[Ginia is a work in progress. Seventeen years as an asset, three years as a free human has barely been enough time to figure herself out. Mostly it's been a lot of undoing in the process of finding herself. A lot of carving herself out and welding herself back together, desperately looking for the ways to balance out the acts of her life. That drive has carried her through here too, though the parameters have shifted somewhat.

Some people think she's good. Some people like her. But Ginia is pretty sure they like her front and would run if they really knew her.

She smiles slightly as he offers his hand.]

Angela.

[Her handshake is firm. Fingers rough and calloused from years of handling weapons. The shape of her feeling aren't that different from earlier. Still a volatile mix of sadness, guilt, and composed anger, all wrapped up and squashed down. But there's a small burst of happiness too. Their handshake is slightly illuminated by the blue glow radiating from their sternums, disappearing as Ginia takes her hand back.]

It's easier to accept when you set your own terms of contact. Reaching out to others versus unexpected contact.