The café wasn’t too bad if you realised that the name catagorised the staff more than the clientele, Jura had ordered earl grey tea and had received a cappuccino, and the waiter had spilt her bouillabaisse, hey-ho.
It was difficult to argue against the rumour that Jura had joined the idiots cause, and although some decisions, taken as they were in haste, blindfolded by lack of a psychic, were hers, others were not, and as further stories filtering out of the psychic having a side business reading palms under the monika “I’m the Psychic!” undermined her trust in her teams’ abilities, she still had faith.
While a voice, albeit a squeaky annoying voice, called out “Gotham” she knew this would probably be a mistake looking at the cut of his jib he looked bulked up and armoured.
Another voice, altogether deeper and cool sounding suggested however that the bulk was paper, meant to trick, and the armour had gone elsewhere, she hoped that the team could return her faith and trust her.
[Jura votes to lynch Gotham]