It was a slightly odd look. It was not quite a challenge, and it wasn't exactly curiosity, and it wasn't precisely contemplation. It was, if one was forced to pick a polite term, a Look of Consideration.
The expression wasn’t characteristic to Fisher. Despite a history of creative disruption, Fisher didn’t have a reputation for cunning. The popular opinion was that her attention span couldn’t handle the strain. She was notoriously unreliable (in anything involving the benefit or care of others) and typically could be said to observe the world, or at least its non-mechanical residents, with the polite, vapid attention usually given to photos of other people’s children.
But she was still a Drosselmeyer.
The accumulated inheritance of twenty generations momentarily raised its serpentine head to peer at the man and think: what makes youtick?
And then it was gone and its place was only a girl with messy hair, rough skin, and bright blue cereal puff stuck between her teeth.
"Enjoy your dry reading, Herr Professor." Fisher clicked her chopsticks in farewell. "It will be thrilling and enlightening, I am sure."