( she imagines that this person, whoever they are, must be the lucky owner of this abode--which means that it's his game she just messed up, quickly jerking herself up to her feet as her fingertips drop a piece here and there, pushing them hastily back onto the board. no, it's not a game that she's familiar with, but she imagines there has to be some sort of 'undo' button for it all, like a way to start the game over with all the pieces back where they belong.

her head whips, from him to the board, and she tilts her head at it, thoughtfully. )

...Well, the joke's on you, actually. ( when she looks back over at him, it's with a wry, amused sort of smile, like she's making a show out of knowledge they both likely know she doesn't have. ) I know how to play this game really well. I'm a pro white...piecer...

( or whatever this game is called. with a smile, she gestures to one of the seats. his seats. is she really inviting him to take a seat in his own little piece of horizon? yes, she is. )

Let's play a round. I'll tell you my name if you can win one of my pieces.

( and, with a quick, nervous sort of swallow, she takes a seat on the chair opposite the one she indicated for him. it's not that she's particularly worried about the game, but: this man looks to be someone a little more done up than just a regular citizen, or maybe it's just the effect of his clothes. she looks the same as always, plain and normal; honestly, she prefers it that way. )

Can we change the colors? Of the pieces, I mean, before we play. They're a bit dull.