Likewise, no amount of books on how to host large, social get-togethers dictate the proper way to make sure the peace is kept at a meal with a number of people who are going to be fighting each other to the death in a matter of weeks. Or how to try to truly forgive someone who hand a personal hand in what she had once been certain were the worst months of her life, even if he was trying to fix things then and trying to truly fix things now.
When Clara answers the door to the suite, it's with certainty that her helpers had things under control (and if they didn't, Albert could jump in to fix things since he had arrived earlier than almost anyone else to give her a hand). She has to think for a moment about who would knock instead of just walking in, like the others have so far. And the fact that it's Dr. Norton isn't as much of a shock as it could be. She raises an eyebrow, the one above the eyesocket that, instead of being empty like it had been the last time he'd seen it up close, now had a bionic eye that had been forced on her. "Flowers?" There's nothing scathing or rude in her voice, something more like bemusement and a laugh in her voice. "Come in," she says, stepping to the side to let him enter.
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When Clara answers the door to the suite, it's with certainty that her helpers had things under control (and if they didn't, Albert could jump in to fix things since he had arrived earlier than almost anyone else to give her a hand). She has to think for a moment about who would knock instead of just walking in, like the others have so far. And the fact that it's Dr. Norton isn't as much of a shock as it could be. She raises an eyebrow, the one above the eyesocket that, instead of being empty like it had been the last time he'd seen it up close, now had a bionic eye that had been forced on her. "Flowers?" There's nothing scathing or rude in her voice, something more like bemusement and a laugh in her voice. "Come in," she says, stepping to the side to let him enter.