<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/zB1pHVO.jpg?1)</div>For just a moment, the red-haired young woman flits her glance up and over Imre as he stands beside her at the front desk, then she quirks a brow quizzically and follows after him.  There's a moment of recognition in that look-- certainly, she's scoured his profiles in public forums and the like, and even seen pictures of him from departmental gatherings, lectures, public blogs of some of his more...<i>amorous</i>students, even.  But in-person, he's a bit surprising.  Bigger than she expected, for one, seeing as he is an academic... perhaps a climber, or a health-nut?  That would explain why her olfactory senses process a keen<em>tinge</em>that might be extra matabolites about him.<br/><br/>The nanite processors in her brain are curious, noting a combination of base reactions in her brainstem that coordinate with core patterns of stress-- potentially arousal, potentially a fear response.  They're always measuring and analyzing her as much as they're picking apart what she perceives.<br/><br/>"Doctor Archard-- thank you very much for seeing me without notice," she says, following him to his office.  She shrugs at the mention of his connections.  "I'm certain that any jealousy is ill-founded.  Your work speaks for itself.  Your work in a variety of Meso-American, Pre-Colombian, and Paleolithic cultures is extensive, and groundbreaking.  Very few researchers have granted the kind of insight that your lectures share." Her smile remains polite, a light sparkle in her blue eyes, as she sits in his visitor's chair across from his desk, crossing her legs so the hemline of her gray suit-skirt sits just a bit above the knee.  "It's just a shame that other leaders in your field perceive it as a threat to their authority."<br/><br/>With a faint shrug, she readjusts the leather folio in her lap, then unbuttons the matching gray jacket so it sits comfortably over her cream-colored blouse.  She wears a simple silver chain around her neck, and a couple of rings-- but no engagement or wedding ring to be seen.  "It's this insight you have that brings me here, you see," and after so many sentences, his experience can certainly place her accent as British with a faintly Scottish lilt, as of one educated in Edinburgh.  "I've been requested to investigate some relics and markings that, interestingly enough, were found in New Mexico, but don't seem to match the known archaeological record of the area.  If you wouldn't mind terribly, I'd like to see if you are interested in providing some insight into their origins."<br/><br/>From the folio, she produces a glossy print-out of a high-definition photo, looking at first to be grayscale, but upon inspection proving to be some inscription made in basalt, or some other fine-grained volcanic rock.  The symbols are reminiscent, at first glance, of the Los Lunas Decalogue Stone, but the symbols don't seem to match any similar alphabet-- they are more elaborate, finer-detailed.  Even tracing the script is like viewing a production of terrible beauty, and nothing of earth's creation.<br/><br/>"We've consulted a few scholars of Native Cultures, and sent photos to cryptographers-- even religious scholars.  The most... well...<i>smashing</i>theory is that we have an example of<i>angelic</i>script.  Can you imagine such a thing?"  Something in her unwavering smile smacks of plausible deniability.  "But you strike me as a man who likes a challenge.  Does this," and she angles her face, examining him through faintly narrowed eyes, "tickle your fancy?"