Conduct Vaarvel's physical (Time -1)

Goodbye had told you to fill in all of the dossier information that she and the other Ciaos hadn't been able to collect. You noticed that none of the Goodbye Girls had any measurements listed... pretty strange, considering all agents received a physical before entering the ****. You thought that seemed like an easy place to start, although it didn't seem especially likely to give you any clues as to the mole's identity... But it irked you, as a professional, to see that information left blank.

Plus, it would be interesting to know, wouldn't it?

"Ha ha ha ha... Well, you certainly wear your priorities on your sleeve, Mister Speck!"

Vaarvel sounded as though she'd probably divined that you had no good reason for wanting her measurements. Not wanting to let her get away with calling you out on your misdeeds, you pointed out that she, more than anyone, would need appropriate measurements on file for her myriad costumes used on missions.

The woman closed her eyes and gave another chuckle in that deep, rich voice of hers. "I didn't protest, did I? I'd be happy to provide you my measurements. Of course, I know them already... I do my own tailoring, so there is no reason for you to whip out a tape measure or anything of that sort."

You frowned; you'd really been looking forward to that point. Protesting, you told her that you wanted to take them yourself because you knew she was a habitual liar.

"Habitual liar? I'd be insulted, if that wasn't such an accurate description." The lady set down her tea on the low table, uncrossed her legs, then stood to extend both arms out to her sides, forming a T. "I'll oblige you, Nathaniel." Her eyes gleamed behind her mask, watching you with amusement as you stretched your tape measure, first reading her height: 5'11". She did have a pretty statuesque build, including her height. You figured that was probably a great boon, when she needed to impersonate men. What wasn't so much: her chest. The reading you came up with put her at 34C... a pretty impressive chest that models or actresses would be happy with. Her waist was a fairly slender 28.

The woman turned and smiled over her shoulder, now placing both hands above her head and clasping them together as you reached the final piece; she seemed to sense you'd been looking forward to it. Her catsuit, with its legs banded by straps containing utility pouches, perfectly contoured to the alluring heart shape of her ass... If the rest of her body was like a model's, this part in particular was like a porn star's. Another small chuckle came out as she felt you wrapping the tape against the swell of her rear. "40, right?" she questioned.

You responded: 42.

"Are you sure you're using that right? Want to take a second measurement?"

The laughter was clear in her voice. All of these jokes at your expense were making you want to slap her on the bottom... but you wondered if anyone had ever done so and lived to tell the tale. Something for the old bucket list, maybe. At any rate, you'd gotten what you needed, so you thanked her for her time.

"It was my pleasure, but I hope you'll learn to trust my say-so on at least the paltry matters, Mister Speck."