The flask hangs heavy in her hand, dangling between two fingers, and Cassandra smiles lazily, letting it bob. It threatens to fall, the liquid inside cold as ice even behind the thick glass. She won't let it, though; it has much better uses than to coat the top of her desk.
She sits, quietly enough, looking up every so often at the clock to check the time. He isn't late, yet, but Cassandra is not one to wait on appointments. Not today, anyhow.