"Fancy meeting you here," she says as she drops into the chair opposite him. She's in her hunting leathers, weapons, and pouches around her waist, and she's spattered with dark beast blood, some of it in her hair, clearly pulled from the middle of something. There's some tension to her, frustration rolling off of her, but it ebbs some the moment she sits, his familiar face offering her a tiny bit of ease in a ridiculous situation.

Her omni pings with his blurb and, by now, she knows how this works. His own will give a buzz as hers is sent his way. She lifts the crystal, skims the blurb, and snorts under her breath.

"I never would've guessed you were into antiques," already, she's imagining him in some dusty antique shop, hunched over some phonograph that is coated in a thin layer of dust or searching for an old first edition of The Great Gatsby. Given what she knows about him, it's a pleasant sort of surprise.