"Yeah, sweetie, you did."
The voice, low and purring was Iris', and yet unlike her earlier high, clear tones. The stride, too, was different as she came in upon the assembled team, more of a swaying, deliberately sensual gait than the measured, perfect grace of the day before. Her masking was down for the moment, and she seethed with power, rich and wild and passionate, desire and anger and the remains of fear fueling her as befit her tradition.
Iris leaned on the doorframe, cocking a hip and tilting her head, a small, teasing smile on her face, which was far closer to Isaint's eye level than her stature should have allowed, thanks to a pair of high, crimson ankle boots. She wore sheer black stockings that came to mid-thigh with red bows under a Hong Kong silk skirt, a flirty red Vashon Island number that probably cost half as much as her car. An overbust corset, black with red laces went above it, the stiffness of it owing more to delta-amyloid armor coating and kevlar panel inserts than boning, and a floor-length cloak of shimmering black, shot through with little streaks of red like dying stars completed the ensemble.
The blood spatters on her thighs, right arm, and left cheek really tied the whole outfit together.
"Sorry I'm late." Iris said guilelessly, calmly unbuckling the shoulder holster that held her wand and a much-customized Viper Slivergun. "I had a personal problem that needed to be attended to. Creditors, you know?"