Goodnight doesn't slow her breakneck pace until she's almost to the suite of rooms at Nacht. She crashes to a graceful halt, makes sure her hair and clothing is all set in place and that her collar, blade, and the writing on her coat are clearly visible, then swaggers into the room with a cocksure half-smile. She looks for Victoria, then at Isaint and Solo, and finally at the apparition before them.*
She does not appear impressed.
Her own masking is hardly complete, but it mutes the edges of Goodnight's blazing power normally. Now she drops it and lets Macha, The Raven's Gift show through completely. There's no threat in the display of power; her foci remain dormant and her spirits uncalled, but it is clear to any and all that she is not going to take anybody's drek, not today. She tilts her head slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose on cue to reveal fushia eyes filled with a mixture of appreciation, irritation, and curiosity, and stands with a hip cocked and a knee slightly bent, setting off her slender legs against the swirling form of her coat and the angles of her weapons before she lets her lips curl up into a slow smile.
"I see you've met the country cousin." Goodnight tells the druid with a jerk of her head at Isaint and his still-cooling glove. "Don't mind him. Sometimes, down here, what you need is a dog, and he's as good as a mastiff." The tip of her tongue teases one lip. "And he's considerably easier to feed." Her eyes flick to Solo, then back at the druid. "As for the other, you'll have to forgive him. He has this thing about being all business, like he's in a boardroom rather than a battlefield. More clerk than Cúchulainn, I'm afraid."
Goodnight shrugs one shoulder as if to apologize for slumming with the company she does, timing it with a sway of her hips and a heavy breath to cause all the various lines of her body to stand out for a moment as she advances into the room. Crossing to the bar and turning, she leans against the old wood and brass and drapes her arms out to either side. "So, Oak-Knower," she begins, using the translation for the Celtic word for druid, "you've made an offer, you've made a threat, and you've made a joke. So why don't we speak like civilized people and you can tell us why you actually expect these fine gentlemen to entertain your offer. You'll need this team's goodwill to take him, after all, and words are both cheaper and easier on the real estate than another squad of spirits." She pushes her glasses back up with one finger and adds, "And perhaps why you need his family as well? The Doctor is valuable, yes, and perhaps his wife as well, but I thought that the New Order got out of the virgin-sacrificing bit a long time ago."
Behind her purple shades, she's typing again, just a fast message to Solo and Isaint. <<Sorry about the casual insults, but its easier to talk if he thinks I'm a fringe element rather than a part of your team.>>