Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Mm. You guys figure things out while we're in transit," Blackstone suggested. His fingers twitched, sending his suit through a series of menus on his suit's HUD, though only Petrachkov (who had experience with the system the Shadowman suits used) was likely to understand the meaning of the motions. Nonetheless, they felt the telltale pseudo-weightless moment of the ship adjusting its anti-inertia field. "We're almost there, by the way. Be ready."

Catalena had been quietly holding her forehead with delicately placed fingers while the "men" she was working with c**k-fought. Boys, boys, boys. "Calm yourselves," she said suddenly, allowing her clipped accent to carry the words through the tense atmosphere like water through a dried out sponge. It was more than just an accent, though; gentle, firm command was issued outward, and a hint to obey followed with the aftertaste of a fine whiskey.

She appreciated the offer of command from Grayson, though gave him a look, wondering briefly on his motives. No one had fought the decision, so she took it. "I will take the position of leader. The identification code is weimaraner." In case any looked at her askance, she added, "It's a breed of dog. Too common for easy extraction, distinct enough to remember." As squad leader, her voice had easily adopted the tone of someone who could be trusted to command efficiently and maintain calm even while being shot.

"And- Pullman, you'll have the homing beacon." She looked at him sternly, not even acknowledging the quarter-second delay between syllables. "If you <********> with with Petrachkov because you two prefer d**k-fencing to doing your jobs, I'll make you think you're his doting long-lost mother. Romack, don't kill anyone unless the craving is too great until we reach the swamp; obviously, you will run recon, with Petrachkov once he arrives. Borovik, you and I will lead the way once we get in; calm the authorities as well as you can and act as our guide, Professor." She grinned and winked at him. "You seem the most likely to be leading a small entourage of harmless men and women." It may or may not have been a compliment.

"Are there any objections or concerns?" She immediately began fixing her hair, applying subtle make-up - nothing too gaudy - and checking her jewelry. Unfortunately, even her amulet was submitted to the weapons check; it had the potential to set off sensors. Her hair pins, though, especially the onyx ones hiding near her temples, had no signature. Only points. Her rings, also, were no strangers to fist-fights. With any skill, though, she would be able to refrain from getting close enough to anyone from the Coven to touch them.

Catalena almost blinked at Petrachkov's suggestion. As an assassin, she had not actually run a great deal of co-op missions.

"Yes."

Grayson was plain-faced in an almost inhumanly possible way. This was actually him at his most gleeful; he was gleeful because not only had she accepted his nomination, but proved his point in about ten seconds. She liked command- the Ghoster could almost feel it, and that was okay with him, as long as she didn't ******** them over.

Now that they were getting busy with final preparations and most everything was in order, Romack was mostly distracted from his instinctive desires. He needed weapons like everyone else. He was going to travel light this time, he decided. Populated area, that meant he had to conceal everything. Easy enough.

He requisitioned a Glock- and a silencer, should the situation prove it necessary- a short sword which he could tuck beneath his coat, strapped across his back with the hilt near his left hip. The coat fell wide, doing a good job of concealing the weapon's presence so long as he didn't cross his arms. Lastly he tucked his lockpick set into the inner right pocket of his coat.

Grayson was comfortable with this selection, made sure he had spare ammo (4 magazines), and nodded in satisfaction. "I'm ready."

Only then did he smile, and in a way only a Ghoster could, and only someone with much anthropological study of the Ghosters could read: to those people it said, Souls shall soon be set free.

"Businessmen?" Petrachkov suggested, returning. He was now... well, a bush. Petrachkov was a bush. Even the reflective glass viewpieces on the front of his helmet had been tinted green and given an anti-reflective sheen. His guns, as well, were covered with plant life, some real, some artificial. The guns themselves were painted, leaving no shiny metal surfaces. Every article of every variety on every portion of his person was non-reflective, tinted green, and each outline broken up.

Petrachkov didn't need a goddamned Chameleonic to be invisible. He had his own ways of working in a magical world.

"So, uh, businessmen. Just say you're in on account of business. Somethin' like that." On some level, Petrachkov actually had it easy. Lying wasn't his strong suit. Pretending and what not.

Grayson's smile spread and his only acknowledgment was a silent nod. This was going to be very... interesting, and the Ghoster was silently reveling in his decision to give Catalena the lead. She took to it like a fish to water. But a post-doctoral worker? Fascinating she would entrust them with such prestige.

Very well then, Dr. Romack shall play this merry little game!

"Most," Catalena responded when the woman was done patting herself on the back. She stood, patted down her dress one more time and cleared her throat, smoothly guiding Borovik to be the first off the craft. She would follow, and then Miriam, and the others at their leisure. Should go smoothly enough; it wasn't her first undercover operation by a long shot.