The man who waited for me to step out was likely fifty, perhaps older. It is sometimes hard to tell with humans. He had the hands of a person who worked almost all of those years. That much was clear, when they extended out to shake mine.
"Ms. Lomdi. Or Mrs. Voss, I've been told."
Firmly, not aggressively - but also clearly *expecting* and testing for my strength. Seeming also to recognize in that moment the spark of divinity inside me, as his countenance loosened slightly.
Gray threaded through his oiled beard, which smelled like it was probably distilled from cedar, and dark, short hair on top somehow kept more of its color… but smelled of pine tar.
> If I recall it was good for dry scalps… which is probably going to be a real issue in this dry winter cold. <
"Citra is perfectly acceptable to avoid confusion."
"Nice and simple. Which is why I only go by Webber."
