[It's a rough way to come in. No one's ever been able to drug her with the tech running through her body, and it's been a long time since she's been controlled like that. Having her hair cut off hurt in a personal way too. It's an overall feeling of powerless that's reared up more than she likes here.

Ginia studies him, wonders what he's thinking. Doesn't press, but her eyes are understanding.]

That's different. Maybe because all of you were dropped off at Red Wings at once.

[It's some slight musing out loud.]

How were you dressed? [Realizing how weird that sounds, Ginia quickly follows up:] Every group has been dressed similar, a way to blend in but identifiable to the rest of the Displaced. I was dropped off at a masquerade party in a dress.

[Even now, she scowls at the memory.]