Psyche entered the cafe quietly, unobtrusively, and walked straight to the counter first, though a glance over her shoulder assured her she needn't worry about such precautions. A quick survey of the place assured her that the young lady in the corner was Darla, and she seemed not to be paying attention to those around her, but rather absorbed with reading. Psyche placed her order before approaching the shadowy corner, her brown eyes flitting over the schedule with curiosity.
"Whatever you do, don't take Northern Renaissance art."
It was stated brightly, almost cheerfully, even if the word choice was somewhat foreboding. Psyche slid into the chair across from Darla without asking for an introduction or offering one, and continued her theme.
"It's a terrible disappointment. The Northern Renaissance had none of the qualities that made the Italian Renaissance so exquisite -- there was no grace, no fluidity, no beauty. Everything was so harsh, so somber, so rigid -- like their landscape, like their weather, like their beliefs. But it was very different in Italy. Italy was always full of light."
By this time, Psyche's caffe mocha arrived, and she neatly took a sip, as though she hadn't just taken a seat without asking first.