An Old Ravens Talon sets down at one of the docking ports, seeming to know the auth-codes quite well. Setting down at a spot, a women with raven black hair steps out, navigating through the halls as if a regular, stepping outside the hangar to the dome-area, only to grab a sub-sandwich at one of the stalls with a credits chip casually. She begins heading to one of the more familiar bars that a certain group of rambunctious owners like to hang around, slipping in (donning black sunglasses) and taking a seat at one of the booths.
A certain man catches her eye, smirking as she sees the lanky head of the Research Department popping in on people yet again, and most of all, the frenchmen who just refuses to stop using words. Robert. Achillie was of little concern right now, keeping her eye on Robert, merely watching as he converses with the others around him. "Hmm.. No change I see.." mumbling to nobody in particular.
