As she stepped into his office, Asha was visibly restless. Antsy, even. While he busied himself with whatever work he was tending to, she sort of pottered about the room, picking up random objects which served either functional or aesthetic purpose on whatever surfaces lay about the place, and feigning a deeper interest than either of them deserved. One hand curled and uncurled by her side, before tapping on her outer thigh.
The last thing she wanted was to actually interrupt him, but evidently her idea of not interrupting him was just as distracting. It wasn't even intentional, that was perhaps the worst part.
Then, at long last, her eyes drifted to the actual object of her attention. The man in the chair... Or, perhaps more specifically, the blade he carried. The one he'd done as part of his Je'daii trial... The one she'd always managed to avoid close inspection of, and which she'd forsaken in favour of making a teapot.
A teapot she loved, by the way. No regrets there. But all the same.
Her eyes lingered upon it for as long as she was able, then she sank into the armchair across from him. Asha didn't actually say anything at all, in fact she went so far as to stare up at the ceiling.
This wasn't easy for her, after all.
She'd spent so long adamantly against what she'd come here to do...