The colourful flash of her outfit caught Atticus’ attention, and his gaze swept down as she curtsied. Her outfit under the robe was bright and beautiful, something that her clients must adore. The dower fashions were rather stifling, especially for the upper classes. To see such light, flowing fabric must have them drooling. Even for Atticus, it was quite breathtaking and he felt a heady thrill go through him, his mind and skin conspiring together, hinting what it would be like to touch her.<br/><br/>Lust, he was familiar with, but desire... it was as poisonous as hope. He swallowed, and focused on the book in his hand. She shut the door and led him deeper into her room, and he couldn’t help but look around at it, her personality seeped into every inch. Was it a stage, to help give her clients what they desired, or was it for herself, to remember who she was after each liaison?<br/><br/>He turned to her as she started to speak, bright and fluid and joyous. It was a good mask, seamless and true, but there was something he couldn’t pin that rang false. Still, his smile widened and he let her happiness sooth him a little. He passed her the book, not bothering to open it first. “Second page, third passage down. Two lines in. It vexes when I can’t figure it out. The context has it mean some sort of surgeon or doctor, and I doubt I’ll ever speak the word again after, but...” He gave a low growl.