((Taken from live play. Thank you to Copperfield!))

Another anonymous hotel room. Another place that looked like a thousand others before it, all spread out along the line of their past like pearls on a rich woman's necklace. After the bottom of Chimera's stomach dropped out, she opened her eyes and found that wherever they were now, it was dark. Could be night. Could be underground. Could be some sunless hell hole.

One might think a user of magic would be accustomed to magical travel, but this is not the case for Copperfield. He's currently clutching his stomach and taking deep breaths, silently willing himself not to puke all over the floor. Teleportation sucks.

Her Sig Sauer was still strapped into the small-of-back holster; she could feel it pressing against her spine. A light pat to the outside of her right leg revealed the folding knife was also still in the thigh pocket of her black cargo pants. "Wizard" O" sommes-nous?"

Sure, she'd ask him to speak now. Breathe, breathe, gulp. "The hell should I know?" he barked grumpily.

Chimera blew out a breath and stood, moving silently to the window and taking a peek out. The cityscape did not help to identify where they were. It was dark; there were few electric lights and even fewer automobiles. They could be anywhere in the third world or even another world entirely. "You were not told?" she inquired softly.

The warlock shook his head irritably. "They never tell me anything unless I beat it out of them." He's not really in a bad mood; this is just his usual state.

Still not turning around, she said in an emotionless voice, "Then perhaps you should earn your keep and Look, ne c'est pas?"

Flapping his hand in vague, wordless protest, he sets about doing just that. It's his job, after all. He covers his mouth like he's coughing or something—even in private, it's second nature for him to disguise his magic use—he mutters a spell and looks around, clearly seeing more than the little room they're in.

Only now did she turn away from the window and move across the room, standing just to one side of the single door. She leaned casually with her back against the wall, arms loose and hanging down at her sides as she watched the warlock go about his magic.

"We're in some kind of...hotel," Copperfield announced. "There's a bar downstairs. What looks like a Viking woman...some blue-haired buffoon throwing peanuts....This is odd. Everything's lit with torches. I don't see anything electrical in the whole place. Where the hell are we?" He opens his eyes and glares at the door like he blames it for being here.

"Did I not just ask you that?" Sighing with impatience - the wizard was such a fain"ant - she carefully pulled the door open just wide enough to peer out. What she found was a hallway, a rather plain, unremarkable hallway.

"I was being rhetorical," he mutters.

Hand snaking into her pocket and curling around the handle of the knife, she pulled the door open even wider and stepped through it. The hallway was empty, but the sound of people conversing drifted up the staircase at the end of the hallway.

Heaving a put-upon sigh, he walked out into the hallway. "I would have said if anyone was waiting for us, you know."

The wizard's constant prickly attitude was no longer much of a concern for the blas" Chimera. After working together for so long, she was quite used to him and no longer felt the constant urge to feed him his own tongue, as she had when they had first begun working together. Flattening her back against the wall, she moved quickly and silently down the hallway, pausing at the head of the staircase and crouching down to peer down into the room below.

Following along right behind her, he automatically kept to the shadows, peering right over her head down the stairs in silence.

"What do you think, wizard" Shall we sally forth?"

" 'Sally forth'" Are we going down the stairs or storming a castle, woman?" Grumbling, he flaps his hand again, this time in the general direction of downstairs. "Let's go already." He adds as an after thought, "And don't call me wizard. I'm a warlock."

With that urging she heads down the stairs, careful to stay to the side closest the wall, where the treads were less likely to squeak. The commons room of what appeared to be a medieval-era tavern was revealed as she descended lower.

Copperfield picks the most shadowed side to walk down, not because he's trying to hide from anything in particular, but because it's his nature to do so. "Maybe we will be storming a damn castle," he mutters when the anachronistic nature of the place hits him again.

Toe-heel - the silent gait of one trained in the deadly arts of poisoning, secrets, and shadowy murders. This was how she'd traversed the length and breadth of the city today, seeking clues, discerning their true purpose in being sent here to this weird, anachronistic world that juxtaposed science and technology with horse-drawn carriage and magic. She'd discovered much and was eager, or at least as eager as her stoic nature ever was, to share her knowledge with the warlock.

Moving swiftly, silently, through the shadows cast by the tightly clustered buildings, the Chimera approached the Inn. Stopping some fifteen yards away from the front of the building, she stood with her back against a wall, emerald eyes moving over the landscape. Nothing moved in the shadows in front of the building.

The door to the commons room opened and a woman's voice called out to a dog. The Chimera waited. She crouched, her back still to the wall, just another shadow in a landscape of the same, as the woman stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Until they learned their purpose in being in this city, everyone was suspect. Everyone must be studied.

Toes and fingertips strengthened by years of rock climbing, not to mention sword- and knife-fighting and gymnastics, the Chimera turned and scaled the wall that was at her back. Springing lightly to a balcony, she landed with dexterous silence, now surveying the scene from above. She crept forward, crouched below the line of the balcony's railing. A floorboard creaked as she tested it, a noise that easily carried to the woman and the dog on the street below.

Scuttling backwards in a crab-crawl, she scaled the wall again, going right up to the roof and fleeing across the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, a fast-moving shadow amongst the static darkness she runs through. She was gone before either the dog or the woman turned their heads to seek out the source of the sound.

And Copperfield was watching, just like he'd been doing all day, from the relative safety of the upstairs room. Not to mention the relative comfort of the bed, which he'd immediately appropriated after she left. At this moment, he's watching the events unfolding in the common room, like an HDTV with surround sound, all in his head. Ain't magic grand?

Glancing at his watch, he shakes his head. All damn day she's been gone. He really wants to look in on her, but not only would that be as much as admitting that he cares, it would also break the promise he made. Well, on second thought, she couldn't complain if he just widened his scan a little bit, right' Just in the interests of being thorough. Muttering a few words, the picture in his head draws back, out through the ceiling of the Inn, giving him a bird's eye view of the immediate surroundings.

It was dark out, but he never let a little thing like that make a difference. All of his remote sensing spells came with built-in light-enhancement, combined with heat detection. Satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back. Okay, not the last. He never gives money back. Ah-ha, he spots something that looks like his partner pretending to be Spider-Woman. He watches, locked on like she's got a camera crew above her. She hates it when he does this, unless they're working. Which they sort of are. So it's okay.

Soon she lands quietly on the roof of the Inn and leaned over the side, counting windows before carefully lowering herself to the fifth window on the second floor. Perching on the sill, she raps sharply on the glass.

She is impressed with his knowledge but does not, of course, allow him to know this. That would upset the carefully constructed balance of power, tipping the scales in his favor, something that she could not ever, ever allow. "Avez-vous faim?" Yes, even after so long together, she still uses the formal words with him.

Not that he knows the difference between formal and informal French. "I could eat," he says. "All those 'bon-bons' haven't filled me up."

She nodded and rose liquidly from her seat, crossing the room to the kitchen and pushing through the door. He would just have to trust her culinary prowess.

Throwing together a plate of apricot, Brie en croute, joined by a few thin slices of ham, she exited the kitchen and set the plate down on the corner of the bar. Moving through the break, she selected a bottle of champagne and two flutes. This she carried back to the booth, setting the plate and glasses down with a flourish before uncorking the champagne and pouring some into the flutes.

"What is this, a date?" He smirks, eyeing the food and drink.

She did not, of course, answer or even acknowledge his flippant remark. Instead she seated herself and took up the champagne, sipping it delicately. The tiniest smile curled the corners of her lips as the bubbles exploded in her mouth, sending a little tickle up the back of her throat.

The warlock pokes at the odd-looking cheese for a moment, then shrugs and slaps one on a piece of the bread, stuffing the whole thing into his mouth. It tastes good, but he's determined not to let that show, just making an indecipherable grunt around the food.

A rare expression - one of disgust - crept across her fair features. "Vous "tes un cochon," she tells him matter-of-factly. Daintily she selects a piece of bread, places a slice of ham and one of Brie on it and then tops it all with two apricot halves. She nibbles at the edge, the very lines of her body screaming superior breeding and manners.

Swallowing the lump of food, he smirks again. "And you're a monkey with knives. We're a traveling zoo."

A honest-to-goodness smile transformed her face at his remark, taking years off her expression, lightening her eyes so that they sparkled bewitchingly. It was gone nearly as quickly as it came, her face reforming itself into its aloof, bland lines. "So. Dites-moi ce que vous avez appris, s'il vous pla"t." She was truly curious to see if he'd learned anything she had not.

Nearly invisible in the shadows, he makes a triumphant little fist-pump. Score one for him - he made her react. "The city's called RhyDin. Might be the name of the world, too. It's some kind of focal point for dimensional gates. Weirdest hodgepodge of people I've ever seen. Place is like the end of a sewer pipe - all the crap ends up here eventually."

She nodded, listening to his information as she nibbled at her pain et fromage. "Any idea of why here?"

"Specifically' No. Just the obvious; our particular piece of debris has washed up here. I don't know what the hell is taking them so long with the instructions, either, before you ask," he adds quickly, knowing she would ask.

She sighed a little; his information was nearly the same as hers, which is to say not a lot. Finishing her bread, she takes another sip of the champagne as she thought. "Did you get a lay of the land" Perhaps somewhere we might begin our hunt?"

He winces at her choice of words. Might as well have waved a neon sign over her head. "Christ, woman, ever hear of tact' Security' Anyone could be listening."

((Taken from live play. Thank you to Copperfield!))

"About damn time," Copperfield says suddenly, looking up at the ceiling as though the answers to life, the universe, and everything had just appeared there. Or at least their orders. What the hell was wrong with them, waiting this long" Well, maybe he should pay attention or something.

"Pardon' Qu'avez-vous dit?" The Chimera opens her eyes and looks over at him, where he was lying on his back on the bed. No, on her bed.

"Shhh," he replies, flapping his hand at her, eyes not moving from the ceiling where the wisdom of ages is apparently being projected like God's home theater system.

She sighs softly and sits back in her seat, folding her legs beneath her, tailor-style. "Pourquoi ai-je d" vous faire surprendre par Monsieur Drama?" she mutters quietly under her breath.

"Because, monkey girl, no one else can do what I can," he says smugly, now that the orders have ceased transmitting into his brain. He looks over at her and grins, though it's not a particularly friendly sight.

"Well?" She displays a certain amount of irritation and impatience. She's been cooped up in this room with the warlock all day and frankly' She is more than a little tired of looking at his unarguably handsome face.

"Well, I've got our orders, at last, that's well." Sure, that doesn't make much sense, but damned if he's going to let it slow him down. "What there is of them. I don't know what the hell's going on, this is as vague as a politician's apology speech."

She takes a very deep breath and closes her eyes. She counts to five...and then adds five more. Then she opens her eyes again and gives the mordre le cul stupide a sweet smile. She'll play his game until he pisses her off so much that she makes him eat his own nose. "Well" What are they?"

He flaps his hand again, impatiently this time. "Give me half a second, will you? Get ready." He waves a hand, the simple gesture enough to open the connection to her mind they've used a thousand times before. "Here it comes," he finishes, sending the info over.

This is easily the worst part of the job. She grips the arms of the chair she's perched in tightly, so tight that her knuckles turn white and she chewed on her lower lip, anticipating. Then suddenly a blindingly sharp pain erupted in the recesses of her brain. Her eyes watered. Her nose ran. She spasmed like a victim of St. Vitus' dance. And then it was over. She sniffs and wipes a hand down her face and then wipes her hand on the thigh of her jeans. She blows out a deep breath and says in a shaky, raw voice, "That's it?"

For a wonder, he doesn't make any cracks, or even a derisive expression. If one looks closely...really closely, there might even be a hint of sympathy in his eyes. If it existed, though, it's gone in an instant. "Yeah, that's it. Weird, huh?"

"That is...that is nothing. That is less than nothing." She stands and moves closer to him, her eyes narrowing, glinting dangerously in the flickering light of the room's three lit candles. "You left something out. Si tu me fais passer par l" encore, je vous la fin. Avec pr"judice extr"me."

"I didn't leave a goddamn thing out," he snaps defensively. taking a step back. "You know better than that. I wouldn't screw around with a job." Doing that leads to nothing but a really quick death...or worse, a really slow one. "That's every bit of it I got. I know it's less than nothing, but that's all the bastards gave me." He's completely sincere, too.

She stares at him some more. There's something like a waiting cobra in her expression, a cobra that's watching a rather tasty mousey as he goes about his rather tasty mousey business. Then she nods curtly and moves back to the window. She growled softly under her breath. "How can les imb"ciles incomp"tents expect us to do our jobs like this?" It was mostly a rhetorical question, it should be noted.

He shrugs. "Same way as always." He doesn't speak rhetorical very well. In truth, he's more than a little pissed off, though it's hard to tell with his usual attitude always seeming to be two steps from homicidal.

She turns and gives him a disgusted look. "Oui. Tout comme normal."

He nods, in what he probably considers a reassuring manner, unconsciously tapping his cane against his thigh. "We've done it before, even if not in...quantity."

"Then, let us begin, oui?" She moves silently to the door, opening it to peer out into the hallway.

"Wait," he says quickly when she opens the door. She turns to face him, leaning against the wall, her hand still clutching the door.

"Forgetting something?" he asks snidely, holding up one hand and waggling his fingers.

"That is not my area of expertise, wizard. I trust that you will know the appropriate time. Come. I tire of seeing your face." She left the room then, going to the staircase.

"Well, fiiine," comes the quick reply behind her when he follows.

Moving switfly down the stairs, she reaches the bottom and looks around the room. Only the Minotaur received any attention - a sneer - and then she's across the room, toe-heel gait bringing her to a booth.

He grumbles quietly to himself while walking down the stairs, darting mistrustful looks at everyone in the place and hurrying to cross the room to the chosen booth. "Why did we have to come down here, again?"

"This is the most important building in the entire city, mon ami. Think on it and I am quite sure you will find the answer."

"Hmph," is his eloquent reply. He could've watched it all just as easily from the safety of the room. He really hates being out like this. Though, at least there's a roof. He's barely able to repress a shudder at the thought of all the open sky outside.

"I do not think, though, that we will find what we are looking for here tonight. Though perhaps we might find a suitable practice partner."

"Feeling rusty?" he asks nastily.

"Do you know what happens to a body that is stabbed with a rusty knife?" As she spoke, she pulls the folding knife out of her pocket and lays it on the table in front of her.

((Taken from live play. Thank you to Copperfield and Batukhan!))

"Well, I'll keep an eye out, then," Copperfield says after she finishes telling him about her encounter. The wards are already in place in the room, giving any magical eavesdroppers a stunningly boring bass fishing radio special on infinite loop. He's feeling pretty good, the score from the night before last had netted them quite a tidy sum.

The Chimera nods, perched on the edge of the chair, whetstone in one hand, silver-bladed folding knife in the other. "Il n'"tait pas effrayant. He just did not feel right, vous voyez?"

"Not seeming scary is a really good trait for a scary person to cultivate," he says with a little smirk. She ought to know this very well. "Your instincts are generally right." High praise from him. "If you run into him again, just stick to your...well, you know how to handle people."

"Mmm," she says, all the while still sharpening the knife with a delicate, slow hand. Yes, just call her Eric. Erica, maybe. "I introduced myself to him as Cosette. It would behoove you to remember the name should the occasion call for it."

"Oh' And is his name Javert?" He asks sarcastically. Even a good mood can't stop his mouth from running.

The sound of the blade scraping against the whetstone stops for a moment as she looks up at him. "Oui, Javert. And you are...Bamatabois?"

"Oh, cutting. You're clearly spending too much time around me."

"Oui, c'est possible. Mais peu probable." She finishes with the knife and tucks the whetstone away. Then she stands and slides the knife into her pocket before reaching for the Sig Sauer. "Je suis faime. Et vous" Vous avez soif?"

"Going to shoot us some dinner?" he replies, looking at the gun and smirking.

"Oui." She moves now to the door and opens it. "Apr's vous," she says with a low bow.

He raises a brow, but says nothing, just pushes himself to his feet and walks out the door, affecting a regal air. Of course, that air is ruined when he immediately presses himself closely to the more shadowed of the two walls in the hall.

She slides the pistol into the small-of-back holster and pulls her jacket down over it. Only someone who knew what he or she was looking for would even notice the slight bump. She smirks at the warlock's antics and walks down the hall, pointedly sticking to the middle of it.

He grumbles something unintelligible, but doesn't stop on the way down the stairs. He does cross the room at a bit of a hurried pace, though, to slide into their usual booth.

She chuckles softly at his furtive movements. She walks proudly, confidently through the center of the room, emeralds moving constantly over the crowd as she made for "their" booth.

He mutters "Pride goeth before a fall," when he sees her all but strutting through the room.

She notes the animals in the crowd - bull, zebra, others of dubious nature - and shakes her head. "Avez-humains deviennent une esp"ce en voie de disparition?"

"Kind of seems that way in this place," he replies, leaning his back against the wall so he has a clear view of the room. His cane rests across his knees, one hand lightly holding it.

She snorts, her opinion obvious. She does not respond to his words though, merely leans forward and taps her finger against her temple.

"Hailing frequences open," he says, with obvious sarcasm. The link is so often used that he no longer even has to vocalize the words of the spell. He's too far away to hear whatever had caused her to snort in derision. He tilts his head as though listening, then nods and scratches his lip, using the motion to hide another spell being quickly cast. Then he's looking around the room again.

An Asian man walks in slowly, head turns right then left as he looks around at the different faces. A careful plan of heading to the bar was made, then executed. Batukhan may look somewhat out of place, a tailored suit, high shined shoes, and hair nearly to the middle of his back. He claimed a seat near the bar, as if waiting on someone, and shakes his head after checking his watch. He hated to be kept waiting. After looking around at the gathering of people and beings, then rises to move toward the bar slowly. His hands loose at his sides and tonight seems to be a fine brandy sort of night. He selected a bottle, checking the label then a snifter before moving back to his table. He carefully poured the snifter half way to the top, then lifted it carefully with his right hand, rolling it for the warmth. A sigh with another check of his watch, before finally lifting the glass to his lips.

While waiting for the warlock to finish his spell, the Chimera stands and moves to the bar, slicing through the crowd without actually touching anyone.

And again, Batukhan's swirling the brandy, to get the air and warmth he desires it to be. "Damned fool." muttered under his breath.

Nodding to let the warlock know she'd received his message, she looks over the crowd and notes three faces in particular. Everything about them - from their clothing, to their voices and gestures, to their drink of choice is memorized in the span of five seconds.

Copperfield smirks, tapping his cane lightly against his thigh.

A little shake of her head and a little eye roll at the warlock's next message, and she's headed past the bar now, into the kitchen.

Batukhan fills the glass again, and this time it's lifted to both hands for the swirling. But his dark eyes watch the few faces easily seen.

She whips up some soupe " l'oignon fran?aise and a simple green salad. Bringing these through the kitchen door, she stops behind the bar and grabs two bottles of lager. She moves through the crowd again back to the booth where she sets the bowls and plates and bottles down on the table.

She finishes her lager and stands, sliding out of the booth. "Je suis aller " la chasse. I assume you will be watching?"

Copperfield nods. "It's my job."

Batukhan gives a bit of a shrug, then he's filling the brandy snifter again.

She nods, casts one final look at the brandy-drinker, and then heads out the door, into the safe and welcoming arms of the night.

Copperfield sits in the booth for a few more minutes, finishing off his drink.

A bit of a grin forms on Batukhan's lips then as the smoke is crushed out, and the fresh poured glass is emptied. He stands then and stretches, the night was young, and there were things to be done.

The Chimera crosses the street quickly, hiding in the shadows, blending in perfectly. She crouches down, back against the wall, and begins her watch of the front of the Inn. Eventually one of them would have to leave and she would be there, a silent and invisible extension of the many shadows that lay in the city.

Batukhan straightens his suitcoat, smoothing at it slightly, then his tie. A turn on his heels and he's moving through the tables easily enough then through the door.

Done now, Copperfield stands, and quickly cross the room, heading up the stairs to their room. Once there, he quickly sets up the wards, then flops down onto the bed and incants the spell that opens the birds-eye view of the grounds in his head.

The brandy-drinker stands in the darkness of the porch, glancing toward shadows and watching each momentarily, before a turn and he's walking away from the inn. Hands loose at his sides.

See" Here comes one now. She freezes, holding her breath, no muscle moving. She watches as he moves down the porch steps and passes by her hiding spot not ten feet away. She's picked this spot because it's very near the end of a particularly malodorous alley and her scent would be covered by the stench of...whatever and whomever was lying at the bottom of the byway.

Nosewrinkle as he passes that alley, moving then on down the road a bit further, but taking pause to look back.

Copperfield readies himself when she freezes, calling to mind the spells of enhancement she may soon need. His hands close tightly on the cane, though his eyes remain closed.

Still not moving, she smiles in the darkness. Oh, he thinks he's a clever one, does he" She'll wait patiently, biding her time until he has fallen into a sense of false security.

A sniff of the air, something was not right. He felt he was being watched, but another move away.

Copperfield, too, bides his time, conserving energy until it's really needed.

The Chimera slowly, silently, stands and slinks along the walls of the close-set buildings. Just a shadow amongst other shadows. Nothing to see here, nothing at all.

His hands tighten up and he begins to whistle a slow almost sad tune. His stride is much slower now as he continues his evening walk.

She, too, slows her steps, making sure her footfalls coincide with his so she doesn't create any unnecessary sounds. A smirk curls one side of her mouth at the whistle. Oh, no. There's no lulling her into a false sense of security. She knows what you're about.

A quick turn down a darkened alley way himself. The wonders of night clear as day.

She crouches, muscles tense, adrenaline pumping. She moves slowly to the mouth of the alley, and withdraws the knife from her pocket, unfolding it carefully.

Looks like the time has come. Copperfield begins the spell of enhancement, his own special mix of speed, strength and endurance combined with senses to match their targets.

"Know your enemy." Words of warning in a low, growling whisper. He is simply standing there, hands folded in front of his waist, waiting in the dark. Nothing in a weapon visible.

The Chimera's at the mouth of the alley when she feels the tingle of the warlock's spells, heightening her senses, and imbuing her with inhuman strength. Still crouched, much lower than might be expected, she peers around the corner, moving so that only one eye is past the wall.

Enhancements finished, Copperfield begins preparation of the final spell, their contingency plan. Rarely ever used, but always ready, just in case.

One hand moves to scratch above his eye, then back to join the other. A smile spreads slowly, then he bows. He can tell he's being watched. "Time for me to take my leave." Left hop, right jump, left jump again and he's to the top of the shortest building, his speed increased as he ran. No intentions of getting blood on his tailored suit this night. He stops, leaning over and looking down.

Oh! Oh, perfect. She slides into a shooter's stance, brings that weapon up level with her eyes, sights him, and pulls the trigger - all within the span of less than two seconds. The pistol coughs and she fires again...and again.

He's caught one round in the shoulder and spun around before breaking into the run again, free hand clutching his wounded arm and the blood sprays high and onto the wall. Adrenaline, pain and anger sound from him as he seems to move faster away.

A hit! Copperfield exhales sharply, triumphantly, though his reaction is tempered by the sight of the kitty continuing to flee. Still, there's plenty of blood now, and that's what they really need. A success, by any reckoning.

Sliding the safety onto the pistol, she scuttles - yes, monkey-like - down the side of the building, wedging fingers and toes into the cracks between the bricks, swinging from fire escapes and drain pipes until she lands on the cobblestones of the alley. She trots over to the blood and crouches down, sending a question to the warlock back in the Inn.

He nods, though she can't see it, and drops the spells of enhancement. He leaves the contingency spell ticking, though, just in case. Then he's mouthing the words of another spell, to gather up that spilled blood.

She stands, her mood alternating between elation at being one step closer to escaping this hell hole and frustration at a mark escaping. She shudders as the spells fall away and squints into the newly-returned darkness. She sends another question to the warlock.

Copperfield laughs out loud. The mighty hunter got herself lost. Smirking, he relays directions back to her.

She gives him a mental one-fingered salute and follows his directions back to the Inn. Slinking quietly up the porch steps, she enters and moves towards the staircase, skirting the very edges of the crowd.

He opens his eyes and stands, letting the final spells fall away as he moves to open the door for her. "Good work," he says when she arrives, without any hint of sarcasm.

She goes up the stairs, dragging just a little bit and no doubt smelling of cordite. She nods to him and kicks off her boots. Then she closes the door behind her, takes the knife out of her pocket and the holster from the small of her back. She sets these down on the table next to the bed and then collapses onto the soft surface.

"That's three," he says and settles down onto his blanket and slowly relaxes, winding down. Sure, he didn't physically go anywhere, but casting and sustaining all of those spells takes just as much effort as running around and climbing buildings.

She gives him a victory sign and then snuggles into the bed, quickly falling deeply asleep. She earned the bed tonight. After all he'd just laid up here and thought at her. She'd ran and climbed and jumped and leapt and swung and shot someone. She was tired.