Ofelia/Cian - early evening.
"A job?" Her own hand darted to her mask, a light touch as if to ensure it was still there despite Cian fiddling with it. "My favourite thing!"
The clarion call of business was like a siren's song to her: shifting Ofelia's posture, her attention, her very bearing as she started leaning back into professional mode. While they were killing time, they might as well be productive about it, rather than simply rattling each other further. "What do you have in mind?"