At the initial beckoning Mag's shoulders straightened. She would not be told what to do. She would be his Prima Donna, but tha would not be as it had been before. No longer would she be bound into servitude, no longer would she take orders from a man. She had been doing as she was told since she was a girl, nineteen, and here she was a touch over forty and still being commanded. Being expected of.
Mag frowned. Her eyes swept the room and each piece of furniture present in shadow alone came to her. The chair he beckoned her to sit in, and yet the rest of the couch was vacant. He was tucked into a corner nursing his bottle of gin. And other pieces called to her just as he did.
A lift of her chin as she studied the layout, and finally her fingers curled within the fabric of her skirt and she lifted it. The motion towards the chair to his left was easy, like the capricious wind across the empty valley, and only when she had placed herself comfortably in the chair did she release the fabric, smooth it out and then turn to him.