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Looking past you, careful to keep an eye on his table.

Looking past you, keeping half a careful eye on Ignatz.

Poor trade. PSEUDOPOD seems to be enjoying himself.

He didn't fully buy it. More.

Sarcasm. He knows you're together.

You feel PSEUDOPOD's unsettling gaze on you.

He's gone totally off script.

He looks down at his empty hands, imagining the mugs.

He does not give a single fascist fuck about any deathless heroes.

She pressed all of them.

Arms crossed, brow furrowed -- not a hint of paternal care.

He traces the veins on the back of his hand, under the thinning skin.

The way he said 'service'... like he meant...

You sense a change behind his eyes. A decision has been made.

His face seems to say: 'but not if this job carries on the way it is'.

No need when your body language matches a spider as it stiffly curls up into a ball to die.

He grimaces, wearing the same look as when you asked him about the moon.

It's locked away deep inside, far away from the surface that he's comfortable presenting.

You see the pity for the miners in the man's eyes. Men and women drying out inside barren rock, the billowing dust steadily making them blind...

He hid it well. What else could he be hiding?

Mention of La Luz never fails to make your hairs stand attentive.

Something's up. This is a distraction.

As if expecting a miracle to materialise before him.

He seems exhilarated to have caught something as obvious.

The universal sign for 'never heard of it'.

His familiarity toward you is, for all intents and purposes, real.

Brow slightly ruffled, not entirely sure where to look. He's not used to having his picture taken.

Brow slightly ruffled, not entirely sure where to look. He's not used to having his picture taken.

He can't hold on for much longer.

He's not surprised at all.

He's not bothered by you bringing this up.

He carries himself with straight shoulders, a confident posture, but his thick glasses hide a furry face twisted with anxiety.

Have you seen yourself? A solitary woman jabbering into a phone, repeating random words.

The whisper of a smile at the corner of her mouth suggests she even enjoyed it.

Unwelcome terrain. Tread lightly.

This is a woman who's planned countless 'perfect' murders in her idle hours.

Mouth drawn down in what's threatening to become a permanent frown.

Her features seem to harden ever-so-slightly.

The darting eyes, the hunched posture, the furtiveness -- she was watching for a watcher.

This is no mere 'Look', it is an expression of absolute, devastating neutrality. It will take weeks to recover.

She pronounces 'Carmuna' with a slight distaste, like she's naming a rival.

She hesitates. Torn between two thoughts.

She hesitates. A little shy all of a sudden.

Ooff. It's possible you're going to regret engineering her so thoroughly.

Something's got her in an unusually euphoric mood.

Her demeanour is sincere. You could open up if you wanted.

A glacial wind emanates from her.

Requesting assistance.

She's evaluating you just as you are her.

774 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 9 of 16