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NERVES WERE SOMETHING that Phoebe Clarke was not accustomed to feeling. As she did with most things, feelings-wise, she shoved it so far down, that she was surprised it didn't fall out of her ass. So when she stood underneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the elevator, she felt a sense of unease when she noticed the familiar feeling of nerves bubbling in her stomach.
Despite herself, she clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into the palm of her hand. This unconscious movement was the only sign she let slip through. It was her only nervous tell, as far as she was aware. The sudden pain in her hand elicited a hiss from her mouth, and she released her fists, deciding to watch the floor numbers change on the elevator panel instead.
A ding sounded, alerting her that her floor had been reached. It was an obnoxious ding, one that could very quickly become annoying. Very. Bloody. Annoying. She caught herself, a frown cascading over her features. Really, Phoebe? You're overthinking the sound an elevator makes when it's reached its destination. Prioritise, woman. You're standing in the lobby of your (maybe) new job, which happens to be at the FBI. Pull yourself together. Be...I don't know, FBI-like?
She inhaled deeply as she exited the elevator, making a direct path to the glass double doors. Pushing open those doors, she surveyed the room around her, watching as people turned to look at her. She squared her shoulders and walked closer to the centre of the room, turning her head slowly to take in her surroundings. Her eyes landed on a group huddled around a table. She became consciously aware of their eyes following her, observing her movements.
She met the eyes of a tall man, and he furrowed his brow as their gazes held. He rose, approaching her. She smiled slightly, and his frown disappeared.
"I'm Phoebe." She stuck her hand in front of her, and he glanced down at it. She looked at it too, wondering what was so interesting about her hand. She looked back up at him to find his eyes already on her. Before she could catch herself, her sarcasm made a run for it and successfully tumbled out of her mouth. "What you guys don't shake hands in Virginia, or something?"
The man across from her huffed a laugh. His hands slipped into his pockets, rather than shaking her hand. "No, no, we do. Just not used to it, that's all." She raised her eyebrows at his comment, once again letting her sarcasm slip through the cracks.
"Not used to what, exactly? A woman making the first move to shake hands with a man?" She looked at him flatly, forcing herself to tone it down. No need to go all angry feminist on him this early in the morning, Phoebe. He raised his eyebrows.
