Part of being a recruiter meant having a sharp pair of eyes to potential. Unfortunately, Zatao seemed to be lacking in that local quadrant. Every single embodiment that sauntered on by were of the norm: trainers, coordinators, breeders, et cetera; those of the common good who looked down on those with actual purpose who worked damn hard towards an ultimate goal: the bringing about of a wonderful world. Cetus sat in on the ledge of Katarina square's fountain, whistling out smoke like an ailed Torkoal with her trusty Pidgeot steed by her side. She wasn't in one of her many thousand identities.

Cetus had chosen to go natural; her was unfurled from its typical bun and fell a thrashing mess down to her rump, a white sunhat with a thin, light blue ribbon glared the sun away and a simple stitched dress of the same shade brushed along her knees. Sunglasses shielded her eyes, in case (by some rare moment), someone familiar with her face happened to saunter on by and cause her to run, causing more havoc. She didn't want to make any trouble today. It was rather peaceful afternoon to do anything more than be lazy. A vine of grey smoke stretched upwards into the sky, stretching some tendrils to annoy the nostrils of her Pidgeot. Her grunted from the smell and turned. She simply rolled her eyes.

With the whirr of the fountain behind her, she wondered if she'd see something exciting. She guessed not, considering she was a source for creating excitement than on the receiving end of it. The mundane matters of life waned her and she dipped her finished cigarette into the fountain than crushed it under the heel of her white pumps. If only potential came by like the wind . . . than her job would be easier.