bigger cages, longer chains [open]

<div align=center>Click, click, click.
The muted clicking of Amber's nails on the polished desk was lazy and disjointed to match her expression. She placed them down one by one as if playing a scale on piano, occasionally allowing one finger an extra click or two for entertainment purposes. Her other hand - the left one - wrote furiously as she worked her way through a gradually diminishing stack of paperwork.
Click, click, click.
She paused following an exaggerated, verging on violent flick of the wrist as she inked an elaborate sweep at the end of her signature. Her eyes flickered between the paper before her and a relatively small pile of luggage at her feet before glancing round the warm office interior almost suspiciously.
Click, click, click... Click... Click.
Gradually, the action of her nails against the desk slowed and then halted completely and she absently observed the result. Whilst the desk had suffered no blemish, her already poorly painted nails had chipped even further. Not exactly a tragedy in her books, but disappointing nonetheless. However, turning to the last page of paperwork, she figured slightly chipped nails were a welcome sacrifice if it meant leaving the area in which she'd been stood for what had felt like days.
That, of course, posed the problem of where exactly she was meant to go.
Her glance around the office was now beseeching rather than suspicious. Mentally, she thanked the receptionist who had dumped the aforementioned stack of paperwork on her and then left, and made a note to mention her in her will. </div>

<div align=center>With one last scrawled signature, Amber placed the pen down with more force than the action called for and pushed the paperwork away from her across the desk, again with unnecessary vehemence. Aware of the arrival of other people in the office, it was with a forced level of confidence that she bent to pick up her luggage.
She froze halfway.

Her nose wrinkled involuntarily - her mother would probably pass out at the unrefined expression had she been around to see it - at the smell that attacked her senses without warning. The faint, doggish smell didn't match her initial impression of the establishment, one of grandeur and prestige, and it wasn't particularly welcome.
She had stilled only for a second or two, but was suddenly painfully aware of the other people in the room and allowed her eyes to flit briefly over each as she finally retrieved her bags from the floor.

Her eyes landed firstly on the girl, whose gaze seemed to be firmly albeit distantly attached on the other person on the room. She followed the line of sight to give the boy a brief once over, before reverting her attention to hoisting a bag onto her shoulder and the handle of another round the crook of her arm. At first glance both strangers were rather nondescript, but that was generally her first impression of everyone: unmemorable.
As she prepared to leave - to where, she had no idea - he indistinct, doggish smell hit her again and she found herself wondering if she was the only one who could smell it (and if that isn't the case, why has nobody complained?)

She allowed herself one more glance around, gaze lingering on the boy for a heartbeat. Not bad looking, she supposed, but the faint stir of unease in her stomach dominated any sense of attraction she may otherwise have felt.</div>

<div align=center>"You smell funny."

Amber outright bristled, affronted and indignant. She blinked once, twice to regain some semblance of control before opening her mouth to retort, fully intending to question the boy if that was the manner in which he greets everyone. She was cut off, however, by the approaching figure of the other girl in the room, who was saying something about eye colour and another comment on her supposed scent. Amber ignored the former – she had, of course, noticed the boy’s eyes but had chosen not to dwell on it – and instead focused on the latter.

She’d been there not one hour and already two people had essentially accused of her of smelling weird. Looking between the two, she felt like laughing.

She could handle the girl, if a little confused by her seemingly unprovoked anger, but she couldn’t ignore what could only be described as bad vibes coming directly from the male. If she was honest, looking at him made her uncomfortable, particularly at the eyes which were all too similar to her own. Discomfort irked her and caused the corner of her mouth to twitch with the effort of concealing a grimace.

It was with Herculean effort that she willed away her anger, focusing most of her attention on the girl with a steady and remarkably blank stare.

“I don’t happen to smell like dog, do I?” She paused to quirk a brow with faux innocence. “Because I was actually under the impression it was one of you two.”
Despite her calm demeanour, she was admittedly unnerved by the sudden proximity between her and two strangers as well as their respectively blunt comments. She redeemed herself the only way she knew how. She shook locks of hair over her shoulder as haughtily as she could manage and smiled vaguely, hoping to disarm.</div>

<div align=center>"I'd rather smell like dog than blood."

She forced herself not to react, to remain impassive, but nothing could stop the unexpected spark of anger that threatened to break her facade. She wasn't an idiot. She could put two and two together. She stared blankly at orange eyes. Inhaled the subtle, woodsy scent once more. Forced herself not to take a step back. Her fist clenched imperceptibly. Of all people to be greeted by on her first day, it had to be a werewolf.

Her instinct was to do one of two things: run or attack.

Idiot. Snap out of it.

She didn't attack or run (not an animal). She straightened her back, raised her chin and laughed with forced nonchalance. "Blood?" A smirk. "Well, aren't you a charmer."

She forced her gaze away from him, overriding the animalistic instinct to observe his every move. The two were talking now but their words were muted, as if she was hearing them underwater. She considered leaving. She didn't have to be there, ignoring the monumental stack of official documents with her signature on them that lay forgotten on the desktop. She could pick up her luggage and leave. But why should I?

It took her a moment to realise she was being addressed. Rather pleasantly, in fact. Amber assumed that Lucy's sudden change in attitude was forced, as it had been just that: sudden. The other girl had gone from angry to polite in the blink of an eye. However, it wasn't like she didn't have manners. She responded to the introduction with a vague nod and introduced herself in turn.

"Amber." She then - reluctantly - turned to the boy, aware that she was glaring but unable to force her expression into something more amiable. "What about you? I didn't catch your name."

Her tone was cold and flippant, a product of instinctive dislike. The sooner she put space between them the better. His presence put her on edge, antsy and irritable, and she was further frustrated by her inability to hide it.</div>