Honestly, Josephine would have preferred a more...private setting for her discussion with the Reeve, but given how fond he seemed to be of his sword, the Sanctified thought it wisest to set the meeting in firmly neutral ground. The last thing she wanted was to give him some excuse, or false impression, which might encourage him to find a new sheath for his weapon, after all. Particularly not when what she would be discussing this evening was as sensitive as she knew it would be. She had Faith, however, that the Hierophant would be receptive to what she had to say. Hopefully his bias could be turned towards her favor, whether that bias was for Vivian or for female deities. Alas, only Providence knew what might happen, and thus the only thing left to do was to speak.
In black silk she descended towards the Reeve's office, each footstep softened by cured leather bound by straps which wound their way up to her calves. The scent of incense clung to her, mingling with the funerary impression left by the contrast between obsidian cloth and palid, lifeless skin. For once, no pen or notepad was on her person, though a package shrouded in paper did sit in her hands.