Sure Mal had said she was an architect, and that she was good, but... Well, let's face it, she didn't look remotely respectable. Worn, faded denim jacket. Knee-length chiffon skirt, blue, wide-necked shirt. Shoulder-cut, mussed chestnut-brown hair. She looked up, still giggling. She saw Arthur. Her eyes were blue.
"Oh, hi." She snapped up, hand outstretched, other hand clutching a clipboarded notebook to her side. "I'm Rosalind. Rosalind Peters. Architect."
"Uh... Arthur. Arthur Johnson. I-uh, what exactly do i do?" He asked Dom helplessly, struck in all manner of ways by this seemingly-odd woman. Dom stepped.
"He's what we call the Point Man. Gun-support, research, sarcastic comments. He's got it all." Arthur shot a scorching glare towards him, but it apparently missed, as Dom was still standing there.
"Good." she replied, still smiling, only now she seemed more serious. "Cause I think we'll need all of that to survive this week." Rose tossed the clipboard onto the table behind her, sliding herself up onto it's edge. "Aren't you going to ask me what I can do, Art?"
"Why would I? And don't call me that." He added, angrily.
"Mleah. Fine. Arthur." She smirked, emphasizing his name like a curse. She grabbed her clipboard, shook out her hair, and began toward a previously unoccupied corner. halfway ther she shook out her hair, and combing her fingers through, shot back, "Well? Are we gonna grab some brainwaves, or sit here and murder each othger, Point Man?"
Arthur wasn't quite sure which he was more inclined to engage in.