Iman's narration is informative enough that Greta arches an eyebrow in turn, and then she's giggling at Iman's response. But her laughter cuts off into a sharp gasp when Iman leans back in, and oh dear, she's going to completely forget what she's meant to be doing in a minute.

:This is maddening - Iman's mouth, her hands - and Greta's just preoccupied enough with this dratted skirt that she can't do anything but take it. She'd much rather be giving something back - something besides an improvised hijab - and it's in that moment of frustration that her hands move again, swift and sure of themselves, rending the bottommost portion of her skirt from the rest of her dress in an improbably tidy rectangle.:

"Oh, good," Greta says, breathing heavily, not even bothering to look at her handiwork this time. She'll take her voice's word for it that it's a tidy job. There are much more important things demanding her attention. She lets the ersatz scarf fall to the floor (it folds over on itself into a neat little bundle), and then she has one hand buried in Iman's hair and the other drifting up the exposed skin on her thigh. Perhaps that enormous slit in her skirt does serve a practical purpose. "You," she growls in breathless accusation before kissing her.