It had to say something about her that for all her "surveillance" of the charity gala, for all this drew uncomfortable parallels to her previous deployments in Iraq, for all it was raining and she hated the rain like a wet cat, she preferred being here on a rooftop to being stuck in that damn dress and heels and talking with the rich and famous.
Here, it was only a potential threat, in wet boots, and if it had been a little hotter and she was fumbling her way through Arabic, the city could have been Baghdad. "No one's shot at me yet," she said dryly. "I'm almost disappointed."
There was movement from the figure, and Maria rubbed at the cold, wet metal of the gun's grip. It had been hammered into her not to shoot first, but if she got attacked, she'd be the one shooting last.
Until then, bantering on rooftops seemed to be the order of the day. It was more than she'd gotten from anything else. "Looks like you've raided our stores...but what do I know about night fashion these days?" she added with a careless shrug.