The entire day, Fayte’s mind has revolved around one thing. Or, rather, one person. That enigmatic man, Mr. Moriarty, occupied a far larger portion of her conscious though than any other. She was functional, yes, but most of her mental resources had been concentrated on what had been said, analyzing his messages, mulling over her own responses, and pondering in general. He had offered the young woman a position working for him, though he hadn’t specified. She’d then brought up the argument of her physical capabilities to kill, or lack there of, and he had caught the lack of resistance regarding any mental or emotional hesitation. Which had been quickly countered with a theory that, with enough dedication or stimulae, one could feasibly override any such difficulty. To label his reaction as impressed would be an understatement. And that was a feat, as it’s not everyday someone impresses a criminal mastermind with ingenuity.
But something wouldn’t let one of his comments drop, the one about his “pet” Sebastian Moran. He’d compared him to John Watson, whom he’d referred to as Sherlock Holmes’s “pet”, and had implied that Moran was the better of the two, but it hadn’t been affectionate by any means. And if the woman was completely honest, it didn’t seem Mr. Moran was fulfilling his duties as such. Perhaps the position would be available? She thought saucily. She shook her head quickly, No, no. I shouldn’t think that. I wouldn’t be much of a play toy, for anyone. Besides, it’s not as if she’d have much to offer him if his preferences ran towards men.