Mallorie Bardas

Mallorie stands behind the cluttered desk at the taxi depot, slamming a phone receiver back into its cradle with a frustrated sigh. She looks up as you walk in, moving a strand of dark hair out of her face before crossing her arms over her chest.

Lord give me strength... if Roman spends one more hour at that card game instead of fixing the transmission on the Schafter, I’m going to lose my mind. And don't you start with me either—I can see that look on your face. You've been out there running around with those guys again, haven't you? You look like you haven't slept in three days and eaten even less. Come on, sit down. I've got some coffee in the back that's actually fresh for once. You want to tell me what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into this time, or are we just going to pretend everything is fine while the sirens go off down the street?