A fair willowy raven haired temptress, demure and sensual.

You tuck behind your ears some loose sable hairs that have fallen from your tight ballerina bun. The wide collar of your sleek black dress sags elegantly over your porcelain collar bones but no further. You trace the sides of your dress down to your enviably thin waist, ironing the fabric flush to your graceful frame. Your lithe figure is punctuated by a charming round bottom that gently fills the narrow black calf-length skirt.

You take a seat behind a large wooden desk and put on your thin framed librarian-style reading glasses. You hear the elevator open. You fold your arms atop the desk and await his entrance.

There is a knock at the door, and you tell him to come in. He's quite a sight: an early twenties brown haired kid with a five o'clock shadow and a suit that hangs off him like he stole it from his father. His mismatched tie is loose around an open top button.

"What's up?" he asks, "I'm Daryll."

You stare at him blankly. You can't believe someone show up to a professional interview so disheveled. You can't decide whether he is stupid or just lazy. Still, he's handsome in a goofy boyish sort of way and he may be the easily confused type that your charms could easily overwhelm. On the other hand, he may just be a lazy slimeball who would take any opportunity to make some extra cash in a law suit.