Re: The Flibbertigibbet/The Pilot
Not finding out, was not an option that had occurred to Carter. She typically found out things that she wanted to know. Most of her life this had been work, naturally, never had it been handed to her easily, but asking, and then persistence, somewhat like the proverbial squeaky wheel, did have its own success rate.
The blank face at the French did not particularly surprise, although she thought someone with this many things, which she suspected did speak to a certain amount of affluence, might have a second language in her tongue, and French was the most likely of the lot. Perhaps Russian, but that was outside of her repertoire so she did not throw a sentence out to check. In the end it was unimportant.
She took a sip of the champagne, not well schooled enough to know whether it was high quality or cheap, particularly, and she took a cursory glance of the room as if to seek out the blue boot, that laced, and had gone missing like the passengers. She was clearly out of place in the space, and she perched a trifle awkwardly, as if she might take flight if given the right provocation, but she took a second sip of the champagne, and considered, the space. "Perhaps we could hang some of these things in the wardrobe, and if it has gone under them, then we would recover it that way?"
At the question she looked up, for a heartbeat it seemed as if she might not have understood it and then she extended a hand as if she remembered proper manners. "I'm Carter," she told the woman, really giving her a full look over. If she were discomfited, or flattered, she gave no appearance either way. "I don't think my job much supports fashionable hairstyles," she offered, lips turning up wryly in an almost smile. "But thank you, Miss...?"