T'Challa rose from his chair in a single, fluid motion, and leaned forward slightly to acknowledge Lois' bow. He took her proffered hand, and lowered his head to kiss it, his movements smooth and graceful. "The pleasure is all mine Mrs Lane." He gestured toward the seat prepared for her, and returned to his own.
The attendant arrived, taking T'Challa's empty plate. "Something to eat or drink, madam?" he asked in lightly accented English. T'Challa continued once the waiter had turned to go "I must confess to being an admirer of your work for some time. I find the modern attitude toward journalism insulting. Simply being able to type does not mean one has anything of substance to contribute." The waiter returned, giving Lois any food or beverages she ordered, before leaving. "Journalism is a profession, and as such requires skilled professionals- such as yourself- to ensure standards and quality are being upheld."
He looked as though he might continue, but shook his head instead "Wakandans rarely mince words- a trait illl suited for diplomacy and public relations, I think," he said with a wry smile. He sipped his coffee- dark and rich like colour of his skin- and asked. "So, where would you like to begin?"