Odessa has long since gotten used the annoyance of having to wait for others' travel times. Though with people like Vicious, one never knows what else is in play. She may not know much about him, personally, but she's known people who he reminds her an awful lot of. It makes her feel like she knows something about him. It will probably get her into trouble later. She realises it in the back of her mind, but doesn't dwell on it.

She voices no affirmative in return, letting the disconnection speak for her to say that the arrangement is amenable. Presumably she'd have brought up some concern or proposed an alternative if it weren't.

She's waiting for him when he arrives, dressed pseudo-professionally in a short skirt, semi sheer blouse and a pair of four inch heels, all in black. Her red-dyed hair has been swept back into a high ponytail that's sleek enough on top to give the impression that she might be somehow severe, or even glacial, but left to hang shaggy down to her shoulders in a way fashionable enough for an evening out. She wears a long white trench coat, with its sleeves rolled back to display satin lining, blood-coloured and vivid in contrast to her otherwise monochrome attire. Her nails and lips, incidentally, happen to match.

A briefcase sits on a table nearby. She was told when she began repurposing this building that it once belonged to someone influential in her cohort. Her lips curl upward faintly at the thought. And so it will again.