Amalia
Maybe it's the anxiety that gives Amalia such butterfingers. Maybe she's grown too accustomed to holding books and pens, and her hands have forgotten what it's like to clasp around a vial. Whatever the reason, Amalia finds herself struggling enormously with the simple task of organization. Sweaty fingers manage to smudge carefully written labels; the initial plan to organize by purpose is rejected; in short, things go rather impressively awry.
At least she isn't alone in her floundering. Lena's own clumsiness and good natured composure elicit a laugh in response, Amalia's voice deep and bashful as she stoops to recover her vials. "Alphabetical. Got it," she responds in a low hum, setting about rearranging her organizational system. "So do you... are you a member of the Order? I haven't seen you at Cian's meetings before..."
At least she isn't alone in her floundering. Lena's own clumsiness and good natured composure elicit a laugh in response, Amalia's voice deep and bashful as she stoops to recover her vials. "Alphabetical. Got it," she responds in a low hum, setting about rearranging her organizational system. "So do you... are you a member of the Order? I haven't seen you at Cian's meetings before..."
