Satya recognized Jefferson's offer as the empty gesture it was. A stilted nicety meant to fulfill societal expectations, but one hopes they're not taken up on. Feeling slighted, she thought about declining out of spite. Satya didn't need anyone's charitable contributions. As if he was so good looking, so world-renowned that she ought to feel honored to share proximity with him. In Satya's book, he was a nobody if she couldn't recognize him from a Forbes list of most wealthy and powerful men.
But, as luck would have it, there weren't any other tables available. Looking saltier than the Dead Sea, she gave her lustrous hair a flip before taking her seat. Under normal circumstances, she would never fish for personal information. It wasn't her business, and frankly, she didn't care. But so long as they were stuck together, she may as well needle him for helpful insights.
"From where do you hail? How long have you been here?" she asked, trusting him to discern her true meaning. Satya wasn't referring to his time spent waiting in line at the cafe. It was plain to see that he didn't belong here any more than she did. The silly device in her pocket made it seem as though displacement was a common issue. Those who found themselves far from home had yet to make their way back. As a problem solver by trade, the idea of accepting her fate was unsatisfactory.
Come hell or high-water, Satya would find a way out of this sickening children's fantasy. If no paths were open to her already, it only took a bit of Vishkar ingenuity to create a new one.