Roland had spent the night previous searching the Internet as if he were a young mutant looking for a home or work. He had found many sympathetic ears in chat and had heard of two distinct common names, the Mansion and the Sanctuary. The school had a website, though a choppy one. Since it seemed to be a legitimate school, he would have to dream up a legitimate reason to go there. The Sanctuary seemed to be less restrictive.

He picked up some stationery and pens from an office supply company and picked up a fake PRESS ID with his imaginary paper, The New Jersey Observer, emblazoned on it. IDs were all the rage lately due to identity theft. Roland still used many of his old contacts using the names of still other ones to fool them into believing he knew them. His stories were rarely sketchy, though his manner usually always was.

He considered at first just walking up but considered his story of coming from New Jersey, so he pulled up outside the Sanctuary in a newly stolen Yugo. Nice and compact. Poor looking. He walked up to the golden doors, chuckling a bit considering they were so out of place for a shelter. He didn't see any kind of buzzer or intercom, so he knocked. He put his fake glasses on to accentuate the disguise of khaki slacks and an old blazer over a wrinkled white button up.

It was just a lazy day around the Sanctuary. At least it was for Isabel. Nothing of pressing importance to be done, no place that she needed to be, no one to report to, and she just didn't feel like going out and spending her time terrorizing the streets of New York on this particular day. She wasn't even in the mood to relax in her room and just read or paint on the walls a bit. And so she'd settled for wandering around the Sanctuary a bit, exploring any new additions and repairs that had been made to the marvelous structure after the Camp Raid. The Cathedral was especially interesting. She'd already spent a few hours in that particular edition, simply soaking in its intricate atmosphere. She'd left that enclosure a while back and was making another loop past the large golden doors when a few knocks echoed through the corridor, effectively making her pause in her wandering, her attention drawn toward the entrance, a questioning look on her face. She always wondered how such a large door could produce such a loud sound from something as simple as a fist rapped against its exterior. However, she wondered more at the people who actually paused at those doors to knock. Most people simply pulled them back and strolled right in, some of them looking as if they owned the place, others a little more timid, but they'd entered on their own none the less. She turned a look toward Lisa, the young secretary giving her a dismissive go ahead to answer the door if she so pleased. Poor Lisa. She seemed to be so very busy recently, especially with the sudden influx of new mutants that flocked here, most of which had already joined the Order. The organization was hidden to outsiders, but Lisa of course knew about it. And their recent plotting of unveiling themselves had no doubt put more work in her lap.

Easily falling back in motion, she altered her route and headed toward the famous golden doors, wanting to see exactly who it was that had knocked at her home. Taking a hold on the handle, she pulled the large door open, using less effort than one would think it would take to pull back such a thing. She let it swing back a few feet, allowing for plenty of room on either side of her. Perhaps they should leave one of the doors open more often, even just a little bit. It might help to convey the message that they didn't mind people walking in unannounced. Releasing the door handle, she stood smack in the middle of the created entrance, crossing her arms and looking the stranger up and down, from head to foot and back again, one eyebrow raised in contemplation. Khakis, button up shirt, glasses. The guy didn't look like anything special to her. Quite plain and ordinary, really. In her mind, plain and ordinary tended to be quickly labeled as boring. She didn't much care for boring. She liked to be entertained. Briefly she weighed her options. She could always just walk off and leave this creature for Lisa to deal with. It would have been more fun if some kind of obvious mutant was at the door. Of course she couldn't tell if this man was a mutant or not simply from observation. She hoped for his sake that he did have an active X-gene. She had little patience for homo sapiens. Pulling out of her brief thoughts, she looked to the man's face again, her expression mirroring her thoughts of boredom. "Can I help you with something, Sir? Looking for a place to stay, or are you here for different reasons?"

Roland waited for a few moments after the small knock had seemed to create quite the reverberation. The doors did open though and if he hadn't bee a practiced criminal with icy nerves he may have turned and ran for his life. The clothing of the young lady in front of him was whimsical and almost seemed like a costume for this day and age. The bow in her hair and that sickly sweet face. Anyone with any knowledge of the criminal world or dangerous mutants knew who this was. The NYPD certainly did, as she was on their big list for killing many of their boys in blue. He was standing mere feet from Isabel Duskmoor. Time to play pretend.

He extended his hand. " Good day, miss. My name is Charles Fairweather. I am from the New Jersey Observer, an up and coming newspaper. I was sent by my editor to get a story about the Sanctuary and possibly get some interviews. Would you like to give me one?" He attempted his most believable worried look, one that never passed his features normally. He looked behind her in an inquisitive fashion, seeing an administrative assistant at the desk. He smiled at her briefly before returning his eyes to the mutant murderess.

So, a reporter was it? Isabel was less than impressed with his claims. Lazily she uncrossed one arm to take the hand offered her in a casual greeting. "Nice to meet you, Mister Fairweather. The Sanctuary is always happy to welcome anyone in, even those not looking to stay," she lied, though nothing but false honesty was to be heard in her tone, a smile lighting her features as she played her part. In all real honesty, she hated reporters. She'd seen far more than enough of them for her life time. Newspapers reporters, magazine article authors, photographers, journalists. They'd all swarmed around her big Trial a while back and it had taken what felt like forever for them to finally leave her and the Sanctuary alone once the trial was finally over. And she had hated every minute of it. Swamped by all those horrendously annoying, pestering people and unable to do much of anything about it. She certainly hadn't been allowed to play with any of them. She couldn't afford to do so. She'd gotten out of a murder trial with an innocent verdict, and to turn around and kill more people mere days after would have put her in much more hot water. Well, killing people in plain sight, anyways. Syn had gone through the trouble of helping her out at her trial, and she knew Abyss would have lent his services as well if they had been required. To cause trouble so close to home when people could spread it all over the news at a moments notice would have wasted that offered help and given the members of her Order family nothing but a great big headache. Besides, she knew that Syn wanted the Order to be exposed on her own terms. It wasn't Isabel's place to go and ruin those plans of her dark friend.

This particular reporter wouldn't gain any sympathy from her, either. However, she could always play the part of a perfectly proper young lady. It was more interesting that circling around the Sanctuary anyways. And toying with people was always such fun. "Well, come in if you'd like," she said, turning back toward the large building's interior, signaling for him to follow. There was a small area in the foyer designated for relaxing in, a few plush chairs set around a couple of small scattered tables where inhabitants of the Sanctuary could relax a little, or potential residents could set themselves aside to fill out the required forms. Isabel headed over to this small area and plopped down in one of the chairs, looking for all the world as if she owned the place. "I suppose I can give you an interview if you'd like," she said, looking up to the reporter as she addressed him. " However, there is something I'm curious about, Mister Fairweather. The Sanctuary has been open for well over a year by now," she continued, making a small motion with her hand as if directing him to the luxurious building's interior. "Why choose now to write an article about it? Surely we've done nothing to draw the public's attention during any recent time. What exactly is it that you're looking for?" An up and coming newspaper he had said. Why start off a newspaper with old news? Maybe it was really an old paper with little number of people who purchased it and they were fishing around for something to re-spark their readers' interest. She couldn't be sure, since she'd never heard of it before now. Either way she didn't particularly like it. But, if she found anything too incriminating about this reporter, she could always dispatch him if she so pleased. And if he turned out to be a mutant that she had trouble dealing with, she took comfort in the fact that all of the Order members were on speed dial on the phone she carried in her pocket.

She seemed welcoming enough, though Roland knew better than to turn his back on her. Not that his front was any safer. He had decided not to bring any type of weapon, as it didn't fit the disguise nor would it do well for him to be picked up on any kind of metal detector. With Isabel's record, he probably would come out healthier not showing any aggression. It was always hard to tell with sociopaths.

He walked into the foyer, also ridiculously lavish for a homeless shelter, linking eyes with the young lady behind the reception desk. He smiled and nodded in a sickeningly friendly way. He took a seat across from Isabel, taking his pen and pad out and crossing his leg over his knee. He reached over and turned a lamp on nearby for light so he could make proper fake notes. Isabel had a very good question about the nature of his interview. She mentioned that the Sanctuary had been open for around a year.
One fact down. How many more?

" Well, miss, the Observer has been delving into a series recently about the growing visible mutant population since the Registration Camps were disbanded after the historic repeal of the Registration Act. Considering the Sanctuary has a growing reputation for harboring many of these newly emancipated mutants, the Observer saw it as a great possibility for a 'jumping off' point for our series. By the way, what is your name, Miss?" The line was out in the water, the bait set. Now to wait for bites. Hopefully not any kind that would draw Roland's blood.

Isabel lazed idly, watching the older man as her crossed the Foyer and took a seat across from her, settling himself in and preparing for his little interview. She'd noticed the rather Lisa-esque smile he'd flashed the woman that expression was named for. Sincere or not, if he was attempting a Receptionist's smile, it fell terribly short in comparison to the mother of the Lisa-esque smile so jam packed with epic, and rather scary, amounts of cheeriness. That made it the second time he'd smiled so pleasantly at the Sanctuary's main secretary. It was a nice gesture, sure, but if Isabel had to put a name to it, she'd call it sucking up. Making nice with the Sanctuary's main file holder. It was a smart move, she supposed. Much better to be polite when entering such a place and asking for something like an interview. Particularly a place crawling with potentially dangerous mutants, some of which being very protective of their lovely home and those housed within it. Though possessing common sense or not, she still didn't trust this man. And she didn't like not knowing if he were a mutant or a human. A mutant with an unknown power can be a dangerous thing. There's no telling what they could do. A human was by far nothing more than a plaything that she could toss away at will. However, despite her curiosity, she'd refrain from asking. The man was here for a newspaper article, not a residency form. And he was still a reporter. Repressing a sigh, she reminded herself to behave. It would do no good to get blood all over the furniture without just cause, no matter how much she disliked those involved in the news.

Casually she drew her gaze up away from his notepad as he pulled it out, and turned her attention back to his face as he spoke, listening and taking in the answer he provided for her previous question. "How interesting," she replied, fibbing yet again to the man as she held her good hostess act, blinking at him with appropriately curious eyes. "There does seem to be an influx of mutants openly walking around now, doesn't there? It's nice to see. People really do need to be more understanding and accepting of them. It's easier to get along than some people would think," she continued, a small smile brightening her features despite the mental gag that resulted from saying such words. Personally, she couldn't care less about a peaceful coexistence. Humans had tried for far too long to keep the mutants in their place. It was their turn to be the ones cowering beneath a power far greater than their own. However, saying such a thing to this man was simply out of the question, regardless of how much she hated speaking in such a way. "However," she spoke again, hardly missing a beat in her little speech, "I still fail to see why your paper would want to cover old news. It's no secret that the Sanctuary is open to both humans and mutants. It always has been. The Registration Act didn't change that, it just brought in a new wave of publicity for a short while." One eyebrow raised slightly as she hit a pause, as if asking for a better explanation than the man had offered. It still just didn't make much sense to her. Either there really was nothing to report on in New Jersey, or news traveled far more slowly than she'd ever imagined. Plus the fact that she was a stubborn little brat. She felt no guilt over antagonizing the man a little. "Ah, and my name's Isabel," she concluded, as if just remembering Mister Fairweather's last question.

Roland continued his note taking,ensuring that they were both legible and believable should anyone take them. He had to tread lightly here. Coming to the Sanctuary was a bold move, but one he had to do right away. He knew there were other organizations to peruse as well, but best to see what the foxes were up to prior to visiting the hen house. He listened to her talk about the mutant population and continued to wear the boring smile of his illusion. He wondered if she was actually deciding on where to skewer him first.

Isabel seemed to continue to hover over the motive and intent of his interview. He had believed it was a fair enough excuse to get his foot in the door. He knew that if he could avoid the pressure tactics of INTERPOL, he could certainly sidestep this young lady." I believe it to be a valid topic. Especially with the ways that humans and mutants are interacting these days. To have a facility that houses them together is really a social experiment that has not been attempted before. While the initial fanfare and reaction is understandable, it seems very relevant to myself and the Observer to follow up the progress of such an experiment."

He decided to fire a few servos of his own." this brings me to some questions. Is the government involved in regulation of this place? Most shelters, even the ones that are wholly supported by donation, are still monitored by the Government. Do you have a rehabilitative program that seeks to help these people, regardless of their genetic background, to become independent and leave the Sanctuary? Also, who provides the funding here? Somewhere along the line, the taxpayers, human and mutant alike, will have to share the burden, so it is best to find who indeed they are supporting."

He put his fake smile back on, his pencil floating over the paper in wait for her answers.

Isabel listened patiently as the reporter stuck stubbornly to his reasons for wanting an interview. She simply gave a little shrug of her shoulders as he concluded his explanation. Alright, she'd buy it for now. She supposed it was a valid enough excuse, even if it didn't really make a lot of sense in her mind. Ah well, let those from New Jersey do as they like. She didn't think an article in one of their papers could do too much damage. "An experiment, huh?" she repeated, never really having thought of it in such a way. She knew that hadn't been Mister King's original purpose for the Sanctuary. The Order was proof enough of that. Plus, Mister King never did seem like one to worry much over the humans, other than to use them as a cover for his hidden motives. "I suppose it could be looked at as such, yes," she continued, giving a small nod of her head. "It's really not all that dangerous having the two groups mixed around here. We're kind of a neutral zone, if you wish to call it as such. We all do our part to make sure there's no fights breaking out within the Sanctuary. It's very peaceful around here for the most part. Aside from incidents like the Raid that destroyed a good amount of this building a little while back." She had to repress a small shiver with her last statement, making sure to keep her expression and her body steady. She still didn't like to think of the Raid and the Stalkers that had invaded during it. She hated the very thought of any kind of threat posed against the members of her little family. She'd gotten over it for the most part, her short time spent playing with the Camp guards helping the healing process, though it didn't mean she liked thinking or speaking about it. If there was one thing she hated more than humans, it was the Stalkers.

With the stranger's next batch of questioning, Isabel was suddenly under the impression that she was being investigated, rather than interviewed. The government, funding, taxpayers. It was both terribly boring, and also somewhat worrisome. She didn't really know everything about the Sanctuary itself. She left that to those that ran the building. She was much more concerned with the Order, rather than the specifics of the place in which they were housed. And while this man's interest in such matters could have been normal by a reporters standards, it did nothing to ease her distrust with him, a bit of that apprehension unable to be kept from being hinted at in her expression. Briefly she contemplated calling on Syn or Abyss to either take over or assist her with these questions, though the stubborn part of her wouldn't hear it. She could take out half of a police force, but couldn't handle a few questions? Rubbish. "As far as I know, the law enforcers tend to keep an eye on the place. They don't trust us very much ever since that incident with I think three individuals the day before the Sanctuary's official opening. Mutants tend to make people uneasy," she replied, hoping the answers she could give would be satisfactory enough. "I don't think the government really has any huge say in in what we do, though they were the ones that raided this place and shut us down for a while." Casually she shifted her position in her seat, settling her back down into one of the corners and draping her legs over the opposite arm. She would probably be here for a while, and she wanted to be comfortable. "As for rehabilitation, we aren't exactly pushing people to walk out the door an never come back. Many of the residence are self reliant enough to care for themselves, we simply provide them with a place to stay. If they choose to leave, they may do so, if not they are still perfectly welcome here. And as for funding, we have several people providing the Sanctuary with money. The one who contributes most is probably Mister King, the man who opened the Sanctuary. We have a few others, but I've lost track of their names."

Roland could tell that Isabel either wasn' much for public relations or was just trying to get rid of him. Either way, it was a tad annoying. He had to continue to put on pressure. How to go about it though? He wondered if charm would even affect a measured killer like her. More than likely not. That or finding her alone in the dark might be too dicey a play to bother with. The rest of the interview seemed like a moot point now that he had a name. Mr. King. He had already tracked the financial connections between this Sanctuary and the well known pharmaceutical company. He really just wanted to hear it from a solid source. A hardened insane serial killer? No better source in his books.

He stood abruptly, leaving Ms. Duskmoor sprwaled on the chair. " Well, perhaps I've been speaking to the wrong people, Isabel. I thank you for your time, though."He put his pen in his breast pocket and his note pad in his side pocket. He looked expectantly at the doors, waiting for her or this assistant to open them. he assumed a human might be nervous and would want to run, but he knew when you were in the lions' den, you never, ever ran..

Isabel couldn't quite keep the surprise from changing her expression as her interviewer abruptly stood and moved off toward the large golden doors as if to leave. Now what on earth was all that about? He did pause, as if he were unsure what to do next, or as if he expected to be chauffeured out the doors and back onto the street. Quickly surprise faded to irritation, the young mutant's arms crossing over her chest and a bit of a shadow falling over her pretty features as she disdainfully regarded this man that stood a short distance away from her. Just who did he think he was trying to dismiss her like that? This foolish man had no idea who he was dealing with if he honestly thought it was that easy to brush her off. Interview her foot. Briefly she wondered if she'd given away something of importance, but upon momentarily running her answers through her head once again, she couldn't pick out anything that wouldn't already be known to most, of not all, of the public. Just what exactly was it that this man was looking for? With a small huff she looked over to Lisa to gauge the older, more personable woman's reaction to all of this. And of course, she was smiling pleasantly as always, completely indifferent to what Isabel considered to be rude behavior on the reporter's part. Did that woman's expression ever change? Before Isabel could turn back to Mister Fairweather, the Receptionist caught her eye, raising one manicured eyebrow as if to ask of Isabel was going to get up and answer to door for the waiting gentleman. The older woman was given a dismissive little gesture and quickly forgotten about. Apparently he would be left to the younger lady, Lisa already busying herself with her work once more.

Uncrossing her arms, she righted her position in the plush chair before getting to her feet, smoothing out her short shirt and her unusually sized ribbon. Carefully tucking away her irritation with the man and rearranging her features into an expression of seeming curiosity, she casually made her way toward the reporter, passed closely by him, swung around and stopped right in front of him. Without the ribbon in her hair he would have been the same height as she was, though with the unusual hair accessory, she appeared to be a little taller. Not having to crane her neck to catch his eye was nice, and being the same height as him lessened a few proportional disadvantages. "Going so soon, Mister Fairweather?" she asked politely, not a hint of ill intention to be heard in her voice. "That wasn't much of an interview. Four questions and you're off and running?" she said, raising one eyebrow, much like Lisa had done moments before. This little reaction of his had done nothing to help him in terms of any kind of trust or suspicion Isabel felt toward him. "And what exactly do you mean by 'the wrong kind of people'? You're fishing for some story on the Sanctuary, aren't you? Who better to ask than one of the residents? Unless you're just skirting around the real issue, whatever that may be." Casually the swept out her hand in a gesture for him to continue moving, though she remained between him and the exit. She wasn't willing to let him escape just yet. And so her motion had been directed back toward the little sitting area. She intended to find out exactly what it was this man was looking for.

Roland was pleased that he had raised the killer's dander. Her face mirrored the intention. This had definitely brought on a more favorable reaction than charm ever could. He had no worries of escape. Escape was more of a reflex to Roland than anything else. He watched her rise and stand between him and the door, clearly put off by his actions. He decided he could get much more done by pushing the envelope in this situation. In prison, he always found that killing a few lifers in your first day or two definitely culled the kill or rape factor. This situation wasn't all that different, relatively.

Back to the act. He looked her right in the eye, the urge to spit crawling back down his throat. " I meant no offense, Miss Duskmoor. Really. You don't last long in my business without knowing who's who. I thought I could just conduct my interview and leave, but sitting so close to a known murderess is just too unsettling." He tapped into his fear response to produce the necessary sweat to make it convincing. It didn't take a mutant to produce such an effect. Just alot of practicing in interrogation rooms.

He reached into his pocket and pulled one of his phones out. It had actually come from his utility belt under his pants, but it came from his pocket. He appeared to nervously have his fingers on the 9, as if he might call the police should he not be allowed to go. " If anything, I thank you for helping me realize I am not cut out for this 'on the beat' bit. I'll happily take my desk any day after this." He made sure to hold the phone out slightly, his fingers gripping it loosely.

So, this man did know who she was after all. That little tidbit of info really didn't come as any surprise to Isabel. It would have been more surprising if he didn't know who she was. Her face had been all over the news a short while back, though she'd been wanted by the police for far longer, a little over a year at least. Her name, her place of residence, her outfit. It was glaringly obvious to many people who exactly it was they were speaking to. She was well known for her involvement in the Sanctuary Massacre, though she'd walked away from her trial an innocent young woman. Many people still believed the verdict was tampered with somehow, though she'd never tell exactly how right they were. Oh, she'd continue to taunt those involved in law enforcement, but she'd never reveal exactly by what means she'd managed to walk away as an innocent. And, even though there were numerous other occasions where she'd killed more than a few people, the Massacre was the only one she had been tried for thanks to a certain Rupert Kelley of the New York Police Department. She'd managed to avoid any other charges pressed against her, though she had little doubt that she'd have been able to walk away from those possible trials as well.

Her expression shifted to that of mild boredom as the man appeared to grow increasingly nervous within such close proximity to a 'murderess'. Her expression remained the same as he began fumbling with his phone. She didn't really buy it. As she'd learned, reporters always figured out a way to ask the right kinds of questions, and come up with the right kinds of responses to get exactly what they wanted from the person they were questioning. Some police officers had a similar way of going about things in an interrogation. She'd been exposed to it numerous times within the past few months, though she hadn't given them much satisfaction in terms of condemning statements. "A murderess, Mister Fairweather?" she inquired, playing the innocent card she was so good at. "I have been cleared of all my charges, Sir. I didn't murder anyone without just cause. If you had payed attention to my Trial that was held a short while back, you'd know I was simply acting out of self defense," she continued, sticking to the story she'd given the police and the court officials. "And I would appreciate it if you would put that phone away. I don't respond very well to threats, especially in my own home. I have done nothing to you, Mister Fairweather, that would warrant such a reaction. You just need to relax a bit." Again she motioned casually to the sitting area behind him, not making any motions to move away from her current position. "Please do sit down and recover your nerves."

Isabel was an interesting character. Roland wondered if she ever got angry or even grimaced. She probably tried not to' so as to retain the wrinkle free visage of innocence that she wore so well. Garrett opened his eyes wider, playing the trapped animal well, recalling his first time in the pen. His hand slid back into his pocket at Isabel's request, though a practiced maneuver followed. He had seen a well placed vent near the floor behind Lisa's desk as he was talking to Isabel earlier. The phone that he had in his hand disappeared in the pocket but then was transported to the vent . A new phone appeared in his hand from his utility belt, which he placed in his pocket, to make the bulge needed to continue the illusion.

He let himself be herded back towards the foyer and he sat down, the look of fear on his face hopefully similar enough to look genuine. It never seemed to be believable to him, as in his general life, he rarely experienced it. He moved in his seat uncomfortably, watching her play her sweet and innocent killer routine, hoping she would sit down, so as not to cause a scene. He seemed to relax a bit, outwardly resigning to whatever his fate was, inwardly happy that the clever monitoring device was in place.

" So, what now? I will be allowed to leave at some point, right? People know I am here."

Isabel smiled approvingly as Mister Fairweather closed his phone and placed it back in his pocket, though it was probably the quite fearful look he insisted on displaying for her that that won over most of her approval for the moment. It was always so entertaining to see how all of her different playmates expressed their fear once they realized who she was and what was probably going to happen to them once they fell into her line of sight. A reporter was a newer one, though, which may have been one reason why she was enjoying it as much as she was. The initial mob of reporters she'd encountered had at first kept their distance for the most part, though they remained persistent. However, after she'd pretended to be passive for the duration of the Trial and for a short while after, they'd grown bolder and any apprehension any of them held was rarely, if ever, shown. The police escorts may have had something to do with that. People usually feel a little more secure with law enforcers around, and with them surrounding the accused murderess, there seemed to be no reason to worry, especially when some of them were less than gentle in handling her and walked away without a scratch. That may have been the part she hated the most; letting those cocky boys in uniform strut their stuff for each other when they had the privilege of escorting a near famous killer and being able to walk away from it no worse for wear. She was sure she'd be able to get back to them at one point or another, but it didn't feel like that was soon enough. However, once the Order finally made itself known, she assumed she'd be able to go out and cause a good amount of havoc without fear of negative repercussions. She would have her fun then.

As her new acquaintance moved back in the direction she'd attempted to herd him in, she continued to smile pleasantly, following not too far behind him. At least he had a little sense to him. She figured most people would think it stupid to ignore the expressed wishes of an individual known to be dangerous anywaya, despite the fact that she pretended to be quite harmless. Leisurely she took her seat once more, though this time instead of seating herself on the cushion intended to be sat on, she instead perched comfortably on the arm of the chair. It would be easier to get back up again if need be. And with this man already having displayed a seemingly skittish disposition, she wouldn't be surprised if she would need to get to her feet a second time. As the man spoke to her once more and fidgeted in his seat, her head tilted slightly to the side, her large brown eyes regarding him in another outward sign of curiosity with a hint of confusion mixed in. "Oh I'm sure people know that you're here. It would be irresponsible otherwise, no matter if you were in the Sanctuary or elsewhere," she replied, giving a small, unconcerned shrug. "However, if that is another threat directed toward me, it's not a very effective one. I don't fear much, Mister Fairweather, and I'm certainly not intimidated by you or the possibility of some of your friends stopping by for a visit," she continued, looking at him pointedly. She wasn't about to allow herself to be bullied in any way, if that was his intention at the moment, though a small part of her couldn't help but want to encourage the behavior if not simply to see the outcome. "I don't go around butchering innocents as some people believe and have tried to convict me for. I need to be pushed quite roughly before I hit back. There's no need to be so nervous or to take off in such a hurry. So why not continue on your purpose here, hm? There must be some motive that drove you here, interview or otherwise. Why cut it short so suddenly?"

His wolf in sheep's clothing routine was going brilliantly. She seemed to have the eyes of the spider as it watched the fly struggle. Whatever kept her going in her delusion worked for Roland. Seeming to relax in a way that suggested accepting one's fate, he took in a deep breath and exhaled. " Well, if it's going to be this way, perhaps I could get a tour of the Sanctuary? I can perhaps ask you questions on the way, but really, does it make much difference now?"

His shoulders dropped in a final gesture of release. Inwardly, he was devising how he would use the remainder of his utility belt that he had brought. He had 3 more devices to plant and a stun gun to give him the extra second he might need to escape. Stun guns seemed regular enough as to not arouse suspicion regarding his motive or identity. Any reporter, especially one entering the Sanctuary, would be stupid not to bring something to defend themselves with.

He looked back at her with cool eyes. "My agenda was to interview you and try to get a tour. I just got scared, really. I would appreciate it if you could do that much." Meek and stupid. It would go over well with someone like Isabel, he thought.