremont's more...unique...forms of education. Defense in depth - hopefully the Headmaster would approve. Gah, have to stop thinking that way; he was a graduate now, with approvals from several colleges in the area come September. He was a working man as well! Completely equal to the...the...ai-yi-yi he couldn't even think that still. Double gah. "And it's not tha-..." Beat. "Okay, it is that interesting." Grin. "Well, more cool than interesting. Ever since the reality of the esoteric hit the airwaves, a lot of us have been coming out of the woodwork." He tapped his fingers a bit, picking his words carefully - he'd planned a pitch, but at this level he was likely sorely outgunned when it came to salesmanship or organization. Triple gah. Info for now. "I s'pose you have questions, then?" Gaaaah, WHY are we listening to this organized, dignified fool? So...NEAT. So...TIDY. And he practically RADIATES bloody ORDER! One, because he asked. And two, now because he annoys you. GAH.

"Why not a still of Parkhurst? Do the whole house from the lawn?" He tilted his head at Millie's picture again, looking over at her...manifestation? Then back at the portrait. Then back at her. Then back at the portrait. He really was impressed; didn't quite vocalize it, but the look on his face was quite clear vis-a-vis that emotion. Morgan cocked his head sideways, and turned to look at Etain herself - quite frankly up and down, then at her face. It was an...odd thing - Morgan got along fairly well with all the Irregulars; including Etain, but she was always...unique. High in his esteem, certainly - she had both his fear and his respect; a rare combination. Whether that was good or bad was undetermined, at least for the moment. There was a lot more to her than met the eye - in manners both familiar and unfamiliar to him. To his credit, he had never enquired - or even tried digging. Whether she knew of this was unknown to him, and he wasn't quite game to push the matter. But right now...he shook his head, tried to avoid the directions his thoughts were going. Just pushed forward with the thought that occured later earlier. "...how about a self-portrait, though?"

Crowe took the hand in a stout grip, shaking it well - nervousness taking a brief back seat to the infectious good humor of the fellow in front of him. The young man sized up Katastrof as he approached - and approved of what he saw. Despite the suit, he carried himself tough - shoulders up right, arms held nicely braced, and if he had an ounce of fat on him then Morgan was a ruddy trout. The age was a bit of a surprise, though - and the height! It was rather amusing that he had a pound or two on the fellow... Still, it was fairly obvious at this point; the title Baron was no marketing ploy. Which left him a bit more spooked than before, joy. "Hey, thanks for having me - though I'm not sure whether to call you Baron or Mr. Katastrof." Beat. "Sir." The invitation to sit was met with a nod, and he stepped to a chair - half-sitting down before his idea of protocol had him stand upright again. "Uh..." Another beat. "Soda?" He tried not to flush - that would be just fantastic. Whether or not a drink came, he shook his head and rubbed the back of his hair. "I admit, uh, sir, you've got a bit of an advantage on me. How did you know I recently graduated from Claremont?"

"An abstract - what should be, or what can be; not a precise copy." Textbook answer - straight from the Claremont art books, actually. He looked at the Custos, and marvelled at it for a moment - if Custos wasn't made out of rock, that'd have been a damnably accurate portrait of the sort of beastie he would be. "...that or the artist's perception of the individual. Damn, E - it looks like he's about to jump right off the canvas!" He leaned left, looking past the portrait at the gargoyle in the distance. Leaned back, looked at the portrait. Leaned left, looking at the gargoyle. Goggled a moment. Then turned back to Etain. "Realism is putting it mildly - what did Custos think of the picture?"

Morgan was actually fairly calm when the guard started shuffling papers and computer screens around, only once letting his hand drift into his pocket when the man reached below the desk. Call him a paranoiac (he was) or unreasonably nervous (he was), just because you didn't know there was a secret magic weapon hidden under a desk didn't mean there wasn't one. Good, you are learning. Go away. The teen just shuffled his feet a bit when the man rose with the badge - taking his hand out of his pocket and clipping the thing to his chest. He gave an amiable smile - at least as far as he could on a normal sense. There was a moment of indecision as he debated checking out the science exhibit, if only for a bit of background on the company - but whoever the guy was that he was meeting had to be pretty big to run a building like this. Keeping him waiting would likely result in career suicide. Or being dropped into a piranha tank. He wondered if a building like this had a piranha tank. He'd probably have put in a piranha tank. Well...okay, a tank of water with stuffed piranhas. Be great for scaring people who annoyed him. That last thought was what got him through the door of the dining room - and he looked about with some curiosity. Computer screens...ooh, techy things on the ceiling - and DAMN, was that the view? Morgan placed his duffel bag beside one of the chairs, and walked over to look out the window - heights holding no fear for him. Rather, he had a sparkling look on his face - normally he saw these from the rooftops, with strong winds stinging his eyes or clouds covering part of the view. This was just...crystal clear. He savored it for a while.

A shrug. "You never know when evil might strike." Munch munch munch. "And Millie's getting better at hiding the cookie jar." And on that completely mature note, he stepped forward to appraise the painting - Etain's description of her methods falling on...actually, surprisingly attentive ears. For an exercise-nut like Morgan, the arts were likely expected to be less than a major point in his education; probably even disparaged - but that honestly couldn't be further from the truth. The crafting of runes was a delicate process, involving lengthy periods of trial and error, precise shaping, a dab hand with a brush or even a hammer and chisel. To be truthful, on an academic basis he was no art historian or critic - but on a practical basis, he was rather competent. Which is what lead to his eyebrows going up, and a hand rubbing his chin with a thoughtful noise. "...huh. Nicely done, E - this is very good. I take it it's more of an abstract representation?" He gestured to the stain over her abdomen - taking the view that it was a metaphor for something. A stab wound, maybe? Best not ask how he was getting familiar with those.

There was a small crunch crunch crunch from the deck nearby, and a figure clad in black coat, black shirt, black pants, and black...socks...rounded the corner of the house - a small plate of Millie's homemade cookies occupying one hand, and one of said cookies currently half-filling his mouth. The figure stopped, blinking at the tableau before him, and looked down at the plate. Then promptly hid it behind his back. "Urrm...hi." A bit muffled by a mouthful of cookie, Morgan gave a somewhat weak wave to Etain and Millie. Loud gulp - no more muffling. He cast about for an additional comment, if only to avoid focus on the aforementioned gulp; the hand holding half a cookie gestured to the easel. "Practicing the arts?"

Big. That just about summed up Morgan's opinion in a nutshell as he got out of the taxi, and actually looked at the downtown edifice of K&ST. Actually, no - amend that. Very big. He shifted the duffel bag somewhat uncomfortably, still looking up...up...up...ye gods and little fishes, just how tall was that office building? When he got the call arranging a meeting, he was expecting some local tech group - and given Freedom City's rep as the superpowered capital of the world, a name like Katastrof sounded more like good marketing. And now...this. Downtown, at a giant metal and glass edifice. He'd even asked the taxi driver twice if this was the right address, 'till he saw the letters halfway up the building. ...did I even drop any business cards in the City Center? Best not to think about that. The graduated teen hero tugged at his best pea coat's hem, looking down at the blue jeans that had been freshly pressed, and the shoes that, whilst not quite respectable, were certainly durable. He'd even worn his best hat today, too. Old-school pageboy cap - Vickie liked it when he wore that to fancy places...thinking of her made him idly finger that Celtic knot ring on his middle finger. Morgan took a deep breath and mounted the steps towards the building, crossing the courtyard quick-as-you-please, and stepped through the revolving doors shortly after a small procession of gentlemen with briefcases. He just stared somewhat gobsmacked at the lobby then, for a goodly few seconds, before shaking his head and walking over to the...well, he hoped that desk was a receptionist. "Crowe Security Consulting? Here to speak to an..." He checked a small paper from his pocket, and held it up. "M. Katastrof?" He tried to look as professional as possible. Adjusted his hat a bit. Don't let them see you sweat, old boy...