Rosetta Stone ▷ Pepper Potts

1 - BUSINESS AS USUAL

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆. Impetuous rumbling permeating the air every bit as much as the sudden rain, the clouds invisible above the blackened sky. At first, it was a crack, violent to the ears, but only a few moments later came a rolling sound that dissipated through the surrounding buildings.

Shaking her umbrella from the pouring rain, she raised a hand to brush stray hair away from her face, groaning as she realized the look she so meticulously cultivated every morning was most likely ruined, despite her taking extra precautions on her way to work, her sweet perfume flattening and her clothes drizzled with water, likely not to fully dry out until well into the afternoon.

Nodding at the intern tending to the front desk, she made her way toward her office, noting the way her heels clicked on the hard surface with satisfaction, echoing through the wide halls, yielding a pleasing sense of authority that never failed to make her feel powerful in any setting, regardless of her position.

A fairly sized room with both an equal mixture of comfort and professionalism, her office had intentionally been designed by a friend in order to make personal guests and prospecting customers feel at ease in her presence, details that, as she had been told, allowed for optimal cognitive focus, proven through science and design to have quantitative beneficial effects in the long run. Of course, she hadn't relied on other peoples' word to plan something as significant as her personal office, taking the necessary time to fact check what she had been told, seeking second and third opinions, always making sure to be thorough.

She was almost glad of the foul weather, because it gave her a quiet day to think and prepare for busier days, the sound of rain pattering on her window yielding calmer moods, the curtains drawn open to reveal the souls unfortunate enough to commute via more undesirable methods, rather than taking the subway or a cab.

As a community advocate and a seller of art, she typically spent a good portion of her work day involved in aspects of that particular venture, in addition to organizing events and creating and maintaining exhibitions, interacting with artists and business people on a regular basis. Seeing as she often needed to negotiate prices to buy certain pieces of art, she had spent years building up her ability to dominate the conversation, forcing people to take her seriously and see things her way, typically resulting in a good-natured handshake—although there certainly those who tried to take her deposition for granted, of which whom received immediate consequences.

It was hard not to let the things people said get to her, but it was with a shrug of her shoulders that she reminded herself to keep her head high, to discard anything that might keep her from doing her job correctly and efficiently, because that was the best way to prove them wrong.

Just as she was getting settled in, a knock on the door startled her from where she had been stuffing her purse in the compartment under her desk, calling out for whoever it was to come in, taking a deep breath and momentarily composing herself, an instinctive smile already on her face.

"Good morning, Ms. Moore," the intern greeted, entering and leaving the door slightly ajar before reaching into a stack of manila folders, "How are you?"

"Good, thank you," she replied easily, thanking her as she reached for the paperwork, giving a good-natured groan as she saw what was in store for her, "At least it's a slow day, this might take all day to finish."

The intern gave a quiet laugh, as if unsure how to behave in the vicinity of such a presence, instead opting to simply remind her, "You have a meeting at six with Vanessa Fisk, she was interested in creating a conjoined exhibition last time you spoke."