[ She looks at Orin again, Lute not visible at the table, having hunkered down at her feet. He's alert too, but he makes himself smaller when indoors, both his horn and the reputation of Absols lending a certain delicacy to interactions. Unearned as the reputation may be, it's still present and enough to merit startled looks and suspicious glances.

She takes another drink. When she sets her glass down, hand curling loosely around it, she settles on an answer. ]

Most recently back home, those who resented Military Police presences or authority in places they felt were meant for themselves.

[ The implication being the organised underworld of crime, rather than just citizens feeling the usual mixture of condescending and resentful that led to altercations with drunks and the mob-minded. ]

Here? Nothing. I suppose I could pretend to be paranoid about the Rockets, or any of the small criminal organisations that exist, but why bother? No one's planning to shoot me in the chest and dump my body in lime, so things are looking calm even if someone's idiotic enough to think to make off with any part of my team.