"Oh." Well, that makes sense. And there's no reason she couldn't learn to bake one-handed. If anyone would be up to such a challenge, a superhero would.
Greta's probably drinking more than she should, but she wants to keep up. And as things progress, it becomes easier to forget to be overawed by Iman Asadi, and to instead just think of her as Iman. A little too easy, perhaps... but oh well, there's no helping it, and Greta doesn't want to help it. Iman is nice, and she's charming, and Greta likes her tremendously, and why shouldn't she?
That, more than anything else, is what prompts her to respond to the dubiously-timed offer with an enthusiastic "Yes!" and a palm slapped down onto the table top for emphasis. This is a great idea, because she wants to spend more time with Iman - not just today, but other days. And if she does that then it's probably only a matter of time before she ends up in the tabloids, and if that happens then it's practically a given that some villainous sort will try to make a name for himself by tying her to the spire of the Empire State Building or something - she's not an idiot, she knows how these things work - and while being rescued by Iman again sounds incredibly thrilling, she'd like to at least be able to give that hypothetical ne'er-do-well a few things to think about before she's subdued. The thought of just going along quietly and sitting in a cell or something... ugh. That sounds terrible. She doesn't want to do that, she wants to be brave and--and useful.
So she slides off of her stool with a modicum of grace that promptly disappears once her feet hit the floor. The room seems to be taking longer than usual to stop moving, and she grabs hold of Iman's shoulder with a cheerful, "Whoops!" What an embarrassing faux pas on the room's part. Iman is a much steadier point of reference - forget you, room - and Greta leans her forehead against Iman's temple and shuts her eyes and giggles quietly to herself until she feels steadier.
There, that's better. See, she didn't need the room at all. "Okay," she says, straightening and opening her eyes. "We should absolutely do that. But not in here, because this room's all unsteady." That last is in a polite undertone, as if to save the room the embarrassment of being openly disparaged.
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Greta's probably drinking more than she should, but she wants to keep up. And as things progress, it becomes easier to forget to be overawed by Iman Asadi, and to instead just think of her as Iman. A little too easy, perhaps... but oh well, there's no helping it, and Greta doesn't want to help it. Iman is nice, and she's charming, and Greta likes her tremendously, and why shouldn't she?
That, more than anything else, is what prompts her to respond to the dubiously-timed offer with an enthusiastic "Yes!" and a palm slapped down onto the table top for emphasis. This is a great idea, because she wants to spend more time with Iman - not just today, but other days. And if she does that then it's probably only a matter of time before she ends up in the tabloids, and if that happens then it's practically a given that some villainous sort will try to make a name for himself by tying her to the spire of the Empire State Building or something - she's not an idiot, she knows how these things work - and while being rescued by Iman again sounds incredibly thrilling, she'd like to at least be able to give that hypothetical ne'er-do-well a few things to think about before she's subdued. The thought of just going along quietly and sitting in a cell or something... ugh. That sounds terrible. She doesn't want to do that, she wants to be brave and--and useful.
So she slides off of her stool with a modicum of grace that promptly disappears once her feet hit the floor. The room seems to be taking longer than usual to stop moving, and she grabs hold of Iman's shoulder with a cheerful, "Whoops!" What an embarrassing faux pas on the room's part. Iman is a much steadier point of reference - forget you, room - and Greta leans her forehead against Iman's temple and shuts her eyes and giggles quietly to herself until she feels steadier.
There, that's better. See, she didn't need the room at all. "Okay," she says, straightening and opening her eyes. "We should absolutely do that. But not in here, because this room's all unsteady." That last is in a polite undertone, as if to save the room the embarrassment of being openly disparaged.