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Hanna was not sure how to take Jack now. So far, she had only really experienced one side of him. That was the guy who parried jokes with her while tending her wounds, tried to share water bottles in the hospital, made her a cheesy award on an index card, and had a sharp wit and healthy skepticism about the world. She enjoyed that Jack immensely. This new side of him, the one that lorded social power in front of her, or that ordered people around for fun -- that guy was not as cool. Was this supposed to impress her? Hanna was not that kind of girl. It felt like a weird production to her, which differed from the casual, confident air she had felt from him before.

Huh, well, she would have to collect more data.

The talent portion raged on before them, earning a few scoffs, dark laughs, and some genuinely positive reactions from Hanna. She was most impressed by the girl in the black bikini with excellent aim. "Nice shot," she remarked, mostly to herself.

When Jack's lackey did as he was told, Hanna gave an awkward half-smile. "Thanks, Keeley," Hanna said, tilting the coffee in his direction. But before she could make any other kind of conversation, he dashed off again. A shrug rolled of her shoulders as she glanced briefly to Jack. "An expensive cup of coffee?" she ventured. "So employment at Jack Hawthorn Incorporated is a paid internship, nice." That sort of made it better.

Just then, Wyatt came to the stage again and began stripping to a song that Hanna really, really, really liked to jam out to. "Oh no, he's not allowed to ruin this song for me," she said, shading her eyes from the sun. "This is 90s gold."

And then, some time later: "Truthfully, there has been a bit less stripping than I imagined."

Oh for ******** sakes, was he really actually getting dragged into this conversation? He had, at one point, tried to tell the pink haired woman that her ex was dying, but the other girl had either not been listening or had the memory span of a retarded gold fish. And yes, Finn had known that she had kicked the bucket, but only because of a random and somewhat crazy text from Stormy, who he knew to be very close with the recently deceased.

How was he to know that Chel had no clue what had happened? "It's not exactly a great way to open a ******** conversation is it? And how the hell was I to know that you hadn't heard. And, most importantly, what makes you think I give a s**t, or even think about, the fact that the b***h is dead?" He hissed in return, despite the fact that Ripley had added in his two cents as well.

As for Jack.

"Tell him yourself. I'm not a god damn messenger boy." He leveled her with his usual pleasant smile coupled with cold eyes empty of emotion, before turning his attention back to the, now spoiled, contest unfolding on the stage in front of them.

Ripley's suggestion at least got a slight nod of approval. Alcohol sounded wonderful right about now.

Hanna pfft'd at Jack's comment about her musical choices. "My taste is eclectic. Different sounds for different situations. I listen to only a little R&B, but that song is hilarious and has a solid, driving 90s beat to it. I can appreciate it, just like chicken nuggets from McDonalds can really hit the spot sometimes," she explained. Hanna, despite her tendency to make judgments, was not really pretentious. She liked what she liked and made no apologies about it.

As the performers continued to do their thing, Hanna did notice Jack being perfectly quiet and sort of paying attention to Stormy's routine. The redhead thought little of it. Stormy was pretty and nice to look at it, but seemed too delicate for Hanna's tastes. The girl had been really messed up in the Sahara and was, she had learned, related to Neomi, who was also painfully timid. Maybe it was just a thing with their family -- shy girls. Or, also, it could be that Hanna didn't know Stormy that well (she didn't).

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Hanna checked it, making a thoughtful hm sound. It was one of the full Death Hunters she regularly worked under, asking for her to come by for some help on organizing a report. Even if the text had been about getting coffee, Hanna still would have gone. She liked her division. She wanted to be a respectful, useful member of it.

Even if that meant she, too, had to play the role of lackey at times.

"Well, it's over for me now," she said, shooting back a quick text and snapping her phone shut. "Duty calls. I might actually get the chance to do some real work. Can't pass it up."

Getting to her feet, Hanna stretched her hands above her head, exposing an inch of sunwarmed but pale stomach. "Thanks for slumming it with me, Hawthorn," she said, smiling at him. "I trust you'll stay to catch the closing. On the edge of your seat for those results, I know." The cup of coffee in her hand was still warm. "And for the coffee."

With that, Hanna flashed one last look his way, shuffled out of the row, and then disappeared away from the crowd.