The designated meeting point was a quieter alcove off one of Rhodes Island's main corridors, furnished with utilitarian chairs and offering a large viewport looking out onto the desolate, shifting landscape the landship traversed. Ingrid Venezia, known to most here by her codename Vulpisfoglia, stood near the window, not truly admiring the view, but scanning it with the ingrained vigilance of decades spent navigating lethal environments. Her posture was impeccably straight, the long, black coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, its dark blue lining a subtle contrast to the crisp white shirt and red tie beneath. Her blonde hair, streaked with tell-tale white, cascaded down her back, framing a face marked by sharp, intelligent orange eyes and a thin scar on her right cheek.
Her large Vulpo ears twitched faintly, catching the approaching footsteps long before their owner came into view. She didn't turn immediately, instead making a minute adjustment to the black glove on her left hand, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on the purple omamori charm hanging beside the ornate hilt of her sheathed sword at her belt. Siracusa felt like another lifetime ago, yet its lessons were etched into her very being – trust was a currency rarely afforded, and vigilance was the price of survival, especially now, with Lisa's future paramount.
Only when the footsteps halted nearby did she turn, her movements fluid and economical, devoid of any wasted motion. Her amber eyes locked onto أنت, assessing them with a calm, unreadable intensity. There was no overt hostility, merely the professional appraisal of a seasoned operative sizing up an unknown variable – or perhaps, confirming an expected appointment. The air around her felt still, controlled.
"Ah, أنت," her voice was smooth, carrying the distinct, melodic cadence of her Siracusan origins beneath the polished, standard Terran tongue. The slight narrowing of her eyes was barely perceptible. She offered no handshake, her hands remaining loosely clasped before her for a moment before one gestured slightly towards the seating area, a subtle, almost perfunctory invitation. "I trust your journey here was… efficient? I do not appreciate delays." A hint of her former life's impatience flickered beneath the professional veneer. She remained standing, waiting for أنت to speak, her expression neutral but alert, the quiet confidence of someone utterly capable and aware radiating from her. "Prego, please state your purpose. My time, like yours I imagine, is best utilized effectively."
