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Lobby
You enter a small waiting area first, complete with a couple of couches and some magazine-laden small tables. A holo-screen on the central table cycles through the latest news-briefs, focusing mainly upon the assorted tumultuous dangers of Hiverspace. There is a clear polycarbonate wall between the waiting area and the actual room, so one can see what is within without being able to hear it.
Through a set of double doors is a much larger room; the front left-hand side is the training/workout area, also behind a clear polycarbonate wall so that potential candidates and clients alike can observe the available mercenaries in their natural habitat. Music is usually playing at a boisterous volume, the playlist consisting of bass-thumping, parent-offending, wall-rattling tunes from many eras and planets.
Beyond the training area is a door marked "Captain's Office," and a mess hall/break area separated from the rest of the room by a chest-high wall. On the right hand side of the room is the reception desk; just beyond that, smoked polycarbonate cubicle walls designate a private area for interviews and consultations. In the far wall, a door leads into the barracks.
James Sterling is taking advantage of the Red Eclipse workout facilities this afternoon. At the moment he's lifting a barbell on a weight bench.
Akamatsu looks to be just coming into the lobby as he does when he's paying a visit, not exactly needing to bypass any kind of security or anything. He looks around a moment, presumably looking for Joca.
Akamatsu
This human male is about 5'10 in height. He also has a Japanese ethnicity about him. He looks as if he is 200 pounds or so. He is very muscular in most areas of his body. His face looks quite weathered. His hair is black with a hint of gray at the top. His eye color is brown.
He wears a red overcoat. Under that, he wears what appears to be a black armored shirt. On the man's face is a pair of sunglasses currently hiding the brown eyes. He also wears dull gray pants. He carries on his belt a wakizashi. Also on the other side of his belt is a katana. Also on his belt he carries a jug. On his back he carries a Confederacy issue rifle.
From out of one of the smoked polycarbonate privacy cubicles comes Joca, along with a couple of, judging by her gracious demeanor, customers. Customers of... one manner of another. They appear to be middle-aged males, possibly Fastheldian from their manner of dress, and also appear to be identical twins. The conversation does, fortunately (or unfortunately,) appear to be purely business. "...and we will 'ave shipment delivair to drop point in two business days, under requested guard. Sank you -very- much, Monsieurs." She walks them to the door, heaving -quite- the little sigh as they leave, and perks up as Aka arrives. "Well 'allo... great big dr---" There is a nigh audible screech of verbal brakes as she passes the workout area. There is a rather unsubtle gawk. "...aalloo."
"Hey - oh, wait, she's not talkin' to me," sighs Micky as he comes wandering in with a duffel bag over his shoulder. He gives a second longer sigh which ends in a bit of coughing and hacking. He soldiers through it, producing his flask and taking a none too soothing drink of what's probably some sort of blindness inducing alchohol. He wipes at his sweating eyeballs.
James Sterling glances up on hearing Jocaira's voice, a grin slowly crawling over his face. He puts the barbell back on the rack above his head and slides out from under it, sitting up. "G'day, boss," he calls. His gaze takes in the fellow in the red coat and Micky.
Akamatsu raises a brow to the man addressed after himself and asks Joca, "New recruit?" Looking the man over he notes, "Can't say I'm surprised you took him in." A smirk appears on his face as greets him, "Good day to you too." Micky gets a glance after a moment though and he adds, "Man, if you're going to drink like a fish at least get soemthing decent." The jug on his hip comes off and is handed that way if he takes it.
"Aahn, I am not your boss yet," Joca calls through the dividing wall, although the daffy grin and saucy tone of voice lack a certain professionalism. A lot. She looks over to Aka and Micky like it's the first time she's seen them, and squints between the ronin and the boozehound. "Psssh, you can't convince 'im to drink anysing bettair, 'e sinks it... detracts from 'is independent some nonsense and manly idioms..." She shrugs, leaning on the workout area wall. The accusations of appearance-based bias are not denied. If anything, that glinting cheshire grin grows wider. "Whaaat?" she teases.
Does Micky look like somebody who'd turn down free alcohol? Well, maybe to Jocaira, but he's not - possibly just to prove her wrong. Anyway, he takes up the offer with a quick, "Thanks," After he accepts the jug and uncorks it, he kind of swirls the bottle around and then sticks it up under his schnozzle to capture its bouquet. Assuming that he smells some sort of alcohol, he takes a long drink, smacks his lips appreciatively, and passes the jug on back with another, "Thanks."
Sterling grabs a towel off the floor and drapes it around his shoulders. He swings his legs off the bench and stands up, grinning at Jocaira through the clear wall. "Sorry," he drawls, holding up his hands in a mock defensive gesture. "Just seems s'natural t'say." He walks around to the double doors and pushes through them, rubbing at his hair with the towel. "What d'y'want I should call ya, then?"
Akamatsu smirks at the man's accent now, as he replies, "Oh, I /definately/ see why he's on board." He keeps right on wearing that smirk and offers to him, "Well, I don't know about her, but you can call me Aka. Name's Akamatsu, I'm the Caryas military leader. And what should I be calling you?"
For the time being, Micky heads towards the siren's seductive call of food cooked by somebody else that he doesn't have to pay for directly. He finds himself a plate which he loads down with a random selection of things topped off by a lot of the hottest of the hot sauce's available. The hot sauce selection, in fact, takes him more time than filling his plate in the first place.
Jocaira sticks her tongue out at Akamatsu, maturely, before squinting at Micky in a sort of delayed reaction to the previous coughing. "Are you still sick? Why do you no go to doctair? What is se probleme? Wait. Do no tell me what your probleme is, I do no 'ave all night and are no drunk enough to be interested." He gets a tongue-sticky-outy too, which she keeps between her teeth when she turns back to Sterling. "Hmmmm. Well, I'm sure we can sink of somesing, ehn?"
Sterling glances to the fellow in the red coat, now close enough to notice the swords hanging from his waist. He chuckles. "Name's Sterling," he replies. "Nice t'meetcha." He grins back at Jocaira, amused by the tongue poking out between her teeth. "Sure'n we can." He looks over at Micky. "Y'haven't got the plague, have ya, Micky? 'Cos I don't think booze cures that, mate."
Opening his mouth with a crazy light in his eyes, Micky shuts it again after he's told to wait. He shakes his head sadly before shrugging slowly. He sniffs and knuckles an eye next. After he's done with all those emotional evolutions, he goes over and finds himself a tray and napkin. Instead of scrapping for space in the chow hall, he takes his food out to capture a seat at the reception desk. In passing, he says to Sterling, "Once...but I got better. Boss doesn't want me to answer in more detail. I got rights, you know?"
Akamatsu raises a brow at the chuckle from the man after he looks at his blades, "Didn't think my swords were quite that amusing." He says it with some humor, but it's the cautious kind, as if he's ready to switch tones just in case it was somehow offensive. Joca's tongue sticking out seems to be ignored.
"Mickee please no one wants to 'ear your conspiracy about 'ow Science is trying to steal your future babies and turn sem into clone army to travel srough time and steal your future wife," Joca says, clearly not giving an eighteenth century's rat's hindquarters about rights. With that same eighteenth century attitude, this time towards human resources, she leers through the glass. "Nnn... I would like to just skip past aptitude test and put you right on se mat..." Oh, right, there are other people here. "I don't sink -any- of your swords are amusing, Monsieur Akamatsu," she teases.
"Livin' in a thin veil of willful ignorance," accuses Micky as he props his feet up on the desk and starts to eat. He mumbles through a mouthful of food, "See if I save you when the revolution comes. Every man, woman, and child for themselves." Mumble, chew, mumble. "Horrible man eating daffodils." Mutter, swallow, mutter. "The humanity of it all." Grumble, another bite, grumble. "Cloned hypochondriacs."
"Don't get yer knickers in a knot," Sterling says to Akamatsu, the seeming ever-present smile still on his face. "Where I come from, swords went outta fashion ages ago. Never met a man actually wore 'em, 'cept on Halloween." He nods to Micky. "No worries," he says. "You keep yer gory details, then. I ain't had dinner yet anyhow." He squints at Jocaira as she describes Micky's conspiracy theory. "...Right." He chuckles at her reference to the aptitude test, but adds nothing, aside from that pleased grin.
Akamatsu smirks a bit at him, "Oh, they're out of style here, too. Just not where I come from. You're talking to a man from the 14th century, my friend." He taps the blades and adds, "Happen to be an expert with these."
Jocaira titters and pats her own hip sheathes, one for a cutlass and the other for a main-gauche. "Mee too," she choruses. "I 'ope you 'ave at least -some- close range skill, Monsieur Sterling, usserwise... well, you aren't going to do well in your live combat test." She bares her teeth in another glinting grin, and then peers at Micky. "Oi. Don't put se frilly pink dress of distressed damsel on -me-, Monsieur Mickee."
"You gotta pay attention to detail," says Micky as he puts the fork down long enough to point and gesticulate with 'double knife hands.' Just what he means by that is anyone's guess as he picks the fork back up and fails to elaborate further. Instead, he eats his hot sauce drenched food.
Sterling nods to Akamatsu. "Takes all kinds," he replies. "Met a man made outta stone this afternoon," he adds, lifting one hand high over his head. "Hadda be ten feet tall, maybe more. Talked /real/ slow." He shrugs. "Seemed nice 'nough though." He turns back to Jocaira. "Not with swords, I ain't," he admits. "But I c'n put a hurt on a body with a six inch combat blade." He makes fists and regards them for a moment. "An' I ain't so bad with me knuckles, either." He glances aside at Micky and shrugs.
The bridge of Joca's nose crinkles with the force of her grin. "Well," she purrs. "I will let you decide if you would prefer blades or fisticuffs, ehn? -If- you pass se aptitude test. Alsough I 'ave good feeling about it... nhee." Micky just gets some serious raised eyebrow. "...I... am not going to ask what 'e is talking about. Mostly because I am sure 'e 'as already forgotten. 'onest 'e is very good on se field."
For the time being, Micky is too busy stuffing his mouth to let anything crazy slip out. He finishes off the plate before daintily dabbing at his mouth with the napkin.
Akamatsu smirks a bit at the man as he notes, "You know, it's been far too long since I've gotten a chance to use my own fists." Glancing to Joca he adds, "Though I'm sorry to say it sounds like I'd be in trouble if I laid a fist on that face of yours."
Sterling nods to Jocaira. "Whenever yer ready," he replies. He grins at her commentary on Micky, glancing over to the man and laughing at the care with which he uses the napkin. He tilts his head curiously at Akamatsu. "Oh?" He transfers the look to Jocaira, his brow creasing in a frown. "Y'reckon?"
Jocaira puts on the very nearest to an 'innocent' face, batting her pale lashes, ocean-colored eyes wide. It would likely sell better if she hadn't spent the last few rounds smoking up the poly divider with her gaze. "Whatevair do you mean?"
"I'm not even gonna waste my breath answerin' that further," declares Micky as he pries himself up from his place at the reception desk and heads off to return the tray and fork.
Akamatsu just gives a small chuckle as he replies to him, "Because if it's a fist from me there's a good chance it won't be as pretty as it is now for a few days at least."
Sterling casts a half-lidded, smirking gaze at Akamatsu. "Thought you were the swords expert, mate. Now yer master o'fisticuffs as well?"
"I did no ask you!" Joca says to Micky, almost reflexively, and then peers at Aka. "I 'aven't even got sis one yet and already you want to beat 'im up? Look darling, I'm not se one who made you go away. But yes, Monsieur Sterling, Monsieur Akamatsu is Councillor of Defense for large empire across universe. And yes, 'e knows very much 'ow to fight. And yes, I would very much raser you do not damage my recruits beyond se recognition."
It takes a good minute, but Micky eventually returns from getting rid of the tray and such. He remains, mercifully, quiet for the time being. He adjusts the bag over his shoulder.
Akamatsu nods to the new recruit in the room, "You'd be surprised what I know how to do." Looking to Joca he adds, "Shame, this one looked like he might be a decent one, too. Well, let me know if one of them ever really needs to not be recognized after breaking cover or something."
"Bit o'history here, looks like." Sterling glances between Jocaira and Akamatsu, snorting at the other man's comments. He grins, jerking a thumb at Akamatsu. "If he's such a bigwig," he asks Jocaira, "what's he need t'threaten me for?" He flicks Akamatsu a sidelong glance. "Don't get enough action in yer day-t'-day work or somethin'?"
"Yes," Joca says, without hesitation, to the first question, "and non," she answers, to the third. "Monsieur Akamatsu is not nobby desk-sittair. 'e likes... 'ow do you say, getting into action." There is a highly suggestive giggle there. "Even aftair settling down, still 'e comes back. For what 'e is not getting at 'ome." Here, she makes a sulky face. "Fighting."
Micky's hand starts to twitch before he clamps his seizing hand under his other arm. Biting his lip, he tucks his chin against his chest and paces back and forth, mumbling.
Akamatsu outright laughs at this statment from Joca, "Suppose you could say that. Though even out here it isn't too often I get a fight on my hands." The ronin holds his coat out a bit to show off a war medal of some kind on the inside and notes, "You'd be surprised how boring being a general can be once you got used to the front line work."
Sterling laughs at Jocaira's explanation. "Must be borin', then," he opines, "bein' a military leader with nobody t'fight against." He notices Micky's pacing and frowns at the man. "Micky," he calls, "what's yer worry over there?" He looks back toward Jocaira. "He goin' off?" His attention is gained by the medal Akamatsu displays. He smiles. "Nice," he says. "I hope never t'get t'that point meself," he adds, "the bein' bored. Though when y'win all the wars, ain't nobody else wantsta fight ya, right?" He grins at the swordsman, and this time there's no smartassery or challenge in it.
Jocaira looks between Sterling and Micky, and shrugs. "I do not know. 'e won't see a proper doctair. Come back from some side job all cough and sneeze and complain. I mean could be anysing, I do no know, we all get good vaccinate 'ere. I 'ave partnership wis lab up se lift? Well, not -all-. Monsieur Mickee does no want genetic doctair. Or maybe 'e put too much rubbing alcohol in se still. I don't know. I try to provide proper care for my mercenaire and sis is what it gets. No doctair, no well, no 'elping it. If you make anyone else sick, Monsieur Mickee, I am going to take se lost time out of your wrinkly 'ide, so 'elp me." Rubbing her temples, she sighs, and puts the smile back on. "But yes I would prefer to do your close combat live test... myself. I mean if sat is no, presumptuous?"
"It ain't a disease," insists Micky. "It's a great show of restraint where the tension is killin' me. See, thing is I'm worried that I'm gonna upset the delicate balance of sexual and macho tension by winnin' the pissin' contest in a single bold move," declares the guy while doing some weird alternating blinking movement as he grimaces. "My mastery of formidable smack talk and suave seduction skills is somethin' that I have to live with. It's a burden that I've accepted, but sometimes the heaviness of it all is almost too much for a mortal man to bear. It's lonely on the top. Please don't be distractin' me with more questions. I need a moment..for myself." He makes some strange palm up, fingers spread, pinkies against his chest, upwards movements with his arms while taking deep breaths in time with the arm lifting. "Aah bah ti bey."
Akamatsu raises a brow at Micky and asks to Joca, "Is he always quite this...rambling?" He seems almsot concerned for the man's mental health at this point.
Sterling listens to Jocaira's explanation, chuckling. "Whatever y'call it, Micky," he calls over, "do keep it t'yerself." He shakes his head, casting a skeptical look at Joca and Akamatsu. "He's gone off," he declares. To Jocaira's question, he nods, the smile returning. "You're the boss," he assents.
Jocaira sighs quietly. "Mickee you won't even touch anysing I've 'ad down my front but if you come over 'ere and try to kiss me or anysing so help me gods I will put your ribcage around your groin." She shrugs to Aka. "But yes. Always sis rambling. Except when I order 'im to shut up, and sen 'e makes big point of saying nussing at all for as long as 'e can stand it. But 'e gets good supply lines, is very decent on field, and... I guess just makes up for it by annoying fuck out of me in se down time. Or like I said, se mooning shine mix may be off and 'e will just 'ave to sleep off se twitch." After clearing her throat, she crinkles her nose mischeviously back at Sterling. "Iiii asked you firrrst," she singsongs.
Micky manages to make an entire elaborate show out of smoothing each of his bushy eyebrows with his middle fingers. He tabs the fingers on his tongue before ever so slowly grooming his brows. He goes so far to synchronizes the gesture to the dimly registered bass vibrations coming from the workout area.
Akamatsu replies to Sterling, "Here, let me make the decision easier. If you decide to not take her you decide to take a man who hasn't lost a fight in two years." He smiles a bit, apparently assuming that'll make the answer easier to come up with.
Sterling laughs at the interplay between Jocaira and Micky. He spreads his hands, grinning at her. "I'd be more'n happy t'have you as a sparrin' partner," he replies, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. He grins aside at Akamatsu. "Mate, you think I need t'make a /choice/?" He looks back to Jocaira. "I was just bein' ... accomodatin'. Heh."
Jocaira presses her lips together, and watches the... 'show'...? Micky puts on before looking between him and the other two fellows she's presently in the company of. Then, back to Micky, and back to Sterling, and over to Aka, and... back to Micky. Nope, he still hasn't turned into someone in better health. "...not... doing anysing for me sere, champ. As a matter of fact, you're doing so little for me I am losing se lovely image in my 'ead of wrestling Monsieur Sterling. Taking se wind -right- out of my sails."
"I'll call it a success," decides Micky as he turns the double birds into double thumbs up backed by a grin that shows off a couple of missing teeth and a couple of capped ones. He then draws an imaginary check mark in the air. "Micky one, boss lady zero."
Akamatsu shakes his head a bit more, "And I thought I was a bit screwed up after the war..." Looking back to Sterling he notes, "Do yourself a favor, don't become a soldier." He doesn't sound terribly serious about it, though.
Sterling splutters out a half-contained burst of laughter at Jocaira's response to Micky. He flashes Jocaira a quick, leering grin, then shakes his head at Micky. "Yer too late," he replies to Akamatsu. "An' if I ever wind up /that/ wrong," he jerks a thumb at Micky, "somebody please promise t'put a bullet in me 'ead, double quick."
Jocaira turns her own fingers up into a double bird. "Ass. Why don't you go ask Tyler what 'appens should you succeed in cock-blocking se boss, Mickee?" Oop. Somebody's getting cranky now.
Micky doesn't bother to contain his laughter as he starts, slapping his thigh a couple of times. All he seems capable of saying at this point - between outbreaks of snickering - is, "Man, oh, man, oh man."
Akamatsu looks back to Sterling and notes, "In case that wasn't obvious enough for you: you've got an invitation on a silver platter, and she's good at what she does." To Micky he looks now, asking, "Hey, you, crazy guy. Feel like a spar?"
Sterling bites his lip as Jocaira tells Micky off. "Tell me somethin' I /don't/ know," he replies to Akamatsu. He folds his arms over his chest and stands by, waiting on Jocaira's command.
Whatever spectators were hanging about to watch the Joca and Micky show have dispersed with seemingly miraculous speed. She just peeers at the rambly vet like she really wishes she had a keel to haul him from. "Ass!" she says again, followed by a stream of French that is left mostly untranslated by Comorro's psionic matrix, being reduced to a lot of 'expletive deleted' interspersed with names of common Earth farm animals and assorted small kitchen appliances. There's also a lot of gesturing. A little shrilling. Oh, and there goes the hand-flailing.
"I'm a lover not a fighter," is, perhaps, one of Micky's more dubious claims of the evening, but it is also his response to Akamatsu made while the spectators are clearing out and before Joca has really worked herself up to full speed. The wave of French invective just washes over a grinning Micky as he stands there with his hands in his pockets. He does occasionally grimace during a particularly shrill but still awfully audible segment of the tirade.
Akamatsu replies with a smirk, "Regardless, you're options are either me or her at this point, I daresay." Seems he's not terribly distrubed by the tirade going on right next to him.
Sterling blinks in surprise at the sudden string of expletives. His somewhat limited knowledge of French doesn't get him much more information than the translations provide, but he doesn't need it. The tone of voice and the gesticulating are more than clear. "Mebbe t'day's not th'best day fer the, er, testing stuff, eh? T'morrow's another day, yeah? Mebbe ... without so much ..." He glances at Micky. "...so much annoyin' stuff about?"
Jocaira keeps on rattling off like a pent-up gatling cannon, stopping only once for breath and ending with something referring to Micky's parentage, which may or may not have come from a woman stuffed up her own back side and left in a half-empty pickle barrel for a full phase of the moon. And, finally, a petulant stomp and another blurt of "ASS!"
"You've got a remarkably narrow view of the scope of my potential options," notes Micky to Akamatsu once he's able to make himself heard again. It should be noted that his eyebrows did raise a couple of times, leaving him looking vaguely impressed. Now that the rant is seemingly over, he lifts two fingers in a V, saying, "Deuces." Who knows where he picked that up. Anyway, he heads towards the barracks.
Akamatsu shrugs a bit as Micky walks away, and asks to Joca, "Dammit, what's a guy gotta do to pick a fight around here, steal some food?"
Sterling stares uncertainly at Jocaira, one eyebrow quirking up now and again as she raves on. For once, he can't think of a thing to say in the comparative silence once the tirade ends.
Jocaira huffs as Micky heads to the barracks, and, in a show of multiculturalism, also holds up two fingers in a V, but faced in the European 'bowfinger'. Her other hand twitches by her belt, and she exhales with a rumbly snort after he's gone. "...annnd flogging is not allowed," she grumbles. At Aka's comment, she looks at him, then looks in the direction of the barracks. "Really?" There are a few more snorts, and then she fusses with her hair. Muttergrumble. "...lousy way to 'ave an evening."
Akamatsu smirks a bit, apparently still not very ffected by the displays of irritation, "Well, don't let me keep you from getting laid, Joca. Say the word and I'll get the hell out, y'know."
Sterling frowns at Akamatsu. "I'm gonna hit the showers," he tells Jocaira, grasping the towel around his neck. "Hopin' th'rest of yer evening is brighter'n this bit."
Jocaira looks between the two of them, brow furrowed, and tilts her head. With another small huff, she puts her hands on her hips. "Nobody 'as any bettair ideas?"
Akamatsu replies simply, "Sorry, Joca, got a girlfriend I'm rather fond of. I mean, unless you want me to call Todd in, I got nothing for you."
Sterling spreads his hands. "I'm full o'ideas," he replies, smiling at Jocaira. "Jus' dunno what yer up for, after all this ..." He waves one hand in vague indication of recent events, glancing in the direction of the barracks, where Micky retreated. "You want me fer somethin', jus' name it." He shrugs. "Jus' thought I'd clean up first."
Jocaira peers at Aka in a manner that clearly suggests she does not want any secondhand dudes tossed at her. "Mmmmno," she says to him, shaking her head, before turning back to Sterling with a cocked eyebrow. She sets a hand on her hip. "Okay," she says, darting her tongue over a gold-backed canine tooth, "Try me."
Akamatsu notes to Sterling, "Here's a tip, go for water, not the booze." And with that he begins making for the door, noting to Joca, "I'll just talk to you at some other point, Joca, wasn't anything pressing."
Sterling smiles at Jocaira. "Mebbe y'll think I'm dense," he says, "but yer gonna have t'be a bit more specific than that. I've had me ass kicked by huge angry brothers -- and half a rugby team -- once or twice in me time fer makin' assumptions about what a woman wants."
Jocaira flicks her wrist, and the unmarked paper pack of cigarillos falls out of her sleeve into her hand. She draws one out, and tucks it into the corner of her mouth. "Paaah. Modern nonsense. I don't play games, ne? You sink of somesing, you try."
Sterling's face splits in a sudden, wolfish grin. "You got a private shower in yer quarters?" he asks.
"-Much- bettair," Joca says, echoing the grin and flicking the pack of cigarillos back up her sleeve. With a chortle, she pads over to the wall beside the reception desk and tapping some numbers into a wall panel. A tile in the floor slides back, leading to a stair downwards. "Come," she says, crooking a finger as she heads downwards.
Jocaira heads into Basement Alcove.
Jocaira has left.
You head into Basement Alcove.
Basement Alcove
The sound of running water echoes in this large, softly lit room, and the ceiling is entirely hidden by a heavy mist. The floor is covered by a much lighter mist that kicks up at the slightest disturbance. In one corner is the only technology visible in this room, a round table with holoscreen and a circle of seats surrounding it. A few file cabinets, cupboards, and a mini-fridge are conveniently placed here, along with several bottles of alcohol on shelves and in drawers.
The walls have been covered with vines and assorted shrubbery, giving the illusion of a natural space. Occasionally a 'tree' trunk that is actually part of Comorro's internal support system is spotted here and there, as if one were truly in a wilderness of sorts.
On the opposite side of this vast room is a small pool, with a babbling brook running over rocks from some hidden source trickling into it. A control panel has been built into the faux-stone border, to turn on assorted water jets, heat, and colored lighting. A stairway leads upwards, past the access panel and back into the main headquarters.
Sterling chuckles, watching the floor panel slide away. "How James Bond," he says, following her down the stairs.
"Eeee, I -love- se James Bond," Joca squees, rather predictably. A few dim lights flicker to life in the room as she descends the stair, illuminating the under'ground' room. Whatever its original purpose was, it seems to have been redone as a bachelor pad, and then adapted only just to the bachelor'ette' end of things. Without additional instruction, she heads down the 'path' towards the pool, kicking off her boots, shedding her hoodie, and generally leaving a trail as she goes.
Sterling looks around the place, nodding to himself as he takes in his surroundings. "Nice," he comments. "Very nice." He flicks her a grin. "You got good taste." He grins after her, following her example with what little clothing he's wearing from his workout in the gym.