Owner	Pose
Cheetah	The Fair Oaks hotel in NYC is a low-key, relatively inexpensive affair far from the downtown core. The Shriners hold conferences here on occasion and budget-conscious tourists to the Big Apple from the Mid-West appreciate the breakfast buffet. Dr. Barbara-Ann Minerva, once a world renown archaeologist -- now a little down at heel, sits at the teeny-tiny desk every hotel room of this caliber seems to boast. It is 10 o'clock at night and the little lamp on the desk is burning bright. Her room, number 314, is on the third floor. The only sound is the soft whisper of Dr. Minerva's pencil as it rubs across the notepad sitting on the desk in front of her. Her back is to the only window, which has a stunning view of the parking lot below.
Lyle Marston	La Raton normally never received requests to be met in person. In fact, most people he "helped" never even knew he helped them. Most of the time, they would have their stolen property show up in their homes days, or weeks after he had stolen it back from whoever wronged them. So, when Mole contacted him with a request to meet from one Dr. Minerva, Lyle was surprised to say the least. He was currently standing out in the unlit portion of the Fair Oaks parking lot, looking up at the window towards Minerva's room. Perched on his shoulder, as always, was Sir Percy. Lyle turned to Sir Percy, his smile wide as he said to him, Well Mon Ami, we are here. I do not wish to frighten the Mademosille, so, go rummage in the trash, i shall return." The raccoon seemed to chatter in protest for a minute, before finally climbing down and making his way towards a nearby dumpster. Lyle then grinned once again and appraoched the building and started to climb it with his suction cups. The window Minerva was standing behind would open quietly and lightly, letting in a cool, late Spring draft. A figure dressed up as a 18th century French Aristrocat quietly climbed through the window, his eyes being covered with a black domino mask, and his long brown hair, which was tied into a ponytail, was billowing in the breeze. Once he got in, he smiled slyly at the sitting form of Minerva, as if admiring her for a moment, before saying in a thick, French accent, "Mademosille Minerva I assume?" He then bows polietly, removing his hat as he does so.
Cheetah	From her perch at the desk, Minerva lets out a half-restrained shriek! She leaps to her feet, bumping her knee on the underside of the desk as she does so, and whirls around to see...French Zorro? Her reaction is a little over the top, though this is likely because one rarely encounters super-heroes in the field of archaeology. It's certainly not part of an elaborate front to disguise the fact that she has super-hearing and knew you were coming. Stop being paranoid. Clutching her notebook to her chest, the good Doctor mutters a naughty word (which sounds less offensive in her English accent), rubs her wounded knee, and peers curiously at La Raton. "Who in god's name are y--," she pauses for an instant, "Wait, are you..? I thought we were meeting tomorrow ni--" Dots get connected in short order: "Oh...of course. Never do the expected!" She adjusts her glasses and wrinkles her nose a little: how exciting this business is!
Lyle Marston	Lyle cringed slightly when Minerva banged her knee on the desk. He then took a step forward as he said, "My apologies Mademosille. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you ok?" He then grinned upon hearing the admittiedly beautiful woman's confusion, then realization. He then chuckles slighty as he says, "Oui Mademosille, I am La Raton. I am here to respond to your request for help. I would never turn down a cry from help from a woman, especially a Belle Femme like you."
Cheetah	"Ahem." Beneath her red tresses Minerva flushes a bright pink and pushes her glasses back up her nose. "Yes, well, thank-you for taking the time..." Her voice trails off to an awkward silence. Gathering herself, she moves over to the double-bed and disappears briefly behind it. When she returns to view, she is schlepping a small travel-on suitcase that has seen better days. The case snaps open and Minerva produces a brochure from the New York Museum of Antiquities -- one of the city's less prominent, but still respected, centers of culture. "This is what I need your help with." She hands it to La Raton. On the cover of the brochure is one butt-ugly idol about the size of bowling trophy. The caption describes an exhibit dedicated to the Cult of Urzkartaga. "That doesn't belong to them. The idol, I mean." Minerva puts her hands on her hips and waits for La Raton to skim the document.
Lyle Marston	Lyle takes the brocheur from Minerva and starts to scan it. So, this Museum had recently acquired a artifact. After a bit of scanning, Lyle places the document down gently and looks at Minerva and says, "So, you are claiming that this museum did a unsanctioned dig and stole this idol from the native population. Not that I am calling you a lier mademosille, but do you have proof?"
Cheetah	Minerva puts a hand behind her head, "Well...not hard proof, no." She frowns and takes a seat on the end of the bed facing Lyle. "I'm an archaeologist. Or...I used to be," Minerva frowns again and shakes her head a little, "Look, anyway, a few years ago I started doing work in B'wunda. Historically, that's where the Urzkartaga cult originally emerged. It's still a going concern in some bits of the remote countryside." Minerva leans forward as though she's getting to the interesting part. "The people there are very protective of their history. While I was there, I tried to make connections among the locals to, well, you know, grease the wheels a little." Barbara-Ann shrugs sheepishly is self-reproach, "It didn't work but I did make some lasting friendships. Anyway, as you know, the political situation in B'wunda is not ideal at the moment. The central government is not entirely in control and it's fertile ground for smugglers and black marketeers." She nods toward the brochure in Lyle's hands, "I came across that exhibit a few weeks ago and, frankly, I was shocked. I couldn't get so much as an old boot out of the country let alone something of /that/ caliber." She indicates the idol featured on the cover of the pamphlet. "Then, a few days ago, an old friend from the B'wundan Ministry of Culture reached out to me. He told me the National Museum had been looted but that the government there is trying to keep it a secret -- it shows how badly the situation has degraded." Barbara-Ann gets to her feet and comes close enough to La Raton to tap the brochure with her index finger, "Long story short: that idol belongs to the National Museum of B'wunda. We need to get it back." As her moment of triumphant entreaty fades, Minerva realizes she hasn't really answered La Raton's question, "But...I mean, as far as having paperwork or anything...no. I haven't any."
Lyle Marston	Lyle looked at Minerva without an expression on his face, occasionally nodding along as he stored the information Minerva was telling him in his brain. He then nods and says, "Very well mademosille, I will help you."
Cheetah	Minerva blinks. "You will?" Well. That was easier than she had expected. "Oh, that's wonderful! Wonderful!" She practically leaps in girlish delight and throws her arms around Le Raton's chivalrous shoulders. Then she realizes what she has done. "Oh, I mean. That wasn't...appropriate at all. Ahem." Barbara-Ann flushes a dark hue for the umpteenth time since La Raton crept through her window. "Yes. Splendid. Wonderful." She offers an awkward thumbs up and stares at her own feet. "Good, yes. I suppose..." she turns about to stare at the far wall, "...I should probably offer you tea or...something." Clearly, Minerva knows nothing about super-heroes. If you turn your back on them for more than five seconds they disappear mysteriously.
Lyle Marston	Lyle does not disappear immediatley. Instead, he walks up to her and grips her hand gently as he says, "Fear not mademosille, I will get this Idol back for B'Wanna. And for you." He then kisses her hand for about 10 seconds before slipping away from her, and back the window he came from. If she were to feel her back pocket however, she would realize that he had also left her a rose, how did he manage to do that without you feeling it?
Cheetah	Minerva watches Lyle go. Her vermilion lips start to open in a wolfish grin; however, her train of thought is momentarily interrupted by the sensation of something in her back pocket. She fishes it out: a rose? Oh, he's good. The predatory leer returns to her face as she raises the rose's petals to her nose. "Wonderful," she coos darkly. "Wonderful."