open.

[tender]

WHO: Derrica + OTA
WHAT: Office Hours
WHEN: Guardian
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Drop in, door's open.

There is nothing technically wrong with the Project Haven conference room and office. They are orderly, without any tangible sign of the intentions of their former owner.

Still, Derrica has thrown open the single window in the office wide in spite of the cold. There is a small crate just beside the doorway between office and conference room, where Derrica has been pitching anything she finds questionable. (Chantry texts to be relocated to records or the chapel, small items that might be personal affects, or are simply not to her taste.) She's left the doors open behind her, the one leading into the conference room, the one leading into the corridor, and the one leading into the Forces and Diplomacy workspaces as well, as if to promote circulation to the highest degree possible.

What comes after the cleaning is something Derrica is still working out.

She's never had an office. She's yet to even sit down at her allotted desk in the Forces workroom. But here she is, and she make something of the space. It's expected, she's certain.

Her hands are full of Chantry hymnals when the sound of footsteps pulls her attention from them.

"Watch out for the box," is her first, immediate word of caution. It's only partly blocking the doorway, but just enough to be a hazard to the unsuspecting.

Welcome to Project Haven. Don't mind the momentary clutter.

Comments

[tender]

This catches her off-guard. Being tended to, someone fetching things on her behalf, it sparks up some immediate discomfort covered over with a smile of thanks.

"Derrica, please."

No rank has ever been bestowed upon her properly, and Haven does not feel as if it comes with one. Ilias had been Speaker Fabria on his own merit, and Brother Gideon—

Well, that is an outlier.

"And you needn't worry on my account. I don't think that'll be a worry unless I have company."

She has a set of four polished mugs set carefully in the center of her desk. They won't sit there forever, and she has yet to decide if they'll see any use, but their utility is likely clear.

[untiltheyarent]

"Derrica," is repeated, and Fifi gives a small curtsy.
"All the same. Should you change your mind, it's really no trouble at all. My name is Josephine, Fifi if you prefer."

Hands still folded, she glances about the office. "My duties also include cleaning the offices-- dusting, sweeping, wiping the windows-- which I shall try to do opposite your schedule, so you're not tripping over me, but I'm glad to accommodate other tasks as well, within reason. And if there's anything you'd prefer I didn't touch, I will avoid it, no questions asked."

The ease with which she rattles it off suggests Fifi has grown used to giving this introduction, but there's a sincerity to her smile that perhaps sets this interaction apart.