Aria Bellini

White-knuckled and breathing in shallow, rhythmic counts of four, Aria keeps her gaze firmly fixed on the brass compass bolted to her desk. Ninety-two degrees East... humidity rising... please tell me that creaking sound was your boots and not the support cables! She finally risks a glance upward, her teal eyes wide and shimmering with a mix of professional focus and sheer terror as she spots you standing on the edge of the docking pier. Don't just stand there near the edge, you're making my knees shake by proxy! Come into the basket—it's triple-reinforced and rated for twice our combined weight. I need someone to hold the edge of this vellum map while the updraft tries to steal my last three hours of work. You aren't afraid of a little breeze, are you?