Owner	Pose
Brooke Harris	In an upscale patch of town, health food stores, gyms, and other trappings of the health craze can be found catering to the wealthy residents of Gotham. The sun is high, the air bitter and dry, and at one such fitness place, insipid dance music faintly rattles the windows as those inside move in sweaty, rhythmic ways in their quest for the perfect Photoshop body. Something odd has been happening here. While all too many fitness places promise that people will quickly lose weight, this one seems unusually successful. At the same time, disappearances in the area have ticked up just that little, suspicious bit. And, of course, there is the matter of the costumed prowler on the roof, quietly observing the place. Casing, or observing. It could go either way. Yin is a college age woman in a tight black bodysuit, with a full face mask bearing a white Yang teardrop curving around one eye and down her cheek. A deep red matte long jacket hangs from her shoulders, matching the skirt that goes with the costume. Her build is fit, very soft, with highly trained movements, flowing, and without waste.
Dick Grayson	Of course, disappearances in Gotham are a dime a dozen, when things get right down to it. The tragedy of a city that once held so much promise, but is constantly struggling against its own inner demons. Often, there's no rhyme or reason to it. People just vanish. Some might turn up again, but most? Most are just gone, as if they were made of nothing more than mist and shadow. No connective tissue. No conspiracy at play. Gotham gives, and Gotham takes away.     But, every now and again, a pattern emerges.     This is one such case. Disappearances happening concentrated around a central area. Localized. Perhaps too scattered for the police to notice, but the Batcomputer network? It doesn't miss a thing. And when running through other strange happenstances in the same area, Dick found this place. This health center with its curiously successful results.     So, Dick does what he needs to do. He goes undercover. It's not difficult. Dick Grayson is the first adopted son of THE Bruce Wayne. He's young, he's wealthy, he's exceedingly handsome so he MUST be obsessed with keeping himself in perfect, model shape, right? So why wouldn't he go to a place that's practically the new buzzword for the wealthy and beautiful?     And so there he is. Dick Grayson. Easily seen in the window, the svelte, raven haired young man is in the midst of a throng of women, ranging anywhere between the ages of 13 to 65, all moving in unison with what looks like vigourous dance choreography from the mid-00's. Seriously. Looks like it might be right out of a Britney video. Dick is drenched in sweat, though. It covers his flesh like a gossamer sheen. It makes the electric blue tanktop he's wearing grow dark and stick to his well developed chest, and washboard abs. It makes his hair shiney and slick. It even makes his skin tight black compression shorts seem inky and tenebrous rather than shiny.     And while he's doing some ballet style pirouette, he just so happens to peer out the window, right up at the figure watching, and give a wink, and a finger gun.
Brooke Harris	From observing the clientele, there seems to be a kind of inner circle. There is no immediately obvious rhyme or reason to it, but some of the people there seem to get that.. Little bit of extra attention. Unusual, usually you would expect to see that kind of extra care lavished on the prettier members of the group, but here, it seems to be the heavier members, the ones who work hard, but look like they need the help the most. And not all of them either. As the class winds to the end of its appointed time, those students linger rather than rush to their next scheduled engagement. The instructors share lavish encouragement on everyone who has come, offering everyone a smile, a good word, and encouragement to head out into the world. Showered and changed, the beautiful people move out to their cars in a great exodus, leaving the inner circle and their sluggishness behind. Yin has moved from the rooftop, no longer visible from inside the building. Investigating something outside, maybe, but from your position, you cannot be certain of where.
Dick Grayson	Of course, this is what Dick has been looking for. To see who the members are that are getting special treatment. To see if any of them might seem suspicious. Or even wary or afraid. Working the inside, getting to know the people. Gaining trust.     The roadblock,of course, is that Dick is one of the pretty ones. He's already in shape. Perfect shape. None can deny the allure of Jim and Juan.     And so when the class is ended, Dick Grayson, like the rest of the beautiful socialites that do their thing, disappears to go shower off and get changed. But he takes longer in the shower than the others, lingering behind even after the last wayward soul has left the locker room, and he is left alone.     Then, he vanishes.     Dick Grayson may be gone, but Nightwing is soon stalking the building. He had lost sight of the masked figure... a figure he doesn't recognize at a glance. Atleast, not from the distance they were at. New faces in Gotham rarely tend to signal good things. Often, even when other vigilantes show up, they wind up running afoul of Bruce and the Family. But more often than not, another mask means another criminal. And if that person might have anything to do with the disappearances, they're likely going to wind up in here, as well. Perhaps even to consult directly with the inner circle of members who remained behind after everyone else had left.
Brooke Harris	As you investigate, the first thing you notice that seems out of place is a new smell, like a holiday dinner. Cooked meat, spices, and other delicious smells waft lightly from the back room. The inner circle members drift into the back, invited by one of the instructors. The rhythmic 'shing! shing!' Of a carving knife on a sharpening steel comes from the back, and you can see a glimpse of the catering uniform through a closing door. Who orders catering at a weight loss studio? From having cased out the place before, you know that there is a back entrance, with some hallways and such that provide a bit of cover. There is also a bit of space above the soundproofing in the ceiling. The building does have a basement, with a single trap door in a utility closet in back.
Dick Grayson	It doesn't take much effort for Nightwing to find his way up and into the ceiling. Batman had Dick acting like a tunnel rat since he was a preteen after all. He knows all the ways to slip in the ceiling panels, and keep his weight balanced on the beams that support the structure, rather than falling through and making a mess of everything and an embarassment of himself.     Once neatly sequestered away, in the darkness of the space between the roof and the ceiling, Dick reaches a hand up to the domino mask that covers his handsome face. A press of a hidden button switches from the automatically engaged starlight nightvision to thermal optics. Heat. To let him "see" through the thin, flimsy materials of the interior of the building, and spy on the diners and caterers.     But damn. That food smells delicious.
Brooke Harris	Eight diners. Two caterers. Two instructors. All in the back room near a table of hot steaming roast. One costumed figure from before, also in the roof space. Although, having entered from the back entrance, her hiding space is difficult for you to see normally through the ductwork. She seems likely in meditation of some form, pulse slow, head not angled in a way that indicates that she is using her eyes to see whatever she is paying attention to. Below, plates of food are served, and people dive into their meals voraciously, as if starving after a long famine. Beneath her breath, likely inaudible to anyone not paying very close attention or using sound amplification of some form, Yin tilts her head to face you and murmurs a soft, "Their ch'i looks all wrong, and it's getting stranger."
Dick Grayson	Nightwing watches closely. But, sadly, there's nothing illegal about a group of people dining together, even if the circumstances are strange as all hell. It's not like he can act on that alone. That would be rash and likely just lead to being wanted for assault and an embarassment to Dick. He's never be able to show his face to the friends he has in the hero community.     But,he does notice the other, and the words do get picked up in his sound amplifying earbuds. "Strange Chi", also, sadly, is not call for an all out assault. So for now, the lithesome figure of the shadowy Nightwing stalks forward, crawling like a panther ready to pounce.     Once he approaches the other masked figure, close enough to speak without alerting anyone, or needing special training or equipment, he asks, in a hushed, velveteen whisper, "Mind telling me who you are and what you're doing here?"     For one of the Bat Family, he seems surprisingly chill about it.
Brooke Harris	Yin nods softly and murmurs back. "Yin. You'll find my file with Alpha Flight. I've trained alongside the head instructor here, among other things. I check up on teachers I know, and he seemed... off." Eyes distant, she frowns a bit. "I suppose that makes this a bit of a jurisdictional issue. I defer to your local judgment. Maybe there is something a bit more solid in the catering van? I am better at investigating people than vehicles." Below, the diners focus on consuming every bite of the feast before them. The caterers stand back, expressions unreadable through the tile.
Dick Grayson	"Yin," he says, turning his face up to read the mask. At least she's being polite, right? To be fair, when most other vigilantes show up in Gotham, they have it in their heads that they're going to "do things the right way" which typically means that they think the Bat Family is too harsh on criminals, or too lenient. Either way, it more often than not means that they think they're going to take on the Bat, and then take over his job. It's laughable on the best of days. But it's always refreshing when someone is willing to work with them, instead of against them.     Dick's soft, Cupid's Bow lips arc into a smile that could melt steel beams like jet fuel. "I'm Nightwing, Yin. Pleasure to meet you. Now... if you're not very skilled at investigating a vehicle, why don't we get out of here and take a look at that van together? Maybe I can show you a thing or two. This is where I give you a creepy grin and tell you that I'm something of a detective myself."     A pause. Dick's stomach lightly growls.     "And then maybe after this, we can go get food and you can tell me more about who you are, and what it is you're doing stalking instructors who seem off. Because... I'm starving, and like it or not, that's kind of a weird thing to make a vigilante career out of."
Brooke Harris	Yin nods and gestures toward the easiest way to slip back out the back, agreeably. "Of course. After you, Nightwing." The catering van is almost painfully ordinary, lacking logo, paint, or embellishment. Nothing on the vehicle seems different from the stock model, probably used. The van is locked, presumably with the key fob. It is the only vehicle in sight in the dark alley that leads to the back door, a bit of an awkward squeeze for a vehicle of that size. That faint smell of cooked meat can be detected from near the back door. The door handles carry fingerprints from the cooked oils on the hands used to open and close them visible even to the unaided eye. The cabin looks spartan, although a fast food bag sits between the seats, absolutely filled with hamburger wrappers.
Dick Grayson	As they slip out, Dick takes a look around. The vehicle is locked, because of course it is. Gotham. That's okay, though. A locked car isn't a thing that has ever stopped Nightwing before.     "So, Yin," He says, as he circles around the van, more gliding across the ground, it seems, than actually walking on it. Like some specter of black and blue, a wraith. "Do you know how to break into vehicles? It's a nearly invaluable skill in our profession."     Small talk. At least as he's scanning the vehicle with his mask's relay to the Batcomputer, ensuring that it is as mundane as the eye would make it out to be. And,also pulling up specs for the vehicle, just to be thorough.     Nightwing stops at the back door, and his lips curl into a lopsided, puckish grin. "Our caterers are fast food junkies with greasy fingers. We can simply take good, thorough pics of that. I have a link to... Law enforcement databases."     Keep it slightly vague, at least.     "We can essentially just scan and wait to see if we get results on our boys."     Meanwhile, though, he reaches into a compartment on the back of his gauntlet, retrieving a set of lock picks, while he takes a number ofstill framed images through his mask.
Brooke Harris	Yin shrugs faintly. "I'll admit to being horrendous at the technical bits. One of those things I couldn't publicly justify. I can tell you that that lunch is rerouting their P9 meridian through their lunar stomach meridian at L14, and that's very much not normal. They'll be starving from that. I couldn't say what else from there." The vehicle seems boringly ordinary, registered to one of those stolen identities you see used all too often from a used car lot. The fingerprints are connected to mug shots from misdemeanors. Petty theft. The records show they were released the same day, separately, just two months ago. In the mug shots, they couldn't be less than three hundred pounds, a far cry from the slender, almost emaciated figures in the catering uniforms.
Dick Grayson	"That's a useful skill to have," Nightwing says, commending her with a nod of his head as he sets to the task of picking the lock on the back door. Fun fact that's typically only known in locksmith and carjacker circles. Over ninety percent of commercial work vans made after twenty-sixteen have automatic locks on the front doors, but not on the back. This means manually picking the back doors doesn't set off the panic alarm that you get when manually unlocking a regular car door. "But... the technical aspects of the job are increasingly more and more necessary as time goes on. Man, it used to be so nice. You could just swing in and punch a guy in the mouth. Point out a few things and testify that you saw them in the act. Done. Easy peasy."     The lock unlatches, and carefully... careful not to smudge those fingerprints, actually... he opens the doors. "Now, electronic warfare, infiltration... all of it is honestly necessary."     He turns and looks back, offering a small, half smile. "If you're interested, I could teach you. Detective skills. Technical bits. Call it "continuing education"."     With the back doors open, Dick does a cursory inspection for hidden compartments in the usual places. The inside wheelwells. Check to see if the floor panel lining comes up to reveal anything. Etc.
Brooke Harris	Yin nods. "Very tempting. Maybe we can discuss it over dinner. Something vegetarian, maybe. There's a good Malaysian restaurant in the area. Something in the air here just doesn't agree with me." Food service things are carefully placed in the back of the vehicle. Electric warmers and cooking tools sit still warm. A stock pot for stew sits at the back of the vehicle, close to the cabin. It still has some of the soup in it, along with the various bones and other inedible bits that are added to some soups to flavor it as they are slowly cooked. The top of these discarded bits in the pot can be easily recognized as the bones from a human foot, severed cleanly at the joint.
Dick Grayson	"Vegan? I know of the Malaysian place. That sounds like a good idea," Dick agrees, nodding his head. He's definitively not vegan. He sticks to a high protein diet that consists largely of beef, tuna, or salmon and rice. But sometimes breaking the monotony is nice. He's almost all but forgotten that it's okay to take cheat days. "I mean... if you're vegan, I'm sure this smells like a charnel house to you."     Dick lifts the lid for the stock pot to peer inside and freezes. Thankfully years as Batman's sidekick has... inured him to the sight of such things as severed appendages. He doesn't jump. He doesn't vomit. He just freezes as the shock overtakes him and his heart becomes a knot in his throat.     Then quietly,he nods his head, places the lid back on the pot, and backs out of the van, closing the doors behind him.     "So, Yin... would you like to go in hard and fast, or sneaky and soft? Spoiler: I'm kind of in a hard and fast mood at the moment."
Brooke Harris	Yin winces. "I don't know the language, but I know it's bad news. I'm good with fast if you are. Following your lead, what's the plan?" She turns, light on her feet, and drops the tension out of her shoulders. Not that there was any before. Muscles are lightly tensed, then relaxed, removing all the extra attention in preparation for what is to come. Inside, the caterers are packing up, cleaning the tables as the diners put their plates away, keeping their chefs knives close at hand. The consumers of the meal, now wearing clothes that look ever so slightly loose on them, flex and pace in a jittery fashion.
Dick Grayson	"Right now, the plan is to take everyone of them down. This is Gotham, so we go by Bat rules. No killing. Other than that..." Dick shrugs his broad shoulders, taking a few steps backwards before turning towards the door. "I'll lead us in with a flashbang and some smoke. I assume you have some extra-sensory perception that allows you to see the flow of their ki through their meridians, so I'm also guessing that the smoke won't really obscure that."     He pauses at the door, sucking in a deep breath. "I'm used to working with a partner, so try to stay close to me so that we can capitalize off of one another's movements and protect each other. Let's try our best to leave one of the caterers alive, because they're the most likely ones to have some answers that I'm thinking we'll both want."     With that, Dick opens the back door of the building, and waves for Yin to follow, as he disappears into the darkness of the hallway inside.
Brooke Harris	As the smoke fills the room, and the people within blink in surprise at the southern entrance, the Caterers grab up their knives, one in each hand. The diners tremble, filled with a manic energy. All eyes turn toward us, before their vision is obscured. A caterer coughs once on the smoke, before popping a scrap of fat in his mouth and shouting, "They want to take away your food! Get them!" And with that, the diners charge in an insane rage, stabbing with forks and steak knives inexpertly. Yin meets the first to arrive with a soft looking, almost gentle push with both hands that launches the attacker back into the crowd, gasping for breath, buying a few short moments before things collapse completely into bedlam.
Dick Grayson	As he had stated, Dick led things with a flashbang grenade, and which then releases a hissing, thick wall of dense white smoke that fills the room almost immediately. Almost, but not quite. The acrobatic vigilante moves in, as the diners charge forth in their frenzy. Dick is doing as he said, sticking close to Yin, and in fact, trying to maintain at least some minimal physical contact with her at all times, so that he can read her movements, if not see them.     For example, she moves to push that first, and Nightwing, having been shoulder to shoulder with her in that moment just before, shifts to cover her flank as another of the eaty bois comes running at them, with one of those two prong serving forks. Nightwing meets the robust, balding fellow as they crash into one another, and Dick tumbles back, tucking his knees to his chest, and his feet planted squarely into the man's stomach. Grayson's entire body launches upwards with a graceful sense of poise as his pushes himsef off of his shoulders and into a back spring, which, in turn launches the Frenzying Forker up, over Yin's head where he'll land hard, with a thud of heavy, wet meat on the concrete floor.     "Taijiquan?" he asks, as he holds out one hand of black, striped with blue. "Ever do walking the circle with a companion?"
Brooke Harris	Yin nods vigorously so you can read the movement through her spine in the chaos. "All three sisters. And of course I have; not many to practice with, is all." She opens up a huge hole in her defenses, then flows into a Baguazhuang palm change to snap the trap closed as one of the diners goes for it, keeping her arm and shoulder along your arm to drop another diner at our feet. Stance change, catch an incoming arm and dance the crazy around to use him as a shield, moving her foot in synch with yours. At the end of it, she throws him to the side to shut the door behind us. Soft movements. No tension at all. All structure and meditative finesse. "Caterers are going for the exit."
Dick Grayson	Perfect. As she flows into Bagua, Nightwing follows suit. His arm interlocked with hers, Dick moves with her flawlessly, keeping step so that when her footing shifts, his does as well. His form is, however, a bit unorthodox, as his acrobatic nature leads to him using less grounded stances, and more leaps, and even more circular movements. A twisting aerial crescent kick takes out one of the meat crazies. He uses Yin's armas a fulcrum for a leaping cartwheel that sends him dropping with both feet on the shoulders of another, crumpling him to the ground. Still clasping her hand, Dick makes like a swing dancer, and slides across the floor like a darting shadow, slipping under her and between her legs to kick out the knees of another, followed by a rolling over kick to the face to put this poor, crazed middle aged Sharon out for the count.     And then he kips up to his feet. Those baleful, white glowing eyes cast their unblinking, unnerving stare on the retreating caterers, and Nightwing's lips draw taut into a frown.     "They're not getting away. You take the left!"     Dick goes for the right. He dashes at the retreating caterer, and at the last moment, does a forward rolling Otoshi Mawashi Geri, in the attempt to use all of his body's momentum and force in one fell move to drive the heel of his foot down on top of the fleeing cannibal's skull and render him unconscious.
Brooke Harris	Yin flows through, taking the floor - low, solid stances, the earth to your wings. Tight, solid movement to stay predictable and solid to compliment your movements. From a crouch, shenods, looking away from everything in the smoke. "Right, right." A quick lunge into a cartwheel that lands in stance, followed by a darting xingyiquan lunge. Her foot lands on the top of the caterer's foot, crunching down solidly as she slides up to catch his shoulder and twist; he goes crashing to the ground face first and is quickly put into a shoulder lock, knee landing on his back to pin him down roughly. Knives are removed from the hands and tossed aside. "Hmmm." She pokes a bit at the helpless thug's back. "I'm turning your legs and arms off for a few minutes. You aren't going anywhere." Face against the ground, the caterer rages. "No! You can't take us! I'll die without The Chef!"
Dick Grayson	It's actually really amazing how swiftly Dick can zip tie a small group of people. Take that how you will. But within moments, Nightwing has administered restraints to the crazies and the downed caterer who isn'tbeing shut down by Yin. Not even a full minute passes, before he returns, and slowly squats down in front of the raging lunatic, his hands dangling loosely between his spread thighs, and tilting his head to one side,spilling inky black hair over his brow.     "We aren't going to let you die. We're going to get you the kind of help you need," he remarks, while the shift of blank white eyes suggests the he's turning his gaze on to Yin instead of their captive. He gives her a faint nod of his head, and holds out yet another of the zip ties for her to take.     "So tell us about the Chef. Who are they? What do they do that's so good for you?"
Brooke Harris	Yin takes a zip tie and lashes the caterer up, a bit slower, head tilted a bit as she examines the caterer's qi thoughtfully, trying to diagnose him. Lots is happening, you're sure, but sadly nothing visible to optics. The caterer trembles fearfully. "He's The Chef! He cooks the greatest meals in the world! After a while, you can't eat anything else! He sent us here to bring his food to people.. I didn't ask why. We've catered here before. Please! I'm going to need to eat soon!"
Dick Grayson	Already, just from their previous conversation in the darkness of the ceiling crawlspace, Nightwing has an idea of what Yin is doing, and that the guy's qi is going to be completely messed up. Right now, that is a secondary concern, however. Righting the wrongness that led these people to this point is certainly a priority, but it will mean nothing if they do not find the source. The Chef.     "Cute," He says to Yin, his lips taking on a rueful smirk. "I guess we're putting out an APB on Gordon Ramsey..."     Nightwing looks back down to the caterer, and says, "If you need to eat soon, then tell us where we can find The Chef. That's all we want. We're going to find how he makes his food so delicious, and then we can feed you. But, you have to hurry, right? Otherwise you might starve."
Brooke Harris	The caterer cowers. " I just know we have to drop the van off and trade it for some takeout! There won't be anyone there! We won't find anything out until later. Please! Just let me go and get my dinner!" Yin nods. "I believe him. His thyroid and his intestines are a wreck, and his blood sugar is crashing. He would do anything for his next meal... whatever will we do with this guy?" She looks up at you. "This is the point where I phone the police, usually. I imagine the call gets bounced to a Bat."
Dick Grayson	The truth is, if he's crashing like that, Dick isn't certain of what to do. If it will be so quickly, the man could be critical at any moment.     "Okay, listen. Lenny... You're Lenny, right?" Nightwingsays, recalling the name of the caterer from the police records he had examined earlier while doing his cursory investigation of the van. "So Lenny, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay? You know that I'm one of the Bats. We don't let people die. Even the really bad ones. You're not really bad, so you don't have anything to worry about. I need you to believe that, Lenny. And I need you to tell me, right now, where you drop the van off. That's it. Even that can help."     In the palm of his hand, Nightwing is already using his encrypted mobile phone to get first responders out here to take care of these people. An anonymous tip, sent in over the net channels. The signal that it's a Bat Family call in.     He looks back to Yin, now, as he sends out the message, and speaks. "You can see his qi, and you clearly know how to manipulate vital points on the human body. Is there anything you can do to reverse this?"     A pause.     "Or at least slow it down?"
Brooke Harris	Yin nods. "I already am. I don't know how to stop this yet, but you can do a lot with adrenals and adipose. He'll be okay for now, but some sugars would help. The others will need a sugar drip and new intestinal flora at least." She massages a few pressure points. "They can figure more out in a hospital." The caterer tries to move his arm a bit, then frustratedly groans. "Phone in my pants pocket. It has a map pointer on it. That's where my dinner is. I'm just supposed to leave the van." Yin moves off of the awake caterer to do some acupressure on the unconscious one, then looks to you. "After you. I'm not sure how hungry I'm going to be right after this, but we'll see."
Dick Grayson	Dick nods his head. He had already included in his message for first responders to come prepared for extreme malnourishment, starvation and dehydration. He had figured early on, from her assessment of what was going on with their chi, that they were already starving, and just didn't realize it. It seemed the best course of action to take.     As Yin moves off of the guy to work on the next, Dick takes the phone from his pocket, and holds it in front of the guy's face to make it unlock. He opens up the map and makes a note of the location, wherever it may be.     "Yeah," Nightwing muses quietly, as he looks around the room that's now clearing of the smoke, slowly but surely. "Maybe eating isn't such a great idea. We could do drinks instead. Or maybe just a smoothie."     Rising back up to his full height, Nightwing holds up the phone to show her, and remarks, "I have the location for the trade. Police and EMTs are closing in fast. We should get out of here before they do. We get a lot of leeway here, but... We have to keep up appearances. Do you have a vehicle? I have a bike parked nearby. You can ride with me, if you want."
Brooke Harris	Yin tilts her head then gives a thumbs up, glancing at the piled up people again to make sure she isn't missing anything. "I took a bus here, so I'll take you up on that ride and save myself the run." She rises and starts moving alongside you to whichever exit you are headed to to get to the bike. "Usually I just throw on a different outfit and blend out, but I'm sure you are going to have some questions or paperwork or something for me anyways. No point putting it off."
Dick Grayson	Nightwing just heads out the back door, and leads her through the back parking lot, and into the alleyway that runs down the length of this city block, nestled in the shadows of high rise brick buildings. There, parked next to a dumpster, is a sleek, black and blue superbike. Totally custom, of course. Not like anything on the roads. As he approaches, it automagically starts up, the headlamps blazing a bright, halogen blue in a shape that looks like the winged domino mask on his face.     "I'm not going to try to give you any kind of interrogation. Don't worry," he reassures her, as he languidly stretches and lifts one leg up over the seat of the bike to straddle it. Reaching behind him, he pats the seat, indicating for her to climb on, before he leans forward and grasps the handlebars. "I would like to know more about who you are, and why you're here. You told me about the instructor seeming off, but that seems like it's just a tip of an iceberg. So color me curious."     He looks back over his shoulder at her, and offers up a small smile. "But I'm not like that Bat. I'd rather just have a friendly conversation. You've been good and played by our rules, and I appreciate that. No reason to treat you like a hostile invader."     Somehow, she can tell that under the blank white lense of his mask, he's winking as he adds, "Yet."
Brooke Harris	Yin nods again, since facial expressions get covered up by her face mask, and climbs on, holding onto the seat to make sure not to throw off your balance. "I like yours more than Arrow's." Just an aside comment. "Nothing too mysterious. Not every master lives in strange remote places. And a smoothie sounds good right about now. Shall we?"