Dorothea hesitates for just a moment before she comes forward and takes the seat indicated across from the man clad in gray. The closer she gets, the more obvious it becomes that this is one of the biggest men she's ever seen. Dedue, perhaps, had been taller, but not by much. He's broad and muscular, too--even the fur collar of the coat he has draped over his shoulders adds to the appearance of his bulk. Everything about him is imposing, surely by design. No one looks like this on accident.

He doesn't command her, though. He says please when he points to the chair. That's a good sign, isn't it?

"I love a nice cup of tea," she says, smoothing her skirt over her thighs and crossing her legs primly at the ankle. "I used to make my own before I could afford the good quality of tea. If you dry out apple peels and mint, it can make a very nice blend."

That's not what he called her in to talk about, though, and she knows that. Even so, she takes the cup in her hands, holding it delicately.

"Forgive my tardiness. Your garde caught me at the end of my work shift, so I decided I'd risk making you wait a moment while I freshened up. I hope you won't think ill of me, but a lady has to maintain her hygiene." She watches him as she takes a sip of tea, trying to figure out what he's thinking.

"What was it you wished to speak with me about, Monsieur?"