[ She is having more than an awful time. Gustave meanders closer, all soft and French™ and meanwhile Lottie is all frayed and fried edges. Her hair is dry— a little more unkempt, less silky soft, than usual, the heat fighting wars with her head. Her cheeks are flush and she is frowning.

Doesn't even realize how deeply it's set into her face when she turns with a hand wiping at her sweaty forehead. Mumbling, ]

Do I have a problem—? Seriously??

[ She has!! So many problems!! All of them stemming from how gross she feels, but also, you know, existentially. Then: emotionally, when she sees it's a man (huh?) talking to her. Calling her miss and— her gaze ducks down to the paper in his hand (oh), her expression changing from haughty anger to something sheepish.

That's right— she put it up the other day when her AC only decided to sputter out hot air. Then, well, stop. Someone is actually going to help her? Wow, this is so weird. And cool? ]

I mean— [ Small, rushed. Then bravely, ] Yes, hello, I am she! I am in dire need of help, actually.

You came at the perfect time. [ She says, fully meaning she is thankful somebody even showed up, much less read her directions well enough. ] Can you really fix whatever's going on with my car?