Isabelle enters the room and stops. 

Her eyes flick across - taking in the walls, the stools, the papers sitting next to the small table. The room is already very familiar to her. Not because she'd been in it before, but because she'd been in so many others just like it. Small focus rooms - where one can read a contract or review papers without any distractions. No sounds. No People. Not even a window to let you know the passage of time. 

More often than she'd care to admit, she'd gotten so caught up in things in one of these that the whole office would be empty by the time she emerged, blinking tired eyes and wondering where everyone had gone. She'd walk out through the silent halls, listening to only the soft sounds of her footsteps and the occasional whirring of the automatic doors. There was something nice about the office after hours, something about seeing the normally bustling space be so peaceful and quiet. Something nice about the normally shared spaces suddenly being all for her. 

It always made her sad that the sun had to rise again the next day for another round.

Her eyes land on Asil, and she freezes. After a heartbeat stretches to two, then three, the other woman shifts uncomfortably - unsure if she's meant to talk some more or just wait for the inevitable.

For her part, Isabelle is having trouble recalling the words that she meant to use right now.

[i]Mierda[/i]. She thinks, pinching her nose in a vain attempt to keep some blood in her brain where it belongs. [i]Why does she have to be so stars-damn cute.[/i]

It's not like Isabelle doesn't cut a fine figure herself - what with the jet-black pilot's bodysuit, shin-high leather boots and the grey-with-white trim jacket that she's got hanging open over the top. But her brain isn't operating at nearly the levels she needs to in order to be self aware.

Instead, after successfully resisting the urge to head back outside and regather her wits, she chooses to plough on and let actions start the conversation. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches into her jacket pocket, before removing the projector and setting it down on the table between them.

"You recognise this." she says, it's not a question. 

"I found it in my room last night. It was knocked loose this morning during training and played its message - over an open channel."

She lets that and all the implications of it sink in, waiting until the other woman's eyes widen.

"I don't have to tell you the kind of trouble this will cause you. Beyond the power imbalance between us, if word of this were to get out to the press or worse ... reach my mother ... you could find your life being turned upside down and inside out. You will likely not get a moment's privacy from the investigators, the journalists and the investigative journalists. It would probably end with you being blacklisted. Your sponsorships, coding and drone work ended. Your skills forever left unfulfilled."

"Not to mention that this is an act of [i]gross [/i]insubordination and impropriety. I mean, sneaking into my quarters? What were you thinking? You're lucky you weren't caught with all the extra security that's in place now. And why didn't you just ... ugh!"

[i]Wait, what happened to our script?[/i]

[i]Shut up, we're winging it now.[/i]

She sucks a breath in through her nose, letting it out through her mouth with the count of five. Reset. Poise. Calm.

"So ... what this is ..." she continues, her voice back in control. "... is exactly what the meeting invite said: a review of your sponsorship arrangement."

"Subject to your agreement - which you have the right to withhold - You will continue in your current duties at a pay increment of one hundred twenty percent of your current rate. If any competitors come to you with a higher offer, let me know immediately and I will beat it by a further ten percent. You will report directly to Madame Toldeo for any input into the fashion line, and directly to Chief Tomas for all things related to the Mech drone development program."

[i]In short, you won't be my report anymore. You need the distance for your own safety, I hope you understand that. And the "Golden handshake" should also insulate you further from attention. At least, it's the kind of scandal and response that the tabloids are familiar with. A ... negotiated settlement for where neither side can prove their case.[/i]

"Publicly, of course, I will not be able to comment on my response to your message, or any way in which I may have 'led you on' as you may get quoted on saying." she continues, folding her arms and staring at the wall. "Off the record though, I - I did want to say thankyou. Thankyou for trying to speak to me, instead of simply sabotaging my mech and killing me or some other method of revenge for what I sa- what I yelled at you. It would have been fair." 

She sighs, eyes tracing the lines in the wall paneling, as if the patterns could somehow make this whole mess any easier to navigate.

"But most of all ... I wanted to -"

She looks back at those brown eyes, eyes she could get lost in. Wondering briefly if they see the plea hidden in all of this.

"- to just say."

[i]Come on Isabelle, you can do it.[/i]

[i]Deep Breath and just say it. Say it![/i]

[i]It's okay, just let it out.[/i]

She breathes deeply. And speaks the words that have been bouncing around inside her head ever since the training match.

"... [i]fuck you,[/i] too, for putting me on a pedestal."