The woman Shepard first runs into is neither sporting any marks on her neck, nor is she wearing a mask — she has one, a colorful red and orange paper construction resembling some sort of dragon, but it's dangling unworn from her hand by its elastic band. Her other hand is occupied by a half-glass of whisky, though she seems too distracted to drink much from it. The red silk blouse she's wearing almost blends in with the style of the rest of the crowd, but there's something about the pressed trousers and black high heels that suggests more professionalism than really fits here.

This is not Stella Gibson's scene. Her usual is quiet hotel bars with well-heeled clientele and a jazz piano — either that or a London pub, but not these rowdy bars with thumping music and people too drunk or high to remember where they are or what's going on. She's here for much the same reason — reconnaissance — but to say it's difficult to get a straight answer from anyone is a bit of an understatement.

Stella realizes she looks out of place, of course, and isn't especially surprised to catch someone's eye — though she wasn't expecting that someone to be so assertive about it. She turns, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin to look the other person in the face — a woman, she decides, from the voice and build. The helmet-like mask doesn't let her see many details, which is slightly off-putting, but for now she'll cope.

"May I help you?" she asks, even-voiced, neither her face nor her tone giving much away. She's not used to being approached so brusquely, but at the same time there is something in her that appreciates another woman who doesn't hesitate to be so straightforward.