[ It is, of course, her job to think of that, though she hardly thinks of this business relationship as a job so much as a... well, it's complicated, for Asellus. Because it's been a while since this whole thing started, and though she's met with him perhaps fifteen times since the original negotiations began, she's come to view Charles with a mixture of respect and a measure of fondness, in her fashion.
She's not naive enough, though, to forget just who it is that is making it possible for her to be half-sprawled belly-down on a fainting couch, a thick and dangerously dry-looking treatise on interpersonal communication in front of her, highlighter in hand. She's well on her way to a Masters in sociology-- her university is a liberal campus which has chosen to give her a great deal of leeway in what she studies, so she coordinates with her advisor via email on the well-used and well-loved laptop she has left in its case in the closet, tucked away out of respect for what expectations there are for her being here and a certain amount of professional pride.
But she's been in Sydney for a while by the time he's entered this suite, and it isn't as though she can't be using her downtime effectively.
Still, she's alert, and ears that are finely tuned to the sound of the door let her know he's here and her attention needs to be focused elsewhere. Making sure to make enough noise to announce herself, considering surprises to be somewhat clumsy and foolhardy, given Charles' nature, she closes the book, sets it aside, and gets up, smoothing the bright and brief silk of her blouse and adjusting the side-hems of her loose slacks. She doesn't bother checking her hair or makeup; her hair has always done what it wants and at the moment it is only slightly more green than streaked chestnut. Her makeup is minimal; overadornment of youth is vulgar and she doesn't like to come off like any other women who have chosen this profession.
Or any other women at all, really. She carries herself like a proud singularity, her steps light and graceful but with a tinge of energy that keeps her from coming across as truly sophisticated. Guileless, the word might be; she doesn't really have any motives outside of what they had already laid on the table, and she suspects that's one of the reasons this has gone on as long as it has. ]
Welcome back. [ Her energy carries through her voice, not so much shattering the general quiet of the suite so much as striking the first gentle blow, leaving a crack across the glass and letting it settle in, waiting to see what kind of person she should be to counterbalance his mood.
Practical application of the studies he's funded and the ones that don't require a degree. She is very good at her job. ]
no subject
She's not naive enough, though, to forget just who it is that is making it possible for her to be half-sprawled belly-down on a fainting couch, a thick and dangerously dry-looking treatise on interpersonal communication in front of her, highlighter in hand. She's well on her way to a Masters in sociology-- her university is a liberal campus which has chosen to give her a great deal of leeway in what she studies, so she coordinates with her advisor via email on the well-used and well-loved laptop she has left in its case in the closet, tucked away out of respect for what expectations there are for her being here and a certain amount of professional pride.
But she's been in Sydney for a while by the time he's entered this suite, and it isn't as though she can't be using her downtime effectively.
Still, she's alert, and ears that are finely tuned to the sound of the door let her know he's here and her attention needs to be focused elsewhere. Making sure to make enough noise to announce herself, considering surprises to be somewhat clumsy and foolhardy, given Charles' nature, she closes the book, sets it aside, and gets up, smoothing the bright and brief silk of her blouse and adjusting the side-hems of her loose slacks. She doesn't bother checking her hair or makeup; her hair has always done what it wants and at the moment it is only slightly more green than streaked chestnut. Her makeup is minimal; overadornment of youth is vulgar and she doesn't like to come off like any other women who have chosen this profession.
Or any other women at all, really. She carries herself like a proud singularity, her steps light and graceful but with a tinge of energy that keeps her from coming across as truly sophisticated. Guileless, the word might be; she doesn't really have any motives outside of what they had already laid on the table, and she suspects that's one of the reasons this has gone on as long as it has. ]
Welcome back. [ Her energy carries through her voice, not so much shattering the general quiet of the suite so much as striking the first gentle blow, leaving a crack across the glass and letting it settle in, waiting to see what kind of person she should be to counterbalance his mood.
Practical application of the studies he's funded and the ones that don't require a degree. She is very good at her job. ]