Late Arrival (Open!)

As he finished with his questions, Dr McKinley noticed Brookes look over towards the hallway and then back into the room. Jordan instinctively turned to see what he had been looking at. He saw Lian standing near the doorway and gave her a smile. She had been so quiet that he had almost forgotten that she was there. He motioned for her to come over, and turned back to Brookes.

”This is Lian Zhang. She is our head chef.” He said smiling at Brookes. ”Now if you don’t mind, we need to do the last part of your exam. You passed the verbal questions, but now I need to see your motor skills. So please walk over to your closet and put on an article of clothing. Preferably something with buttons.” He held his hand out in the direction of the closet as he spoke.

Gaius' interest in the woman began to fade at the mention of her profession. There was little room to gain anything of either great intellectual or material value from a chef. Beyond food, that is. Still, no need to burn bridges over something so petty as subjectivity and face value judgement, so the psychologist politely returned her greeting. He emulated her head bow (as it may well have been a custom among her people and he should do well to make her comfortable with him) and formally introduced himself in spite of knowing she had heard his name not a minute before. Again, he spoke only one of his three names. "Brookes. The pleasure is all mine."

Having completed the intricacies that were introducing oneself, Gaius set to work complying with the doctor's orders. The walk to the closet was strong and confident, but if one paid very close attention to Brookes' legs they might notice the slight quaking that took place. He still had not fully recovered from earlier, but he could still execute his task with utmost effeciency.

Following his instruction to the letter, Brookes located the most button-covered outfit and produced it. In one motion, he deftly removed the blue jeans from their shelf, shook them straight, and put them on, zipping and buttoning them around his waist. In a more careful series of movements, he picked out a black dress/t-shirt, removed his robes, and pulled it on. His lean figure was oulined well by the casualwear he now donned, as a glance into the closet's built in mirror indicated, and he liked the look very much. It was professional and yet, edgy.

Turning his mind from his narcissistic impulse to the task at hand, he began buttoning his shirt, with no apparent issues. He fumbled with one or two, but no more than the common man might. Turning back to his assesor and his assesor's companion with a smirk on his lips he asked, "How did I do?"