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Patience was a virtue she could afford for her pet projects. It had been months of careful placing of cameras, downloading their catches for the night and repositioning as necessary. Most of the footage was clandestine meetings between bar-goers, alley cats, raccoons, homeless junkies and evening joggers. A few instances were students sneaking out after curfew from one of the many local boarding schools.

Still...she'd gotten a couple gems. Literally...two instances. One of a jogger around 5 AM a month ago, and another more recent, a pair of twenty-somethings walking to their car after the clubs were closed, both attacked by strange, at once shadowy and garish creatures that defied categorization in any of biological science she was aware of. That didn't define enough though...the terrorists were usually described solidly as people. She needed to get something of one of them, or a connection between them and these other instances. She wasn't going to jump to aliens, reptoids, or fae just yet- she wasn't Lady Cottington.

She crouched and crawled dutifully inside the reaching-limbed, massive, brilliant white rhododendron. It was late afternoon, not enough people in the park now to gawk or stare at a grown woman crawling through fauna in the garden of the Brashear Club. The WASPs therein were probably on their second brandy's and considering a game of cards to talk money over. But the Club's expansive private lot in the heart of the City's Oldtown district had a good angle on some of the parks, higher end clubs, and the open streets around there while providing foliage to conceal the cameras. No infringing of rights here....oh no no no.

She chuckled to herself, pulling out her cellphone to link the camera's memory card to her home system for remote download, then scanned the footage quickly before clearing the card. There were uncertain hints at a shadowy thing entering an alley that was at the limit of the camera's view. What...like a den? The camera should be moved closer maybe so that it could get a better angle.

She peered out form between the clustered of dark leaves and white trumpets. There were telephone poles. The sort that had the rungs at odd interval that started 8 ft off the ground. If she could get to the handles, she could shimmy up the pole and attach the camera midway to get a clear down angle.

It didn't look like anyone was around? She extricated herself from the plant, camera in hand, and scouted for a trashcan.

Stroud pulled up immediately in her stride, shoulders setting back so that the hollows of her clavicles acccentuated against the pulling of tendons in her working throat. She was not a nervous person, by any means, but she had to admit that she hadn't felt this person in the general feng shui of the area. Let alone that the woman had literally 'appeared from thin air'. There was a lingering fall to her cloak, that indicated a drop, but there'd been no approach. It had the look of a uniform, too pristine and well made to be something costume unless she was a professional on a movie set.

There were no movies set to be filmed in Destiny City right now. There were no costume balls. She loved costume balls and always kept on the inside loop about where and when they were happening.

She was concerned, but there wasn't any proof of need to panic either. "The Patriot Act does not restrict photography; neither does the Homeland Security Act. I've familiarized myself with public photography laws...and while a lot of strong-arms think that they can impede people with cameras in public locations due to security reasons, there's no legal basis for it. I'm currently standing in the street and on the sidewalk. These are maintained by the public municipality. They are legally public property and public use for legal photography. "

Wiretapping laws varied from state to state, and an injuction and case in court might be made against her on those lines, except for the part about years and years of legal fees because there were no established precedent cases. The few cases that did exist were still a long way from verdict.

"If this were private property, a security official would have grounds to demand explanation."

"You aren't a security officer. " There was no point in asking what was plain. The statement was toned flat, serving the dual purpose of observation and demand for explanation.

Insults weren't worth addressing. 'Boring' was in the eye of the beholder - if being prepared and doing one's homework for a task was boring then better boring that dealing with failure. Pride and flippancy could be tossed around in the air between them as well. It looked like it might be both part of the act, a feature of intimidation, as well as genuinely founded. The woman's posture was well rehearsed, but there were no tension bulges hidden in the masseter or temporalis to reveal a nervous lie.

"You're wasting my time. I don't care what 'feelings' you have about what I may or may not be doing. “A corner of Stroud's mouth pulled with annoyance. This was beyond the pleasantries of making small talk. Pretty was talking to hear herself talk. "If you're done lamp-shading?"

"You have a purpose in being in my way. I have some research to complete. “She circled in paces to get the garbage can between them. "Veritas. I will have rather than yellow journalism. What do you want, pretty?"

At the proclamations of information, Stroud's neck crawled. It made sense, really, if this was some sort of side soldier project or fear manipulation operation that there would be counter surveillance in order to be aware of how close any individual, crackpot conspiracy theorist was getting to the truth. She'd been determined to not be a complete lunatic maybe? Was this going to be a slap on the wrist, or loss of a hand, and told off?

Then the woman movement anomalied-teleported-and she was in the air. I'm one-hundred twenty-five pounds. Curling that much is a weightlifter's goals. This girl's build is well knit, but she's no Kim Chizevsky. She's no body builder at all. Her arm isn't shaking, and she's walking.

The probabilities of what the observations meant when removed from the analytics of a microscope flew by. There wasn't any transferring of force, so there was little use for taichi to defend herself. She could try to peel at the fingers and pressure points on the arm, or to swing her own legs and weight up to try to break the elbow, but anyone one-arm deadlifting 125 lbs was not likely to be injured so severely as may be hoped. There was the very real possibility that the woman could just crush Stroud's larynx before any countermeasures were fulfilled, too.

A super soldier of some sort, certainly. Government? But which. Chemical or steroid? Possibly. Actual advances in augmentation cybernetics? Not wholly likely but not out of the question. But the why, which rankled, had no clues presented. Stroud didn't have a problem meeting the green gaze with steady, quizzical aplomb.

Secret societies of the jump-you-in-the-alley sort were always one way doors. The only way out was through a pine box. That was the most likely other option just now. This was a little more than hand for a hand. Death wasn't really a problem - she was at peace with herself and what she had accomplished in her lifetime if she died that moment. But it wasn't a goal either.

And an invitation to join something of what she'd been trying to track? "I like teamwork. Curious recruiting technique, though, picking up strays. "
It was a joke-'picking up' as she dangled there, and entirely intended. Even with gravity making suave speech difficult.

"Take me out for a drink first-" But the woman wasn't really pawing at her, and it only lasted a moment. Then the mule kick to her collective cells. Stroud's hands death-clenched beyond care of bruising onto the woman's forearm. She could hear her own teeth grind in her skull, but not much outside of that.

She couldn't claim to have had that body part ever in that part of her body and it was understandably excruciating. Black cotton crowded around the edges of the woman's face in her vision, threatening to shadow out everything. She managed to growl, through a clench, "What-?"

But no more. She couldn't unlock her jaw. There was only the situation and giving over to it.

She was set to her feet again, the black cotton gradually receding to leave a light headed sensation that no doubt threatened some to swoon. Stroud let one of her arms hold out for general balance.

"' Assume the port of Mars; and at her heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment, ' " She slowly lowered herself to a one-knee kneel. A direct line to information, that was what she was traded into. And hopefully a damn good time.