::THREE::
She was a pretty woman, not in a dazzling way. Not in a way that a lot of men would notice. In a way a woman would notice. An intelligent, oval shaped face, her eyebrows an intent hard line, giving her a seriousness that would put a lot of men off. That she did nothing to change their shape attested to the fact that this mattered little to her. Her dark blue eyes were quick and bright. I believe that she has the look of a woman that would hold your gaze, if you were to look at her, and would do so without flinching. A small delicate nose, with a bump at the bridge. She’d had it broken at some point in her life. Her mouth was small, her lips thin, but defined. She didn’t accentuate them with lipstick. In fact, she wore no makeup at all, and I’d be willing to bet she had none, and would find it foolish to bother. Her hair in any other light would be nondescript. A light brown, in a sensible cut, to her jawline, and tucked behind her ears. In this light it looked like melted caramel, and was quite lovely against the pale cream of the rest of her. A sensible business suit, if a bit on the masculine side. Heavy shoes with a practical heel. Briefcase.
Her small green tag let me know that she was with the press corps. A reporter. Meaning that she was staying in the section reserved in the Midorian for the press. The staff here being trained to keep journalists away from much of what goes on here. The Midorian pays for their meals. The resort says that it does it because it wishes to have repeat business. The real reason is to corral all the reporters in one place, with free food and booze the bait, that will keep them from roaming the resort.
So now I know where she is staying, where she eats, and drinks. I also know, from that small flush down the side of her neck when she last looked at me, that if I were to buy her a drink, she wouldn’t refuse it. As my beloved is fond of saying. Interesting.