Mithias' greetin and subsequent, rather poetic, description seemed to alleviate Glory's rational anxiety. She felt suspended, as if the objects of her worry had been temporarily removed and immobilized. The sensation was a peaceful one while she was caught in the middle of it, and then Mithias' attention shifted elsewhere and reality came back in a rather unpleasant rush. She felt less like an island in calm seas and more like an insect at the center of a spider's web. She scowled slightly, then reasoned to herself that he probably couldn't help it. Still, she would rather be anxious of her own will than calm of someone else's. Gathering herself again (it was going to be one of those days, wasn't it?) she turned to Drake, who had taken the seat to her left.

"I'm sorry," Glory said, "I think someone grabbed the last muffin. I'll have to bring something for you tomorrow. Anyway, don't worry about the.. soot. Mushroom season is coming up soon and I'm sure I'll come in at least once with mycilia in my hair."

She looked around curiously as people began filling in the spaces around the long polished conference table. They certainly were a diverse group, the most varied she had worked with thus far, though not the largest. She wondered what the meeting was about, what sort of case they would be devoting their myriad talents to. She was most interested in seeing firsthand how the strengths of each of her teammates came into play when there was work to do outside of the office's cozy brick walls.

She prepared a black pen and a few sheets of closely lined paper to take notes, heading the first page with the date. She took of her gloves to write, and laid them neatly aside.

She would remember to keep a close watch over Max, who she smiled at reassuringly now. He seemed harmless, but there was a certain timid power behind his eyes, even though his mind was a tangle of noise and worry that was almost palpable. She recognized the symbols and sygils he carried. She also recognized the Kabbalah as one of mankind's most dangerous texts, detailing the structure of the body of God, and the way that divinity emanates through the physical world, information some would argue human beings had no right to access. Mama had kept her copy of the book in a lock box. Max was nervous and friendly, but held in his head a vast library of knowledge which could dissect the world into small pieces to be examined like the various parts of a tropical orchid. She saw all of this in a handful of moments, and stored the information away in the meticulously organized archive of her memory.