First Encounters: Green, Yellow, Red
It hadn’t been long after they arrived that she and Gav were separated and sequestered in different ‘not-interrogation’ rooms.
At least, Poe had assured both (ex)hunters that this wouldn’t be an interrogation, something which she has begun to doubt.
Perhaps it’s the blankness of the walls or the emptiness of the room. Or perhaps the fact that she’s been waiting for nearly two hours––she knows because she’s been counting it off in the back of her mind, just as she would on a job––for someone to arrive to speak to her.
But no longer, it seems, as the single door slides open and who she suspects must be her interrogator interviewer steps into the room, the door closing behind him.
He regards her coolly, expression one that is familiar to her in its calmness, its almost perfect and complete lack of anything, like a mask. She doesn’t mistake the blankness for dullness, however. His eyes are trained on her like a predator to prey, analyzing her with a level of scrutiny that most would never achieve.
She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it almost as much as she doesn’t like being kept waiting.
“Two hours, huh?” she questions before he even takes another step into the room. “What? You guys think that’s all it would take for me to lose track of time? Get nervous?”
At this point in her life, running her mouth is more than simply a tactic she employs. It’s a reflex that can’t quite be restrained. It’s a necessity just like breathing, like having a heartbeat. It’s a propelling force, like inertia.
Yet, unlike someone feeling a heartbeat or a scientist discovering a force of nature, the man––tall and dark-featured––gives little indication of his discovery, that he has heard her, except that he answers her question.
“I assure you, that was not my intention,” he begins.
“If it were, I would have kept you waiting far longer, so as not to insult you.”
Admonishment, assurance, and acknowledgement, all in two sentences. Wow. She’s actually a little impressed.
His voice is quiet, as though he seldom needs to raise it and with the solemn sort of gravity his overall demeanor conveys, she doubts that he ever really does.
Good. She can work with this. This is familiar. She has experience with this.
(Damn she hopes this same guy had interviewed Gav. And if he had, she wishes she had been a bug on the wall for it. What an interesting encounter that must have been for both of them.)
Maybe at that thought, maybe simply because she feels that she should, a smirk pulls at the corners of her mouth as she slouches back, somewhat provocatively, in her seat, arms crossing.
“Ooo. You’re good,” she compliments, eyes practically alight and dancing with amusement.
“Spanked me, soothed me, and stroked my ego, all at once. You throw your shoulder out with all that action?”
There something almost imperceptible flashes across his face, in his eyes. Slight enough, in fact, that she can’t quite define it––recognition? surprise? amusement?––and if she weren’t so used to dealing with Gav and his micro-expressions, she might even have dismissed it as the shift of shadows under the poor lighting.
But she has dealt with Gav, and she knows she saw something, even if she doesn’t know what exactly.
“My shoulder is fine, though I thank you for your… concern,” he easily returns, unperturbed as he takes his seat in the only other chair in the room––opposite the table from her.
