Owner	Pose
Jane Foster	Sunnyside Gardens Park. Queens. 7:15 PM Sunnyside is one of those neighbourhoods jam packed among other neighbourhoods in Queens, the great suburban borough sprawling ever eastward on Long Island. Sparrow's Nest is a chunk of parkland carved out among the highrises and the small businesses assembled cheek-by-shoulder with laundromats, cafes, and huge rail lines hidden behind graffiti strewn walls. It's not much to look at, but it sits at the heart of the community. Founded in 1926, Sunnyside is a members only park that supports families and residents of the area. Tennis courts, sports facilities, and a community garden are merely part of its offerings. Fiercely affectionate locals are gathered in tents illuminated by flashlights, the multicoloured mushrooms springing up around a stage. The many different orange and blue signs announce "Shakespeare in the Park: THE TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III" (much to Doom's sadness, it is not the Tragedy of /Richards/, but that has yet to be penned, surely). Shakespeare's searing drama chronicling the bloody rise and fall of the last English king to die on the battlefield is due to start in 15 minutes. Why does SHIELD care? Why is it on SHIELD's radar at all? It's almost a riot. On one side, a protest of "Make Queens Better" and "Sunnyside, Join the Future!!" waves their signs and chants. They're loud enough that no one would hear the Shakespearean actors anyway. They cluster around drums with open flames, not to keep themselves warm so much as to roast marshmallows. This is a mockery of the actual s'mores roast that goes on for the kids in the park itself, and the uneasy park-goers are caught in the middle. "Stop blocking the building of new apartments!" howls one angry protestor. "Just cause you got yours doesn't mean the rest of us don't need a place to live that's safe too!" It takes a *large* crowd to stop freight trains headed in and out of Long Island, and yet there they are. A march of the protesters stretches back for a good three blocks. They can't surround the dark, their destination. Strings of cars are snarled up along Northern Boulevard, Route 25A, that threads through the commercial parts of Queens. Amtrak has shut down the Sunnyside Yard, industrial lines knotted up. In reaction, angry residents throng from the Sunnyside Garden apartments, typical Queens brownstones, to rouse themselves with signs and noisemakers left over from the Fourth of July. Some have stereos and speakers, others carrying tattered guitars and shlubby drums. They sing protest songs of various kinds in several languages. All the while, Richard III waits to take the stage, and the directors argue over whether it's a wash.
Mary Jane Watson	Mary Jane was actually taking a bit of time off from training with SHIELD to perform for Shakespeare in the Park. Lady Anne is a bit of a step down from Lady Macbeth, but still it's a fun role on the tragic side of things. She does, however, look over at the protesters wanting their too-expensive condo developments with disdain. Having already voiced, loudly, her opinion that the show should, in fact, go on, she stands in her period costume, bodice laced uncomfortably tight on her dress while Sonja regales her with an internal monologue on how best to manage rioters. Still, with all that's happened the past few weeks with protests turning into alt-right riots complete with Nazis... MJ is keeping a wary eye on things. Not that this seems to be their MO, but better safe than sorry.
Mikhail Uriokovitch	Mik was here ostensibly to support his fellow agent by viewing the play, though the reports of rumblings played a significant role in why the former Soviet soldier was here watching Shakespeare, as his English literature background was... lacking to say the least. The older vocabulary used is really throwing Mik for a loop, and he misses most of the Bard's clever wordplay, but otherwise he seems to be mostly enjoying himself, though the protests occasionally drag his attention away from the stage.
Sam Wilson	"Sounds trivial, I guess, but nothing riles up New Yorkers like redevelopment," Sam Wilson is explaining to someone as an SUV disgorges a passel of SHIELD agents onto a sidewalk, as near as possible to the crowded standoff. He would prefer to be wearing casual clothes; hell, he would prefer to be taking the day off and enjoying MJ's performance. (He's not a huge theater guy, but Shakespeare in the Park is an institution, and a friend is a friend.) Instead, he's clearly marked as a SHIELD agent, per riot protocol: over his khakis and light blue oxford shirt, cuffed to mid-forearm, it's impossible to miss the black Kevlar vest with the white stylized eagle front and back. It might be handy to have the wing suit later, but he's leaving it in the car for now. No need to escalate things by going all Avenger on people. Instead, he mentally tags the various city birds nearby, clustered in trees, perched on awnings, and nesting in crannies of facades. Let me know if something freaky is a approaching, guys.
Jemma Simmons	It is an unusual day for one Jemma Simmons. She...is actually out of the lab. And not on the clock, as it were. It does help that certain actress insisted to come and touted that it would be a good break from the recent string of events that have plagued SHIELD, including Jemma, as of late. And yes, for a while, Jemma was feeling relaxed preparing to watch the performance.     But...then the protesters started. And Jemma is without her usual toys.     The glance is given to the protesters...and the rising tensions. It is apparent that something is about to give. A hand taps Daisy upon the shoulder, giving a nod to the protesters. "This doesn't look good. I know we are not supposed to be on today, but let us be cautious."     Because...even when off-duty, Jemma is always on.
Jane Foster	In theory, there is a play about to start. The performers await, with the local King Richard definitely looking haggard under his polyester and silk costume. It's hot even with the sun going down in the golden hour. Those floodlights aimed at the stage make his fake hump itch, his face sweat. The grotesque monster of the English court needs to take to the stage with a ringing endorsement, but the directors are still fighting over whether it's safe or smart to proceed. "Down with an unjust system!" shout protesting people coming from the north. Cars honk. New Yorkers don't like interruptions to traffic. "We need fair housing. And when do we need it?" A caged monster howls from a hundred voices: "Now!" So much for strumming kumbaya. Kids squeeze together under the sun shelters and nylon tents, goggling at their restless parents. There's no easy escape with protestors on the north and east streets, other locals crowding the narrow streets south and west. Some jostling occurs where the protestors meet the angry locals. Several of them wear yellow shirts with "Better Future Society: Queens" on them. It's those folks who enter the fight first. Pushing occurs, perfectly visible to MJ on the stage and those who stand over the sea of tents. The sounds grumble, darkening. Angry. Sparks to tinder-dry moods.
Daisy Johnson	Shakespeare in the park? Sounds like a great afternoon to take a mind off things for Daisy! So Daisy took in the invite to go and watch the play. Hands in her pockets, dressed in dark clothing (really, it's like the goth never left her) here she is... .. She was truly hoping for a good time, but then the protests started up, the hand on her shoulder making her nod back to Jemms "We are never off-duty at SHIELD, are we?" as if mirroring the good doctor's mind. With the tension turning to fighting means it's time to do something. "Let's go." says the impetuous one, just about to start approaching the confusion.
Mary Jane Watson	Mary Jane sees the fight beginning, and goes quickly towards her dressing area, grabbing the ancient sword from her duffel and drawing it out. Then, she ascends to the stage, taking advantage of the microphones installed on the floor of the stage to shout, "ENOUGH!" Her voice /resounds/ through the speakers, breaking through the violence, if only for a moment, as she continues, "Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corpse!" While it isn't traditional to start on Scene /2/ of Richard III, 'Lady Anne' is willing to seize the initiative, as it were, holding the gleaming sword up high as a silent challenge. Perhaps stating that you might riot... But only AFTER the performers have finished! With that, she stares at the rest of the cast, a silent challenge, awaiting answer.
Sam Wilson	Raising his voice the best he can over the din, Sam shouts to the protestors who are buffeting him from both sides, "People! If you want to beat the crap out of each other, that's what the City Council meeting is for!" It's a pretty pale follow-up to Mary Jane's lead-in soliloquy, and it certainly doesn't have voice amplification or iambic pentameter working in its favor, but at least if he can make a few people laugh, they'll be distracted from the mess they're currently on course to start.
Jemma Simmons	"No, I suppose we are not, are we, Daisy?"     That does rouse Jemma to stand up straighter, those brown eyes looking over the crowd to see what the two of them could do. Granted, Daisy has an advantage, considering...but Jemma is there without anything but her wits. Which...might be enough.     At least, until Mary Jane takes the stage, wielding that sword like it was a part of her. That...might be enough to take the attention away from the brewing aggression. Maybe....
Daisy Johnson	Catching sight of Falcon not too far there's a bit of a relief. Someone actually ON-DUTY. Perhaps this will turn for the better.., A brief hesitation comes to Daisy as well, perhaps considering how best to act. Sure, earthquakes, vibrations.., she could knock things around, but that might just rouse people further to anger.. And then MJ starts her performance, a look given up to her, then the other performers who are still back there not coming up. Maybe an idea brewing...? "So, how good is your Richard the III, Jemms? Maybe you should take the stage. The other performers are panicky.." she tells her friend in a low tone. A wink. "I can help making sure your voices really carry over." yay, a non-destructive application of her vibration powers!
Mikhail Uriokovitch	Mikhail looks up as the play starts, not aware that this isn't the classic "Now is the Winter of our discontent made glorious summer, by this Sun of York." He sees Daisy and Jemma and moved closer in time to barely hear the "on-duty" bit and sighs, "Da. Always on duty." The Russian looks over to see Sam and the crowd and shakes his head, "Is there problem I can help with?" He grumbles and is at least happy it is not being dealt with as it had been back home.
Jane Foster	"Richard" hangs back as the clock ticks down. Before Anne-MJ is even three lines in, he's moving. Most of the performers are local to Sunnyside. They grew up in the area, in the old brownstones and brick apartments full of tough, local pride. Safety in numbers sees them clumping together, most certainly not pouring out towards the fences or the stage. Nope, backstage looks great. Richard leads the way to lurk under a soft-sided tent typically used for weddings, a flimsy protection. MJ stands alone, then, addressing a preoccupied audience. It's a diverse set in the crowd and the cast: Latino, Black, Middle Eastern, and Asian faces. The smattering of discontent seethes in Korean, Punjabi, Spanish, Arabic, Vietnamese. One South Asian woman, plump and short, hair glossy black, bursts out from her family's tent and storms towards the simple metal fence hemming in the sides. "Go away! What's wrong with you?" Tents tumble down, some collapsed deliberately to pack up, some squashed by moving folks. The yellow-shirt protestors jab fingers and gesture widely to the rail lines hidden behind the wall. "We got nowhere to go! They want just a bit of the park for us to have a home. You got yours, what are *we* supposed to do?" Another local snarls, "Cause it's a park, dipshit, and we ain't gonna let some moneybags developer make a tower 'cause Williamsburg ain't hip enough." The first bottle smashes into the ground next to them. One, two, three. Hurled objects follow. In the heaving stir, the short Bangladeshi woman disappears in the throng. It's a hot long summer and it takes little to start a fight. MJ's appeal is heard in some quarters, but not most.
Mary Jane Watson	Mary Jane shouts, "Okay, that is IT!" She immediately leaps towards the fight, her sword guaranteeing her some distance as she fights her way through the crowd. Anyone thinking she's easy prey is going to find out that she is /way/ stronger than she appears as she fights her way through towards where the woman disappeared into the crowd, "ARE YOU ALL INSANE?!?" Considering that the woman brandishing (but thankfully not swinging) the sword is yelling about other people being insane... that's saying something.
Sam Wilson	Sam ducks as a bottle whizzes past his head, looking seriously annoyed. He's right in the middle of the street brawl, but no one's targeting him specifically -- so far, at least -- and hey, it's not a horde of AIM goons with radiation guns or HYDRA shock troops with paralysis rods. He can ride this out. What he's more concerned about are the families trying to get clear of the area before the scuffle turns into a full-on riot. Lowering his center of mass, he plows forward through what gaps he can find, lifting his arms to shelter a Korean couple with a preteen daughter who are obviously just looking for a safe path of retreat. "C'mon," he says, dragging his head to the side to indicate the direction he thinks they might be able to move. "I'll stay between you and them."
Jemma Simmons	Well...that's an idea. As Daisy mentions being able to amplify voices, Jemma's mind clicks on it, causing her to turn to Daisy. "Can you suppress the louder instigators? I mean, their voices. Can you mute them as easily as you could amplify our voices?" After all...it might be a way to get some saner heads to hear.     The concept of Jemma actually performing in front of an angry audience is not even entertained. Instead, she shifts her attention to see what she could do right now. And...it might be that a distraction could be in order.     Like...say...a microphone feedback loop to disperse the crowd.     And...that seems as good as any idea. Jemma starts to head to the stage, keeping a careful eye out for any potential issues on her way up.
Daisy Johnson	"Tricky, specially without my gloves." Which could imply serious injury if she overstrains herself too much, yet Daisy seems ready to follow the suggestion of her friend. Honestly, it beats her idea of creating a mild earthquake. "Heya, Mik. We need to disperse this crowd." She looks Jemma start moving to the stage. "Think she's got an idea, can you help us make a way through?" she asks of the big russian, a strained smile given to him. And then she begins focusing, closing her eyes, feeling that unrest growing on the crowd, a moving thing, palpable. She focuses on those vibrations, the angry ones, the shouts, attempting to snuff them out, to buy them some time. If Jemms -does- go for the feedback loop she will be sure to really hype up those vibrations though!
Mikhail Uriokovitch	Mik looks over at the crowd and at Mary Jane brandishing a sword and then turns back to Daisy and nods, "Da. I can clear way." He sighs, as he is not in his SHIELD attire, instead in jeans and a t-shirt, but he is alrge enough to at least be a fullback and clears the way for Daisy and company.
Sam Wilson	Sam escorts the Korean trio out of the area where the conflict is thickest, taking only a couple of shoves and a flailing elbow to the back as he does so. No worse than a rock concert, really, although iambs are a little slow to dance to. Unfortunately, as soon as those people are safe, he notices a nearby tent that has been knocked over, whose South Asian owners seem to be locked in an agitated confrontation. He approaches at a jog, staying low in case any more bottles go flying, and calls out: "Excuse me -- can I help?" They appear to be a family, and he's mostly addressing whoever looks like the matriarch and patriarch. Still, he doesn't recognize the language they're using, so he's conscious that there might be a language barrier, and loops a younger daughter in a hijab into the conversation as well.
Jane Foster	Patches of hope flower in the violence swelling on the fringes. A corridor opens up around the stage in MJ's wake, the flash of the sword bigger than the makeshift weapons or bare fists being used on the eastern side of the park. Add the fact Mikhail is bigger and scarier, it cuts open a wider route that says open. . In that space, Jemma can make her way to the stage more easily after picking around the tents. When she gets up there, what happens is another matter, but she has the stage to herself. Lady Anne's full sword-wielding performance gets a pause from the nearest brawlers. The nearest audience members take that opportunity to bolt, even if a few teenagers look ready to enter the fray or huck a water bottle themselves. Disorder clots as the seized opportunities allow flat out flight, pouring towards Sam and the safety that his direction represents. Those on the southwest side of the park have the easiest time getting out, jumping the fence or going out a pinch point at the gate. It's all to the east where the deepest trouble lies, shouts being exchanged and even the drivers stuck trying to get onto the bridge spanning the railway shouting at people to stop. It has only limited effect on the angriest of them,
Jane Foster	But at least it's something. The patriarch and matriarch of that little tent are stuck there with a young woman and a lot of plates on blankets. A humble meal interrupted. The daughter rattles off something and shrinks back, her father about 60ish. "We can't go. Aaminah has not come back yet. Such a /willful/ girl." He frowns, nodding his balding head to the mix. "She ran off," sighs her sister.
Sam Wilson	Sam grimaces at the news, but nods. "Okay, I'll look for her. You folks pack up your stuff and I'll have her back as soon as I can. Which way?" Whichever direction the family indicates, he's going to rush off that way, hopping up above the level of the crowd whenever possible to look for a shorter girl, almost certainly in a hijab. While he's at it, he might as well call in a lifeline: Hey! Pigeons! Anybody seen a girl with her head wrapped in cloth? There's some nice unpopped popcorn in it for ya! Anyway, it might not be the most dramatic rescue he's ever performed, but if he can keep this girl safe and get her family out of the line of fire (or at least away from the line of scrimmage), he'll consider it a day well spent.
Jemma Simmons	Using the tents as her blockage to the stage seems to work rather well. It is only a matter of moments before the brunette is seen pulling herself up onto the stage. A microphone stand is reached, as Jemma peers out along the fence line, just beyond the stage.     What...is that? Jemma's eyes grow wide as her mind screams out to her exactly what she is seeing. A short girl, being dragged away from the crowd....but...by what? An unseen force? The events of the past few days snap into place...the reports Jemma has seen. The assessment is immediate. The shorter woman, the unseen assailant. It all fits.     And that is when Jemma springs into action. The microphone stand is tossed to the side. Maybe it will get to a speaker..maybe not, but the clutter itself is heard while Jemma points to the fence line. "Sam! Daisy! The fence!!"     But...not much more comes out of Jemma, even if they could hear her. She is already leaping off the stage, making a bee-line for the flailing female.
Mikhail Uriokovitch	Mikhail has taken point on this, having cleared a way to the stage for Jemma and Daisy. As he scans the field he sees someone clinging to the fence, he turns to Jemma and Daisy, "I am going to go help her," he points and begins making his way across the way to the fence. When Mik gets close he says as calmly as possible, "Be careful, I am here to help. Where do you need to go?" His accent is heavy, but understandable. Mik tries to at least help clear some room for her by looming and trying to discourage others from crowding the fence around her.
Daisy Johnson	Daisy was making a way up to the stage as well after her attempt to harness those vibrations from the crowd in an attempt to calm things down. Yet then that call comes from Jemms. The urgency. It makes Daisy react as well, fast, eyes immediately out to the fence. "On it!" she answers. A moment to take note on where they are converging through and then she is literally off the ground, tossing herself up in the air with the use of her vibrations as she flies over to the spot, vibrational powers making her able to shortcut through, even if she does grit her teeth at the growing tension on her wrists.
Jane Foster	They're swimming against the tide, since the fallen woman on the ground is wreathed on all sides by the churning masses of humanity still fighting. Fists hit stomachs, backs, chests. Shoves lead to stumbles. A human mass of violence sprouts hydra heads; whenever one person flees or ducks for protection behind cars and in the street, another comes up. She isn't easily seen then, screened by too many bodies, but even standing, the woman wouldn't be tall. Daisy would see her from above, thrashing, her hands grabbing the chain link fence and then the ground. Bunches of grass are torn free, her body arching in a rictus of pain. Her hijab, a beautiful eggshell blue, flutters with the motion dragging her back. Others nearby are too consumed by their own anger to stop. The others are coming close, Mik fighting his way through, the rush of motion giving a break to the motion. For a moment she gasps in a breath, face gray, eyes bulging: "Stop him! Stop it!" she wheezes in a scream.
Sam Wilson	Pigeons -- so judgey! But at least you can rely on them to be inveterate gossips. A quick mental update from the park birds already has Sam moving at an angle, toward the fence that borders the park. This gives him a slight lead on Daisy, flight or not, when he hears Jemma's shouted warning. The tenor of her voice hits him hard: this isn't just a wayward girl. He pours on every ounce of speed his athletic body can, and is glad he did as he spots the girl, struggling with an invisible assailant. He remembers this from the Met, and he'll be damned if he stands aside and watches it happen again. Somehow finding an untapped reserve, he sprints even faster and essentially tackles the girl, snatching her up in his arms without slowing, hoping he can drag her away from this damn racist soul-sucking ghost before it bleeds the years away from her. He's not going to bother turning to fight -- he can hear Daisy coming in like an avenging wingman. He's just going to MOVE. Only once he's a great distance away and/or hears the specter engaged with his allies will he stop to give the girl any medical attention she might need.
Jemma Simmons	As the 4 agents converge....Jemma is the last to get there. Getting to the stage was easier than getting away from it, it would seem. Still, get there she does, alert and trembling. Just once...just once she would like to save someone before she finds them bereft of life.     Just once.     The quick actions of Sam seems to be the saving grace of the Bangladeshi girl within his arms. Which leaves Jemma scanning the area for something...anything....that can tell her what *exactly* they are dealing with....
Mikhail Uriokovitch	Mikhail scowls as he sees the situation. Fortunately, Sam jumps to her rescue and perhaps to get the ghost's attention he lets forth a primal roar, still in his human form so it lacks the volume and depth that it normally has, but still terrifying to a degree. "We need priest, I think," he notes, not being religious himself, just at times like this you go for everything. "Ghost, begone!" he again bellows and swipes at an area that he takes a guess as to where the ghost is/was, hopefully to get his attention.
Daisy Johnson	Avenging wingman indeed. Daisy makes her way through the air and lands near the others, one hand placed on the ground as she sends a small taste of a localized earthquake in the area, away from the agents and the girl and towards the fighting people nearby. A very low one, just enough to make things tremble a little. "Enough." she says in a voice that carries. Not that she will wait for people to obey, instead her eyes going to the area, also searching for anything she can detect, be it a vibration through the air or ..., something. Admittedly, she isn't the best at ghost hunting. "Do you guys see anything?" she asks, brows furrowing.
Jane Foster	Aaminah is sprawled out on the ground and gasping for air, the colour barely returning to her cheeks. Not a lot of blood to spare there, but she isn't jerkily convulsing after the first few attempts to claw Sam off her. It takes her time to get through the raw panic of her fight reaction. She may be small and hurt, but she is feisty as a cornered raccoon facing down a big dog. Mik storming his way in leaves him subject to cold, the cold of the Arctic rolling over his skin and leaving the hair on his forearms and the back of his neck standing taller than soldiers in front of Mr. Putin. Or Nick Fury. Maybe some growling and shaking of arms is the trick, but it's a convulsive feeling of oily sickness that melts away. Several protesters wheel on him, considering... and go raging off into the ragtag group being dealt a mortal blow by some flashy blue and red lights in the distance. Sure, no police car is getting in. But NYPD *bike patrol* might! Aw yeah, Trek-branded wheelie bandits. The earth shaking is enough to do the last of the fighters in, leaving them shouting and milling around. The Yellow Shirts and the Sunnyside residents mostly withdraw to collect their wounds, as someone authoritatively hisses, "Run away!" No, Shakespeare never endorsed that, but Monty Python did. Bravely running away. There's nothing to see in the invisible gloom, only to feel. Only that sick oil stain of corruption that seems to flow through their bodies if they get too close to the fence, the smudgy semblance of feeling nauseous and tired for a remaining minute or so. Sam and Mik have the brunt of it. But they do have someone who saw "him" and lived.
Jemma Simmons	There is no need to get closer. The urgent need to save *someone* has been fulfilled. Still, Jemma turns to stare at the empty space by the fence, the expression stern. There is a slow shake of the head...as Jemma speaks to no one, yet the words are heard.     "No. Not too late for this one. We are aware. This...will end soon enough."     The words are quiet, but steel is within them. With that, Jemma turns away, back to the Bangladeshi girl in Sam's arms. For it is true. Now SHIELD has someone who had seen the spectre and lived. And soon, they will learn more of their opponent. Which will lead to 'his' downfall.     It is only a matter of time.
Daisy Johnson	Good. With all the people scattering means her attention can be fully on the agents and the girl that was saved. That advancing stain of corruption makes Daisy set her jaw tight, a shudder running through her body. But she by now knows it's no good shooting her vibrations through the air towards ghosts. "Good job, everyone." She eventually says once that feeling starts to dissipate, again that faint hopeful smile coming up to Daisy's expression. She reaches up, placing a hand on Jemma's shoulder and saying to her. "Time to go back and start working on this." As they had said in the beginning of the Shakespearean play, there was no being off-duty where SHIELD was concerned. And there was a monster to hunt.
Mikhail Uriokovitch	That cold. Mikhail is used to the cold, but that. That is a cold foreign to him, far worse than any Arctic blast. He shakes his head and takes a few breaths and steps away from the fence, "Stay away from that," he says pointing to it. The dispersal of the crowd causes him to notice the police arriving, but he nods to Daisy and Jemma, "Da. We had best go. Maybe we have new information?"