"You burn one shitty politician alive, and suddenly it's all you're known for," Shepard grumbles, clearly unrepentant. After all, he'd deserved it, "Not a fan of upper management?"

Smoke hisses with her breath, a sharp exhalation; she's laughing at him.

"Alright, so you want more background. Here, let me just..." She frowns, and the screen clears away in a cloud of embers, red-gold flaring where it comingles with his own power, "There we go."

The sparks coalesce into a fiery image of a woman with her hair pinned back, apron tied over her dress, looking harried and unhappy, the words of her complaint about shift inconsistencies whirling around her head. Then next to her, a man in a Free Cities uniform, the details of his corporal's insignia picked out in white-hot sparks, smoking a cigarette with his head bowed to cast his cap's shade across his eyes. The third is a prim-looking woman with rigidly straight hair, spectacles, and a hurried bearing, running in place whilst holding a cup of something in one hand, carefully balanced. The last briefly sketches itself in the air, a brief vision of light and fire of someone sitting behind a desk, but before the details can form, Shepard waves a hand through it, and it scatters like smoke.

"Don't worry about that one, I'll get to her later. Got a favorite?"