"Go on up, Miss Solo. He's expecting you."
"Thank you."
Cairo strode from the receptionist desk to the lift that went up to Heir Raktus' office. This time she had come prepared for the agonizing liftride and had dosed up on motion-sickness pills beforehand. As the lift jerked to life and began its rise, Cairo smoothed down her skintight golden dress and fussed over her reflection in the gleaming durasteel doors of the lift.
She had gone totally Bormean for this meeting, a new policy she had adopted. When other people went formal on such occasions, Cairo went back to her roots. Her golden dress symbolized her royal title that she held back on Bormea, her fingernails and toenails were painted with a sparkleing, shiny polish that matched the golden hue of the dress perfectly, and her hair was up in a intricate style.
However Bormeans didn't have footwear; since the native <!--EZCODE ITALIC START-->
Potajl<!--EZCODE ITALIC END--> grass was so lush and soft that there was no need for shoes. She hoped the fact that she was barefoot didn't offend Raktus. She remember that her late sister Jaina had found it appauling, she just hoped Raktus would have a more modern outlook.
The sudden jerk of the lift stopping brought her out of her thoughts and back into her time-to-go-business mentality.
