[ there's a flame in her, aventurine is thinking. it's in the way she marches her smart little heels up to the mocking drawl of the painting hung like a guillotine above their heads, and it's in the way she flushes that deep, effervescent crimson at the insinuation of her words. aventurine tips up his chin as he surveys the painting proper. the young lady smiles back, prim hands folded before her with the austerity of a ghost wronged. above, what seems to be the metallic outline of an escape hatch draws its line just along the peripheral of aventurine's vision. his head tilts, and he looks back to the young lady with an open, appraising smile.

why should we do anything you say, the young lady had said with the remarkable anger of one likely used to paving forth a path of her own. aventurine offers the young lady a polite little laugh. he holds up his hand in the universal gesture for 'hold on'. ]

Limited, yes, but there's no need for us to mire ourselves in discomfort. Part of which stems from the fact that we're but strangers in an elevator, being asked to do something that I suppose you aren't very used to. There's no shame in taking it a little slower.

[ aventurine's eyes curve. ] Let's start with introductions. You can call me Aventurine; you?