I'm grinding for this right now, and I ended up accepting a Rumormonger's Network *and then* a Vial of M_____'s B____ just to get her out of my deck.

I'd like you all to imagine this gangly, scruffy Red Scientist, grand devil's crown on his head, wearing a lab coat with more stains than fabric, practically oozing violant light from all the Correspondent's ink he's spilled over the years, turning to look at this established representative of Hell in the middle of a cold Evenlode suburb and shouting: "Virginia! I haven't seen you since the Hurlers! Lovely spa you've built down there, though I'll admit I prefer the lead bathtub I had installed in the Royal Beth. What? Oh yes, thank you for the network of spies from the Khanate to the Surface...and the most illegal substance in the Neath, I've always wanted one, but...could you please step out of my way? The lads and I are trying to build a grain silo."