A world become one, of salads and sun – only a fool would say that.

A boy with a plan, a natural man,

Wearing a white stetson hat.

Unhand that gun, begone,

There's no one to fire upon

If he's holding it high, he's telling a lie.

- "Only a Fool Would Say That", Steely Dan

The Gomorrah felt different this time, now that she'd asserted her dominance in a classic wastelander fashion. None of them bothered her, but she was watched all the same. Of course, they wouldn't give up on their 'hot' pursuit of her, but fortunately, she was one step ahead of them. In her handbag, was Cachino's journal, the weak link of their crew.

Reading it aloud to House was a once-in-a-lifetime affair – especially reading the bits about how contrite Cachino felt every time he raped one of the hookers. Despite his actions, he seemed like a soft man, insecure in all the right ways for her to pull a move on him. Underestimating him would do her no good though, and besides, underestimating people was the dirty vice of House, not her.

For her services, House had offered uninhibited access to his personal library, which she was itching to explore the moment she had Nero and Sal caught in a trap of their own making. Together, they'd planned how it could be done – it was the first time he'd ever taken her opinion into account. Unsurprisingly, however, the one catch to her reward was that she was prohibited from taking any and all of his books outside of the 38, which was fine by her, because books weren't especially known for their utility out in the wastes. Especially so, among tribals, ninety-percent of whom couldn't even read them.

She supposed that if she wanted to appear as a prophet for a new age religion, she could always just take a few books out to some tribals and claim to be the only one who could read it. But that was more Caesar's style from what she's heard. It was ingenious, really.

And… she'd been proven wrong about who the Omertas could possibly be working with. It shouldn't have been surprising, especially considering Caesar's pragmatism. Cachino's journal had included some entries about a man claiming to be 'Fox', who showed up in the Gomorrah 'around the moon' – every month. Why did Inculta keep appearing out of her peripheral every time she turned around? She'd be fast friends with the guy, their situations were similar, after all – both playing errand boy for their supreme overlord. He wasn't the type to make friends, she supposed, and that suited her just fine. Eris had plenty of others she could pick the mind of.

Though she tried to think very little about what she truly believed in (these things weren't set in stone, so why bother?), this operation of hers would mark her against the Legion. The implications of that were made clear by her friend, a word she's determined to start using in reference to House, because employer sounded too.. official, for her tastes. He spoke of the potential risks, but she doubted any of it would come to fruition. He'd tsked at the void where her self preservation should have been, but he wasn't the kind of tyrant that hovered and imposed his personal values.

"Lookin' for anything, baby?" One of the hookers approached her, a blonde woman, like herself.

Eris was startled from her musings, and lifted her blonde head to size the woman up. Her leathers were certainly classy, and her air smelled incredibly desperate, and for once, she decided to take some pity, and cut to the chase. Her education was on the line.

"Yeah, I'm looking for someone. Know anyone around here by the name of 'Cachino'?" The hooker's eyes widened, and it was then that Eris knew how disreputable said man was even among his own kin. "Yes? Well, that settles it then. Go and find him, will you? Tell him it's an emergency."

Lifting one finger from her drink, she found a few caps in her purse to hand to the other woman as an incentive. Not everyone could be bought over with books, after all.

"For your trouble, love." She handed her the caps, and demurely, the other woman left her to her own devices.

Idly, she wondered if they'd figured out the fate of their explosives boy. And if so, what were their contingency plans – not that they'd make it that far. She was confident in her abilities to get this operation shut down. It had been a fun ride while it lasted, but it was time to hop off. House had done all the planning, and his was subtle enough that she was actually impressed. There were some ideas she had to spice it up, however.

A man, short in stature, full of that toxic urge to prove his own masculinity, appeared out of the corner of her eye. Something in her, the part of her that was secretly very judgmental of others, knew it was Cachino. Turning her head, she caught a full view of the 'weak link', so to speak. He wasn't much to look at – nearing middle age, with a bald spot. She'd noticed him before when she was with Layla, but he'd been wearing sunglasses and a fedora.

He looked at her with questioning contempt, as if he shouldn't be bothered by the complains of regular customers. Dark eyes shone with the hubris of a man who thought he still had the upper hand, but she was about to prove him wrong on all accounts. That is, if she didn't somehow muck it all up. But then, something in his eyes morphed, and recognition dawned on those pinched, sour features.

A coy smile tugged at her lips, which were moistened by the drink she was nursing. Not a moment later, a cigarette was pulled out of her handbag and she gestured to him with an incline of her head, letting him know she wanted to talk. He looked her up and down then, a scathing analysis with only a touch of apprehension. Unfortunately for House's plans, this one wasn't entirely stupid, but she knew he was vulnerable underneath all the doubtlessly big talk he took on.

"Can I have a word?" She asked with false courtesy. Her fingers worked to light her cigarette, and she inhaled for a long moment, savoring the feeling of it in her lungs. When he rounded on her, all suspicious like, she exhaled a thick plume out of the corner of her lip, wanting to blow it on him but not wanting to provoke him so openly.

"Yeah. I can give you a few fuckin' words. Tell me why you've been droppin' my name before I get some muscle over here to do you in, and afterwards, we have a private talk." So, he was wanting to cut to the chase so early? She could work with that.

"Sounds very nice." She lied, letting surprise bloom on her features. "But since you're nice enough to get right to the point, I'll do you the same favor."

Eyes looked to her left and to her right to confirm that they were alone – relatively. This side of the bar was dark and empty, and she gestured to the chair across from her at the table. He didn't take it, and her smile deepened.

"Believe me, you'll want to take a seat for this, sweetums." She used the term of endearment he'd admitted to a soft spot for, in his journal. "After disposing of your local 'artist', I came across a diary and did some light reading. Something about a barely-contrite man with a fetish for pain, and a tendency to betray his kin? Sound familiar?" He gulped, the tough act all but gone from his posture. "Now sit down, you fucking degenerate."

Calling someone else a degenerate was a bit ironic. She was certain that if she used it enough, she could somehow remove the Legion connotation with the word. After all, they didn't own it.

Cachino sat down, looking a bit constipated, which didn't help his case – not that anything could help his case, he was damned if he did, and damned if he didn't. Eris didn't much care about any of his sadistic urges or general buggery, but even she was ready to get this operation done. And if she didn't, she wouldn't have a home to stay anymore. On rare occasions, she could be practical.

"How the fuck did you get your fuckin' hands on it?" The rat all but whispered to her.

"Well, to be fair, it wasn't exactly an easy find. Rather small, small enough that I guess you missed it. I don't blame you there.." She rambled, trailing off at the end as she was known to do, "I had Layla snatch it off of you." She lied.

How she wished that were true – that she'd known well enough to make a go for Cachino. Lives could've been spared, but there was no use crying over spilled milk. Later, when she had less to deal with, she'd properly wallow in her mistakes, maybe. He didn't have to know that she was bluffing, however, and it was unlikely he'd ever piece it together, with how distressed he was over the journal.

"That fuckin' drag hooker?" He asked exasperatedly, "Fine. You already know all you could, 'spose. That book could get me in some real fuckin' trouble, so what can I do for you so you don't go yammering to the bosses?"

"No, no – I'm not interested in going to Nero or Sal, or whoever you're so afraid of. Though.. we'll probably have to confront them at some point. It's pretty inevitable, see." She gave him a mocking look of pity, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, "So, I'm guessing you don't really know what your bosses are planning?"

The look he gave her wasn't scathing as she expected a lesser man like him would give; it was confused. It wasn't too surprising, though, it made perfect sense to leave everyone else in the dark from Nero and Sal's perspectives. Who would want to know that their leaders were so humiliated by working for House that they'd rather surrender to the Legion? There'd be a hell of a lot more turncoats than Cachino if that were the case.

"Other than whatever they had Troike and Clanden doing, God rest his soul." She grinned at the recent memory of the fallen artist, "You and I have a real opportunity here, to be good friends, if you're willing to put a knife to Nero's throat. I hear it's a good looking throat, too."

"If that's what it takes to keep you quiet.." Cachino looked almost remorseful, if she looked at him in a certain light. Though self-preservation and remorse were two entirely different beasts. "And you're right, I didn't know anything more than it involving lots of guns and muscle. Also that it's big, very fuckin' big." He was silent for a beat, then spoke again with some innocent intonation of hope, which needed to be snuffed out immediately if she was going to succeed here. "Why? Do you know?"

Then he had this scandalous look etched on his face, like they were a couple of old bitties gossiping about their neighbors' new crochet patterns. She was silent for a moment, choosing to keep him in suspense, before grinding her spent cigarette on an ashtray and abandoning it altogether. Eris then gave him a good, long look, and drained the rest of her drink from its glass.

"Let's say I do, yeah? It doesn't matter if I do, I know enough about you to distract them from it long enough to do them in myself. But hey, if you cooperate with me, and if you swear on that book that you will help me and Mr. House, I might just tell you, and when I tell you, you'll be glad you're making the wise decision to turn on them. At least, from a commoner's perspective?" Her last question was rhetorical, whimsical even, just a hint of what his fellows were really doing. He was probably too dim to pick up on it, though.

"'Spose it doesn't matter if I know – ain't like I got much of a choice, is it?" He had that waned look of a man who'd given up now, "But we can't go straight to the bosses for an afternoon teatime. Clanden's gone, but their plan can only be busted if Troike is taken down, their other guest."

"Well, I've done enough work." Eris said, sounding deceptively tired. Actually, it was just starting to get exciting. "How about you rough Troike up a bit and make him get lost?"

It was risky, letting him off the hook like this, but there was no way he'd rat her out – she held all the cards. Unless he had a death wish, which, if he did, this conversation would've been nowhere near as fruitful.

"If that's what it takes." He said, resigned to his fate.

"That's what it takes." She replied, "I'll be back tomorrow evening to check on you."

..."Sweetums." She added for cheek, and she inclined her head toward him before standing up from the table.

Cachino didn't look too pleased – neither with himself, nor her. But if she had to make an educated guess, she would imagine his displeasure was more with himself, and further, not with what he'd done, but what he couldn't get away with.

News had come her way through Cachino that he'd convinced Troike to blow up a secret cache of weapons within Gomorrah, a cache she hadn't even known existed. It was great, to say the least, that she wouldn't be taking all the heat for this. And she was never acclaimed for her productivity, lazing about was her preference – the less work she had to do, it was generally better.

But there was one, slight problem, as there always was with anything even marginally interesting to her. Attention was on her for what she'd done to Clanden, and how public she'd been about it. She'd made a concentrated effort to wake up early today, and it was the first time she's seen the early morning in three whole weeks, which was a sure recipe for any normal, healthy life, she's gathered.

A quick trip to Freeside was made to stock up on ammo, since she was running low on it. These boring things, like violence, wasn't what she specialized in. Though apparently pseudo-geniuses were in high demand in the Mojave, because she's been called on by every power that currently 'matters'.

Gomorrah smelt of smoke, and soon, it would smell of mirrors also, because something was going down tonight – she could feel it, and for once, she didn't doubt that feeling. In the corner of the main lounge she was sat, observing the moves of the gamblers and tourists who were unaware of what was brewing in their midst.

She wondered, and not for the first time, what it was like to not think about the things she thought about. Simply put, it was impossible to imagine, but Eris never settled with laying the blanket of 'impossible' over anything. What was it like to be satisfied? She wondered. It wasn't as though these people were satisfied, because if they were, they wouldn't be filling their psycho-spiritual void with material luxuries. At least, that made sense to her. None of them would admit they weren't satisfied, however, because that would mean admitting to a loss, and ego was intrinsic to the human experience.

Her thoughts moved her to leave the lounge and go into Brimstone, the place Cachino told her to find him should she need him. Need was a strong word, she preferred 'seek', or 'have strong desire'. It was time to make some magic happen. She was going to pretend her performance the other night with Clanden was purely strategic and not a whim of the moment.

The balding man was sitting down, legs crossed and in an altogether relaxed position, lighting a cigarette among some of his 'muscle'. It was a group of three men, none of whom struck Eris as being particularly special, especially not in the looks department, but that was never a tell of someone's character. After all, she'd heard Nero was a real piece of work in passing, but she liked to think she was beyond being swayed by that – her closest 'friend' was a voice coming from a monitor.

All of the men raised their heads at her approach, and looking from one face to the next, Eris wondered if Cachino was about to pull something on her. It would be smart of him to, in all honesty, because if she was dead, then his secrets were safe. But House had eyes everywhere on the Strip, and ironically enough, the Omertas were still cowed enough by him to not commit violence in public.

"Gentlemen." She politely inclined her head at all of them, "Cachino.", she added with a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her and laughed in a way that only she knew was false. Humor was always a good way to save face – she would know. All eyes were on her, and if she was a nervous person, she would've felt intimidated, but as it were, she quite enjoyed being the center of attention, it distracted people from how little she was really contributing.

"Almost thought you wouldn't make it." She looked between him and the men at the table, and strode forward to lean her hip on the table and cross her arms. "My men can be trusted."

"Fair enough. Maybe they can, we're too deep to go back now, I think." Then she looked around for effect, and said, "No pun intended." She told herself it was just to soothe the air around them, which was thick with… something.

"Quite fuckin' right, because Nero wants to see you." Eris quirked her brow at that, and she licked her lips before responding.

"How nice of him, I think I'd like to meet the man, the myth, the legend, that fiddled with Rome ablaze." She said, well aware they wouldn't know the story. At the confused stares she was tossed, she shook her head, "Long story. Don't worry too much about it." Then, she set her gaze back on Cachino, "You're coming with me, of course…?"

"Yeah, that's why my boys are here. We go in together I say, and when I give the word, my boys come in and blast their asses. Then, I take over management of this place. Deal?"

She nodded slowly at that. This was the plan she'd spoken about with House – and while she thought that Cachino would make an altogether poor leader for anyone, it was best, from House's perspective, that he had someone under his thumb to lead the Omertas. That way, House would be leading the Omertas by proxy.

"Deal." She held out her hand in an age-old gesture that endured nuclear end time, and he took it.

Together, they strolled up to Nero's office, where the man and his right hand were waiting for them. The deep red of her cocktail dress caught the light from the dim, overhead lamps, and her blonde hair swayed with the movements of her lackadaisical pacing. Soft jazz music was now muffled and there was a pregnant silence as she walked behind Cachino, surrounded by his men. It was a risky move to follow him up here, but if he betrayed her, then she would certainly deserve it for having contemplated the possibility.

When he stopped at a door, Cachino turned to her and said underneath his breath, "We can get the drop on them if we get them talking. Just say the word, and if you don't, I will."

The door was suddenly opened by a sour looking man wielding a gun. That must've been Sal, who she's heard nothing good about. Nero, on the other hand, well, he looked to be about ten years her senior, though he was darkly handsome and glowed with a youthfulness not normally seen in men nearing middle age. His brows were thick and arched, and his nose was long and aquiline, all complimented by pale skin that would've otherwise been tan if he wasn't the kind of leader who operated from the shadows.

For a split moment, they all looked between each other, and Eris nearly forgot that everyone in the room wanted to kill her – including Cachino. A voice in her head that was pure reason, told her to tread carefully, but she'd always dismissed that voice, because reason was subjective, after all.

It was Sal who spoke first.

"Let's have some words.." By God, is that what her voice would sound like after twenty more years of continuous smoking? "Take a seat on the couch so we can get to talking."

She smiled at him, and looked to Cachino in a show of deflection. For a second, he looked confused, but adrenaline must've made him nod, and so she sat on the worn couch, the couch that must've served thousands of patrons, and matrons, in its day. It was a comfortable piece of furniture, and she leaned her arm onto the rest, acting as if there weren't two gangsters aiming their guns at her.

It was best to act as though she wasn't fearful, even if inside, she was quivering. Was this always how she'd been?

Here were three men who ran a prostitution business and a cocktail of other unsavory things on the side, and she was the one outlier. It was easy to forget she was a woman, and wasn't something she often thought about in the sense of 'I am', rather, she normally thought of it only in terms of what utility it had.

"So, I assume you know why we called you here?" The man, Sal, his voice was abrasive and not pleasant to listen to, not that any of the other present company could make up for it.

She stared between Nero and Sal, mostly the former, because his silent presence was itching at her. He hadn't spoken one word thus far, and she wondered if he was similarly inclined to solitude as House also was. And if that were so, that could explain the one-sided hostility that seemed to be going on between the two.

There wasn't any smooth way she could go about this beyond cool sarcasm, and from her limited experience, that seemed to be a winning bet.

"One of your contractors took a tumble..?" She asked rhetorically, and then shook her head, snorting before stating, "And I hear you lost some guns."

The expression on Sal's weathered face was dubious, and one look at Nero's face told her next to nothing. One peeve of hers was when she couldn't read another person, either through body language or manner of speaking. He showed neither, and she sighed.

"Yeah, we lost some guns, you little weasel." Sal cut her with a steely glare, the kind you got through experience rather than practice. "But we can get more guns. You slowed us down, but you can't stop us."

Sal approached her then, leaning down at eye level with her, supported by his palms resting on his knees. If nothing else, she could admire their tenacity. Their ability to persist in a trade and lifestyle even after several attempts at domestication was nothing short of impressive. However, the fact that they required a master to set them to heel, was the most shameful part of their tribe. For them, there was such a yearning for freedom that they were willing to serve a new master, and then lie to themselves saying that their new master would be a short path to the reprieve they desired.

"You're gonna die a failure." His cigarette-stained voice was low now as he addressed her, and she narrowed her eyes at him, not in hostility, but in some kind of warped sense of pity - whatever kind of pity it was. It was the kind of pity one had for a wild stag's falling prey to a yao guai – inevitable but invoking some sense of pity nonetheless.

"What I'm intensely curious about, is what exactly Not-At-Home promised you." The heretofore unheard voice spoke up, and it must've been Nero's. "Something grand, I'm sure. He promised us several things, too. All of them paid, but not in full."

It was a cool voice, one that sounded as though it wasn't used much. The way in which he spoke suggested an education beyond what his kin possessed, their kind being along the lines of common sense and know-how. Eris would be lying if she said she didn't feel a little out of her depth, and she predicted that Nero was going to try to make an offer she couldn't 'refuse'. Of course, she would refuse it, but not without some slip of regret. These weren't really her opponents – they were House's. But it was likely that they didn't see it that way.

"What if I told you he didn't promise me anything?" She began, not entirely sure where she was going with this, "What if it's inevitable that you be destroyed, and I be the hand of.. fate, somehow?" All four of them, including herself, knew she was bullshitting.

Nero sounded like a sharp one, however. It was truly pitiable that he would have to go, and she mourned yet another mind she wouldn't get to pick.

"For instance, if I try a move on you, then that means you get to at least go down still bearing the name of Omerta, and not just some nameless cog in the Legion collective when you surrender the city to him. It's entirely merciful, wouldn't you agree?" The man she was addressing seemed to mull that over silently, the wheels turning though she couldn't predict him.

"A reasonable defense, if it weren't a farce." Even Cachino was watching their interaction, and she'd almost forgotten the man was there. "I won't bother addressing your concerns about Legion assimilation, because I'm doubly interested in how you pieced together an alliance only myself and my right hand knew about."

She didn't have much time to think. There were two ways to go about this – one was the quick way, the other was the interesting way. The former's virtues would be touted by House, while the other could make for a learning experience. Though in the end, both would make for valuable learning experiences.

"Easy. I saw Inculta here not long ago, and he and I have a history together." She half-lied. She hadn't seen Inculta since that night in Freeside. "Once I saw him, and saw that a plot was brewing and your kin were preparing for war, well… it doesn't take a mathematician to put two and two together and get four."

Purposefully, she left the part out about how it was actually Cachino's journal that helped her piece it all together. She could be perceptive, but she doubted that she could spot a master spy out of a crowd of drunken leches and tourists. It had always been Inculta that found her, and that was a tradition she wasn't sure should continue after tonight.

Nero nodded and looked amusingly on her, as amused as such a stone-cold man could be. Once again, she was reminded of House, only House wouldn't make the frankly stupid mistake of signing over sovereignty for petty revenge. Really, she understood the mechanism behind it all, but the implications of such an alliance were too great to ignore.

So far, they'd ignored Cachino, and she admitted confusion as to why. Surely, being associated with her in anyway was suspect? Said man was sweating at his temples, but she tried not to linger on him too long.

"Very interesting.." Nero said with a sort of finality, "Sal, you can take it from here I think."

And he did. Happily, might she add. Sal stared at her with a searing hatred that had been absent in the younger man's calculating gaze. Did she really need Cachino to help her out here? Sal seemed to be the weak link between the duo here, definitely the less intelligent of the two.

"The plan wasn't to lay down arms to the Legion, you stupid motherfucker." She flinched only slightly at the light spray of spittle coming from the man. "When Caesar gives the word, we're gonna launch an all out assault on the Strip. First, we're gonna blow the Embassy, then we're gonna use soldiers to kill every last motherfucker on this Strip. Then we'll run this joint." Pretty ideals, though not at all feasible.

"By then, you'll be six feet under." Sal continued in his grating voice, "And we'll teach Not-At-Home what can go on when he sits in his fucking ivory tower lording down from on high."

Would it work? There was only one way to find out, theory only stretched so far in a setting like this.

"Well, Nero didn't tell me all that when he asked me to take you out." She said lowly to the man closest to her, who was practically in her face, said it convincingly even.

Cachino stiffened next to her, and she watched the cogs rolling behind the leer of Sal. According to him, it made perfect sense. To her, it was some bullshit she'd just made up. They were fanatically loyal to each other, House had mentioned, but they had a long history of cutthroat politic. She watched him with wide eyes, staring in wonder at the clown who was apparently digesting something, which to her, was obviously a lie.

"The fuck? I knew this day would come.." Sal took his dark eyes off of her, and towards the younger man watching their exchange in confusion – she'd said it low, so only Cachino and Sal would hear it. The likelihood that Nero had heard it was slim.

Suddenly, the air changed, and pressure was taken off of her – a relief for both her and her unwilling co-conspirator. Luckily for her, there appeared to be some animosity between the two without her intervention. It was a moment she'd won out of sheer luck and no small amount of sociability.

"There was no way you could've figured out even half of what you did without someone higher up helping you." He addressed her, but his stare was glued to the Omerta leader, who seemed to quickly become wise to the growing turmoil in the dimly lit room. "Nero, you two-timing, backstabbing motherfucker. I knew this day would come!"

Nero may have been the mastermind, the thinker of the duo, but he was by no means the fastest on the draw. In the haze of the handsome leader getting fired on by his right hand, she nodded to Cachino, and at his word, the muscle came in a moment later, ramming the door in.

Firstly, Nero had been shot in the chest, and maybe in the arm as well. From her vantage point, she wasn't so sure. Shortly thereafter, she was certain that his right hand, Sal, was bleeding out on the ground. Stunned by the sheer alacrity of the operation's end, she was sure something that had taken so long to get going should not have ended so quickly. However, it had been climactic. She'd been banking on Cachino's men outside, but it was good to know she had other viable options.

Standing up, she made a show of dusting imaginary lint off of her bare shoulder, and made her way over to Nero, who was on the floor, doubled over and clutching at a gaping hole in his stomach. Sal was far gone from this world, but she was a collector of dramatic and tragic endings, for she'd seen to two, and now three, so far.

Placing a small hand on his bleeding wound, she made a weak attempt at stoppering the flow. He'd been clever, she thought, as clever as someone not fated to win, could be. And he'd been determined too, a trait she didn't really undervalue.

She helped him to his feet, and surprisingly enough, he let her. Perhaps the will to survive was strong in this one, and maybe that was one less life wasted? Although, looking at his wounds, she doubted he'd survive. Stranger things have happened, however, as she was still alive despite taking a bullet to the head in close range.

But Nero still had a trick up his dark, bloodstained sleeve. She felt it in her shoulder not a moment after his arm was around her shoulder. It was a small combat knife, and its wielder wasn't capable of doing much damage with it, but it stung, nonetheless. Eris lost her grip on the man, and let him slide off of her, unable to support himself without her help.

Eris rubbed at the wound, which was a deceptively deep and painful cut despite not looking like much. Well, if he hadn't before, he certainly earned her respect now. Swearing at the slick cut on her shoulder, she pulled out her holdout gun, the one she kept strapped to her thigh at all times, and fired at the prone man. There was something niggling the back of her mind, telling her it was somehow 'right' to be the one to kill him. She doubted the others would do it for anything other than tribal hierarchical points.

"So I guess I'll see you around?" She casually asked Cachino, who stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene with no tiny amount of triumph, and smugness at how she got herself cut by Nero.

The cut on her shoulder would need to be cleaned, and despite spending months out here, she didn't have the kind of practical knowledge to sew it up. There could've been a number of pathogens on that blade, and she shivered to even consider them.

"Yeah. I'll take proper care of this place, tell the boss he won't have to worry about us anymore, won't you?" He asked with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Pained and eager to get away from a murder scene that she'd played an arguably large part in, she committed his request with a surprising, genuine nod, and clutching her shoulder, slunk out of the room. Doubtlessly, she'd come back tomorrow or some other night this week to properly grill him for whatever House wanted her to brace him about.