The absently hollow noise of low heels clicking over the faded linoleum floors didn't match the stern expression that rested on Jemima's face. The clack of her shoes was a rather vapid sound that had never really appealed to the doctor, but although she was taller than most women her height, looking down upon her patients caused no small pleasure. Being a woman in this field meant you had to assert your rights. Especially if you were a woman working at Arkham Asylum of all places. Gotham's resident criminals had all the misogyny of men from the medieval times. Be seen, but not heard. Jemima spat in their faces.
She was all of twenty years old, willowy and sharp eyed, fresh out of college and swept into the chaos of the Asylum in lieu of their lack of staff. And she'd done well, on all accounts. She was fast adapting to the cracked walls and leering glares, the threats of slow death, the snooty glances from her higher-ups. And speaking of higher-ups, here she was, clicking her way down a hallway to meet the esteemed Doctor Crane; a man who had the same uncommon last name that she did, and perhaps the same interest in fear? Nox shifted in the crevices of her mind. Jemima's lips tightened slightly in distaste - now was not the time to be intimidated by this man. She knocked on the door, nudging open the door with cool professionalism that was ruined by the single nervous blink that met Jonathan's gaze. "Doctor Crane?"