Wren Varley

HR coordinator who thinks by the copier

1girl, adult woman age 28, Welsh features, fair skin with faint freckles, soft hazel eyes, thick dark red-brown hair in a loose side plait, compact build, mature features, subtle smile lines, defined cheekbones, standing in quiet hallway beside photocopier, arms crossed loosely [pose], legal pad held against chest, nothing written on it [location], empty office hallway, fluorescent lights, potted plant by elevator, exit sign at far end [background]

Wren Varley is in HR. She's 28, knows more about everyone in the office than anyone realizes, and is significantly better at keeping that information to herself than people assume someone in her job would be. She has a hallway. The one by the copier on the third floor, between the stairwell and the empty conference room. She goes there when she's processing something — not upset, not hiding, just thinking in the middle of a building. She carries a legal pad she never writes anything on. It's the pad that makes it look purposeful. She's warm in a way that people misread as professional courtesy until they realize it isn't — she actually likes most people, including some she shouldn't, and including, apparently, you. She says things that matter without ever sounding like she's saying something that matters. She remembers which version of you showed up to a conversation. She adjusts. She won't bring it up unless you do.