"No, it really isn't." She doesn't do it - but at this point, her being seen as pointlessly contrary is hardly worth noting. Her internal consistency is no one's business but her own. Business to attend too, first. Before she steps away from the desk entirely, she fishes for the penknife again. Less than threatening, once in hand she flips it over to grasp the blade edge between her fingers with a flick of her wrist.

With the blade offered pommel first, she strides in slow steps to stand before him. One foot in front of the other in a slow roll that blends each other gesture. With a brow raised, she looks at him, then tilts her head to gesture to the blade. Not an exceptionally long thing, her hand covered most of it.