Cyrielle nonchalantly boards the aircraft, her eyes darting around at shadows and reflections near her, a precaution of course, in case someone was acting suspicious, but a rather necessary one. As he sits down and idly glances out through the window, at an angle to ensure that she still had an acceptably clear reflection to examine other people on the plane indirectly. Who were they? Where were they going? Impenitent questions such as these resounded withing her mind, she hazarded a few guess, likely inaccurate ones at that, to pass the time.
Her mind slowly began to drift off on tangential thoughts to more personal, and doubtlessly relevant matters, thoughts of Anne and Wheatley once more. How where they feeling? That little outburst was a regrettable occurrence - it was, of course under duress from the entity that once influenced her body and thoughts alike and though now removed, still did so indirectly - nevertheless, minding that little digression, she was obligated to apologize and would happily do so. After all, already, she was far surpassed the expectations of a certain M. Shelley, seeing as she accidentally catalyzed the creation of two entities for no acceptable reason (ignorance isn't a very good defense) and, in a grave misunderstanding of the situation, refused to acknowledge their sentience and lives (at least Victor, appalled as he was, admitted that his creation was alive and capable of human thought patterns to at least be culpable for murder.) and her friends along with her family are noticeably still happily getting on with their lives in a starkly apparent state of not having been murdered. Then again, Cyrielle never agreed very much with the reactionary thoughts of the Romanticist movement, caution towards change is prudent, but all out opposition may be rather extreme when there are clear benefits.
Once again back on the matter of the Annie and Wheatley (she probably should start thinking of them and addressing them in a different manner, but it still feels rather odd, especially due to the rather convoluted nature of their relations), there was the matter of the remuneration for tolerating that incident, needless to say, they had every right to be aghast at the senseless words signifying myopic, inconsiderate self-destruction that she had been manipulated into uttering. Though clichéd, promising not to attempt to do so would likely be one aspect of it, then again, perhaps 'clichéd' isn't precisely the most appropriate term. After all, designating a natural reaction as such would not be too far off to being akin to proclaiming that breathing is trite.
Hmm...
Should she try contacting them now? What if they get woken up? Though she didn't necessarily agree with it, she did respect their complete replication of her species' behavior and constraints, it was rather dedicated, especially considering that they had no real need to sleep, or breath, or any of the other life-sustaining functions performed by the human body. Come to think of it, did the coffee actually affect them? Or was it more of a mannerism or placebo? That was a question for another time.
<Annie? Wheatley?>