Osten’s head tilted back in vague recollection of the dumbwaiter bringing their meals. Part of him believed it’d come up with polystyrene plates and plastic cutlery until he’d taken a closer look – well, a glance – at the others. That Daphne; her accent alone suggested she was from money and her clothes just went and confirmed it. ‘Course, she asked so nicely that either she was just naturally very well mannered – which meant sod all, really, because even Osten had manners pocketed somewhere – or she was good at talking people into things. Or he was ringing the bell a little too early and needed to keep an eye on her, which he was going to do anyway. Now how was it that women’s conversations always just ran on from each other? The Aussie – Audrey – he found himself staring at a moment. Her, he couldn’t quite place – except in Australia, maybe, with enough nerve to talk up to blokes who looked like him. He knew at least one tattoo was showing. He had to admit, the ladies were interesting.
“Osten Carver,” he gave up without stating the obvious fact that she could not catch what he had not felt like throwing in her direction. “Sure. Anyone else half-expecting plastic knives and forks?” For the possible safety of the members of Experiment B. Spotting the third woman enter the room – Why all the birds? – he straightened up to get a better look, then relaxed a touch, one hand running over the top of his head. “Said that already. Who’re you, then?” Daphne’s manners may have been on display, even Audrey’s, but nowhere did it say his had to be. Besides, he wanted a sodding brew and really didn’t think that was much to ask for given that this was not a state prison. Still, looking over the new woman, all he found himself pulling up was that she was shy or she really liked her sleeves. Osten had never functioned very well around shy people. He developed an urge to shake it out of them.