You know, sometimes I think these machines have more imagination than we give them credit for. I mean honestly, who comes up with these places?

[ Hawke's gesture is as expansive as time and space allow, which isn't much since she's dodging right down a narrow corridor lined with brightly-striped canvas, a clamor of pursuers hot on her heels. Sure, she could start jumping over the tents instead of running between them, but for the moment it's not agents chasing, and she'd prefer to keep it that way if possible. But she can hear the crack of a whip too close for comfort, and the heavy, slavering huff of breath that's even more unsettling.

The extraction's accomplished, that's something, but otherwise this mission isn't exactly going to plan. She supposes as captain that means there's no one to blame but herself. Or does that mean she gets to delegate blame? She's heard it both ways. ]

Do you have an extraction set up yet? I did mention the lions, didn't I? [ She continues grumbling almost under her breath, though since her breath is coming quick as she leaps over crates and dodges around bales of straw, it's difficult to tell whether she's talking to herself or her crew. ] A circus world. I hope our new friend's trapeze act is more impressive than the moment I saw, since I'm likely to lose a virtual limb for it.

[ No matter what world she's in, Hawke's favorite place to be at a party is up at the bar. Nothing about Zion resembles Kirkwall's Hanged Man except the dingy corners and occasional smell, but she's still leaned against the bartop, hip cocked, posture lax, the toe of one boot dug intermittently into the floor. The ubiquitous earth-toned sweater has been ditched for the ubiquitous earth-toned tank top and the ports on her arm scrape quietly against the stone as she gets one elbow propped up, a cup dangling casually from her hand.

She's good at casual. Each sip looks sort of absent-- like she barely remembers she's drinking-- and her attention on the crowd looks non-existent too, eyes heavy-lidded, dark bangs in her face only adding to the air of apathy. (They actually take quite a bit of effort to get that way, not that she's likely to ever admit it.) In actuality she's putting this drink away at a steady pace and has been carefully scanning the crowd for familiar faces, but she still looks ripe for interruption. ]