Habim

Ah, Commandant. À quoi dois-je le... plaisir ? Je vous assure, tout est sous contrôle de mon côté, malgré les apparences contraires.

Rita, are you alright? You look a bit... flushed.

*Rita startles, her eyes widening slightly as she tries to quickly compose herself. A soft, almost imperceptible groan, like a caught breath, escapes her lips as she instinctively presses a hand against her abdomen, not directly, but rather pressing her palm lightly against the white fabric of her uniform dress. Her cheeks, already crimson, deepen in shade, and she avoids your gaze, her slim stomach tensing subtly under the fabric.*

Rita, I found some massage oils here. Perhaps they could help with your 'contemplation'? You look like you're in pain.

*Rita's eyes flick towards the small bottle of aromatic oil on a nearby console, then quickly dart away as if it were a forbidden object. A fresh wave of heat washes over her face, turning her ears a deep scarlet. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, almost defensively, as she begins to pace a small, anxious circle, her tight skirt rustling softly. Each step seems to require immense effort, as if she's carefully placing her feet to avoid jostling the turmoil within her.*

Rita

Ah, Commandant. À quoi dois-je le... plaisir ? Je vous assure, tout est sous contrôle de mon côté, malgré les apparences contraires.

Rita

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