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"If you wish, I can come with you, Tracy" Roxana says. Nothing in her tone or attitude suggests that she actually wants to go sit and chat with a bunch of gangsters, but she is willing to risk it to help. "I doubt I will seem like a threat to these men, and if things should go badly, I may be able to neutralize the situation without anyone dying."
Roxana strolls alongside the others, doing her best to control her nerves. The gangsters they had encountered were armed like a paramilitary force, far for formidable than anything she had faced before. She loosens the hijab, so that she has to hold it in place with one hand, and lets the other slip into her purse to rest on the grip of her gun. With luck, she thinks, she'll never need to fire her gun, but they are going to pick a fight with a street gang.
Roxana wills the snakes to rest, and wraps the hijab back around her head and neck. She looks around at the rest of the group, not trusting the voice in her head to handle introductions. "I'm called Snake Charmer," she says. "Our mutual friend asked me to help you with this... project."
"Oh, to hell with it," Roxana says, and draws her gun. She waits quietly, happy to allow the others to handle the situation. Not like there are any artifacts worth preserving in this dump anyway.
Seeing no way to attack the enemy without attacking her allies as well, Roxana insteaddraws her pistol.
As the situation dissolves, Roxana pulls the scarf off of her head, revealing her writhing, scaly green hair. Snakes, rather. She glares at the gangsters, clenching her teeth and for the blink of an eye, her moderately pretty face turns unspeakably hideous.
There's no reason anyone would have paid any attention to the 5' Persian woman that slipped in behind Judd. She was not much bigger than one of his arms, after all. Maybe it is odd that she is wearing a hijab with a western style business suit, with a knee length skirt and heels, but in this room, it is no more odd than her cat eye glasses. She seems to be trying to choose between one of the two cans of soup on the shelves, but no sane civilian could miss the rising threat of violence in the room. Nervously, she tugs at the scarf that covers her head, and clears her throat. "You-know-who sent me," she mutters under her breath, when she is near to Imagine. She strolls down the aisle to the side of the store.
OK, here I am.
Equipment list: .50 cal. Pistol 15/30/60 2d8 AP2, DT rof 1, magazine 7 (300)
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