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She just… looks a little lost, and Aria’s counter is one of the first stops once you get off the elevator. Sure. That’s why Aria calls out to the tall, dark figure who’s pausing to take in the busy office.
Never mind that this woman probably doesn’t do lost. Her stride is long, loping, the kind of confidence that comes with training and being used to carrying a ton of gear and assessing the hell out of a situation before you walk into it. Military, maybe, or police; in TF29, you’re usually one of the two. But police or military don’t usually dress like… that.
But still… Maybe it’s the hesitation, the tension in her shoulders; Aria can’t blame her, the place is chaotic right now, even more so than usual… Still, something makes Aria say, “Hey there. You looking for someone?”
The new arrival’s head turns, and a dark eyebrow rises from under… Huh. The height was the first thing Aria noticed, but the second thing is the shades. They shine dully under the flourescent lights. Shadows fall on sharp cheekbones and make her look… alien, almost. Expressionless.
Augmentations. Aria glances and sees gold knuckles, black shining hands. Like her. She guesses she won’t be alone anymore. But she’s just MEP, the kind of aug nearly everyone used to know before the Incident, and she’s looking at someone with what must be a full HUD in the shades and that too-smooth gait that speaks of leg augs. Those hands are unusual, too, she thinks, as the stranger gets closer. Sleek and beautiful, too beautiful to be Tai Yong. She thinks she sees the edge of a hacking node as a coatsleeve slides up.
Between those and the hair, tightly tied back or maybe slicked, the new agent looks severe, and that’s even before you get to the all-black and the pale skin, the faded scars on her cheek and jaw. Aria had to relearn to hold a weapon after the augs, but she didn’t become one. She’s not sure she can say the same about the woman in front of –
Oh. She realises she’s looking at a really new arrival. The one they’ve had all the briefs about. Sarif augs, Detroit, stealth missions.
Jensen crosses the floor, shining hands loosely at her side like she’s trying to project not a threat from space. She says, “Was told to head to the director’s office.” And there it is, the American accent. And a voice that sounds like she rolled out of bed and smoked sixty before coming into the office, like she’s seen too much - or maybe like she’s on the edge of a really dirty joke.
It goes down Aria’s spine a little, in a way she didn’t expect. She tries not to swallow. “Miller’s just upstairs. By counterterrorism. Sign’s on the door, can’t miss it.” She smiles, because it doesn’t cost her anything not to be a jerk to the new recruit who’s gonna have to run MacReady’s gauntlet soon enough anyhow. She doesn’t know what makes her say, “I could give you the tour. If you wanted. I don’t have much to do.”
“I don’t want to pull you away from your work,” Jensen says. It’s soft, thoughtful, more than expected for someone who looks like she could tear this whole place down in her sleep. The slightest pull at the corner of her mouth, a half-smile. Slow, and like she’s not used to giving it, but it changes the lines of her face, makes Aria look again and realise that those lips are softer than she realised. “But… thanks.” And it sounds like she really means it. “You’re the quartermaster, right?” That same hesitation, like it’s been a while. She’s heard this is the recruit who took down augmented mercenaries, but apparently small talk is a step too far.
“That’s me. Aria Argento.” She offers her natural hand across the counter, a habit she got into after she realised the aug one tends to make people uncomfortable.
Jensen takes it without hesitation. She must be used to it from the other side. She gives it a firm shake. “Jensen.” She clears her throat, just a little; the hint of a headtilt before she pulls it back, like she might be berating herself for her own awkwardness. “Eve.”
Suddenly all that slow watching becomes, in Aria’s mind, less assessing arrogance and a lot more caution. “Nice to meet you.” She pauses, and then tries on, for size: “It’ll be nice to have someone else shiny round here.”
The hint of a laugh, rough and gentle, and a truer smile, a flash of sharp white teeth. Aria suddenly wishes she could see behind the damn shades; she gets the sense, looking at the lines round Jensen’s mouth, there’d be eye crinkles. Jensen says, “Was just thinking the same.” She half-raises a hand. “I’ll see you.”
And then it’s like the mask’s back on, long stride and straight back and just enough arrogance, and Aria’s watching the swish of that long, dark coat as Jensen heads to the stairs. She’s heard Jensen has a cloaking aug, but here, even with the analysts and the runners, even across the room, Jensen can’t quite disappear into the crowd.