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]

"Both."

Cassius does not strike her as a man who ignores the conversations that happen over the crystal. Nor does he give her the impression that he is a man unconcerned with his station in life.

Of course, that doesn't always mean a person is concerned with the position of mages as a whole. Derrica knows that. But she gives him the benefit of the doubt, the assumption that the connective tissue she imagines is there between them.

"We should have at least one option to carry our problems forth, when they arise."

[satinet]

"I'm positively devastated that you don't think I'm up to the task myself."

This is a joke, says Cassius's crooked smile and the jaunty waggle of his elbow where the dusty book is still safely in the crook of his arm. And it is. Partly. Ish.

Taking this as his cue, Cassius shifts fully into the room—side stepping the errant box and other clutter so he may drift a little about the room more or less at his leisure while they continue this conversation.

"When they arise. My, what a pessimistic lot we are, aren't we?"

Connective tissue indeed.

[tender]

"We have reason to be."

Still we, until proven otherwise.

As he moves, so does Derrica. There isn't any heated water that she might offer tea, but—

"I've some wine," she offers. "If you would like."

While they have this discussion, since one can assume it will require some kind of fortification. (And because it's polite, isn't it, to offer?)