#fia01 { width: 400px; background: #000 url('http://i1140.photobucket.com/albums/n571/britcurtisxo/fia/tablehead01.jpg') top center no-repeat; padding-top: 260px; padding-bottom: 15px; border: 1px solid #000; color: #fefee2; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14px; text-align: justify; }
#fia01 h1 { color: #fff; font-size: 18px; text-align: right; font-weight: bold; margin-right: 15px; }
#fia01 p { margin: 5px 20px; line-height: 15px; }
#fia01 .ooc { color: #525243; font-style: italic; }
#fia01 .speak { color: #ffad0e; font-weight: bold; }
</style>
SSWM: 237
Another question that she had, more or less, expected. These were standard questions. She thought for a moment, then stated one that was terribly obvious already. "I'm very small, sir, as you can see. It puts me at a disadvantage. And I am.. how to say? Not very personable." Of course, she meant that she was a right bitch, but she would not say that. Diplomacy was a skill that she would not be confessing today, and it was important that he not know that she was already on his train of thought. He seemed to like her, underneath the layers of egocentric nonsense, and she very nearly didn't mind him either. She was not too terribly much older than he was anyhow, and she knew where he was coming from.
Her stomach was rolling. She had not eaten in quite some time, and sleep was nearly as scarce. Her body was long since running on empty, and she feared she would not make it through this meeting before she collapsed. She steeled herself, keeping her submissive posture, her eyes staring blankly at the ground as she stopped paying attention to what she was seeing. She pressed her paw into the ground without moving it, getting dirt into the cut from her rosary earlier. The pain fueled her mind, allowing her to keep herself upright. How much longer would adrenaline keep her standing? Long enough... she hoped.