Beat the Drum Slowly
Beat the Drum Slowly
Summary: The JAG is impatient for autopsy results and subsequently pays the price
Date: 124 ACH
Related Logs: Subtle references to Death Patrol

Morgue Genesis - Deck 13
124 ACH 24277 Souls

Genesis Morgue is a large area, though is far from an open one. The main area leading directly off the door, holds the most open area, but that room is taken up with six Autopsy tables set up two rows of three. The tables are metal, and have enough area between them to wheel gurneys in for body transferance. Blood collection is done through the drainage of the fluids into the gutters set into the tables, and the facility holds modern pathology convienances. Past the autopsy area is the cold storage. the cold lockers are heavy drawer style sliding body platforms with thick doors to maintain a preservative temperature and environment inside the 'meat lockers'. The area is well lit, and commonly rather quiet unless there is something specific going on here.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-

Drusilla comes in from Sickbay.

Tais finalizes the last charting of the latest remains before stepping from the autopsy table. Having already removed her gloves, next is her protective gear and mask. Slowly, she removes her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose in weariness. Having heard the movement of the protective plastic verticals, she turns to observe the JAG as she slowly enters the area. "They're almost done."

Drusilla Oliveira stepped purposefully into the morgue. That in of itself didn't say a whole lot. Drusilla being who she was tended to step everywhere with some degree of purpose or other. Perhaps she was here on official business or perhaps she simply got off on dead bodies. The latter wasn't wholly beyond the realm of possibility since nobody seemed to catch her getting off on much else, the dull wedding band on her finger notwithstanding.
The woman remained a short distance from where Tais was working, waiting until the doctor had completed her strip of protective materials. Drusilla really didn't feel like having blood or other bodily fluids, dead or otherwise, on her uniform. It would stain. So it was only until Tais had shed her outer layer of attire, signalling that her work was for a time complete, that the lady lawyer approached to a more polite distance for conversation. "Very good." she said. She wasn't quite certain who it was that was almost done, so she flew by that little detail and went right to her point in being there. "Have you formulated preliminary findings on the Peerless indicent?" So, she -wasn't- here just to oogle the corpses. Oh well.

Tais watches Drusilla's face, waiting for a wafting of decomp to hit the JAG's nose. Just for that reason, Tais smears mentholatum on her upper lip. "I'm afraid more speculative than substantiated. Findings I'd need to run past the CMO, however the conclusive nature is consistent with chemical poisonings of an alkaline-based cleanser. Not exactly the exciting results for which I was hoping."

It did not take long. The lady lawyer staggered a little when her neurons finally registered the smell though she had too much pride to make any conscious betrayal of the fact. Concentrate! Chemical poisonings of an alkaline-based cleanser. It was enough for Drusilla's spinning thoughts to latch onto as an anchor. "Speculative." she echoed. "Speculative is satisfactory for the time being. What was the method of administration to the body?"

Tais smiles briefly as she sees the pallor wash out the JAG's color. Happens every time and even to the best of them that don't take precautions.."It was ingested, but we found capsules in some of the bodies that were coated with a substance that delayed the release of the cleanser. Little doubt it was deliberate. But I'm curious why they took the capsules in the first place? Again, gross speculation, there."

Drusilla was the best of them, at least in her own mind. She didn't like being caught unawares, but there was nothing for it now. Tais' smile was registered, awkwardly returned as way of pleasantry, and then Drusilla continued. She stepped closer to the body on the examining table, seeing for herself what damage was wrought, both by the murderess as well as the examiners who plied their trade after mortality. "Presumably they were under the impression it was a drug of a rather different nature." Obvious. Looking back up to Tais, she inquired, "Were there signs of substance abuse, specifically recreational drugs, consistent amongst the victims?" Drusilla wasn't going to spell it out to the woman, but she suspected the questions were enough to let Tais draw the right conclusions.

Tais drawls, "Not six hundred strong. The ship'd have to have been outfitted for illegal drug runs. Though it could have been a case of convincing those in charge to sedate them for security reasons and the whole effort went to hell. Gods knows what was running through the perpetrators minds." Tais notes a drop of body fluid suspended from one of the autopsy tables, though doesn't move to clean it up. At least not with bare hands.

Drusilla paused in thought as she looked into Tais eyes with furrowed brows. Curious. Facts were registering in her head, connections being made and broken as the data formulated new assessments. "In interesting thought, doctor. Improbable though it would be that rioters would willingly allow themselves to be sedated upon facing Colonial marines, yet interesting nevertheless." She clasped her hands behind her and looked back at the body. "Can you take me through the process of mortality? How would this poison have effected an average specimen?"

You say, "Once the mode of transport was ingested, and if it didn't disintegrate in the specimen's throat, it would, of course, be time released depending upon the composition of the gelatin coating. Then there would be mild discomfort in the stomach once the acid ate away the coating. Severe abdominal cramping, perhaps loss of bowel function, a burning as the body attempted to regurgitate the poison, which would present as a foam at the corner of the mouth, which we found."

"All in all," Drusilla said, her voice softening with a reference almost as if she were in a temple, "not a pleasant way to go."

Tais glances back at one of the zippered bags, "No. If you looked into their faces, most contorted in pain, it would be evident their death was anything but peaceful. Whomever did this either was rushed or wanted to expose them to as much suffering as possible. Also, maintaining the bodies in a less than perfect atmosphere caused tissue degradation which may have added to a loss of forensic evidence. We did what we could."

The lady lawyer nodded as she did just as Tais suggested, her dull grey eyes staring into the lifeless ones staring up into nothingness. She registered the contortion, the agony etched into the lines of the face. Perhaps she -had- come to oogle. "Noone questions your dedication, Doctor. I am sure you did your best." It was one hell of a task, even Drusilla had to admit. This was one of those occasions she was glad to have gone to law school. Having to deal with people, even the dead ones, that had been another factor. Breaking her gaze from the corpse, Drusilla returned her attention to the doctor. "Is it too late to determine if any of these victims had been exposed to LSD within the twenty-four to thirty-six hours before their death?" Of course, not having gone to medical school -did- have its drawbacks.

You say, "Please remember, since these bodies were kept in less-than-favorable conditions, the body fluids comingling with 600 remains, the putrification, the blistering of skin, the decomposition…several times, when a corpsman lifted a body to bag them, the skin would slough off, left in the hands of those moving them, the remainder falling back to the deck. It was not the most favorable environment for retreval."

Drusilla listened, cocking her head slightly askance as the doctor finished speaking. "Is that a 'yes', Doctor Pomona?" Her voice was clinical, she did not seem necessarily put off by the other's response, but at the same time she did not intend to let it go without a qualified answer.

Passing the buck. Drusilla considered pressing the woman but if Tais wasn't willing to answer then more than like the answer was not one she'd want to hear. She mentally scratched that route off of her inner checklist. Turning back to look at the corpse, the lady lawyer made another inquiry. "As harvester, have you noticed any common characteristics between the victims? Anything that would connect them together other than the circumstances of their death?"

Tais looks past the JAG, as though seeing the heaped bodies on board the ship for the first time, "They were your basic cross section, most in prime health, athletic, few smokers. Nothing that would connect them other than their circumstances and the cause of their deaths."

Zaharis comes in from Sickbay.

Drusilla raised a hand to rub her chin as she contemplated. She didn't really expect an affirmative response, whatever signs that were there were probably too subtle to detect without a more concentrated effort to connect the dots than they had available. "Thank you, Doctor." she said, finally. The empty eyes of the dead body had ceased to interest her, no more secrets did they reveal.

Tais stands at the end of one of the autopsy tables, answering the JAG's questions. There is a light scent of mentholatum in the air, mostly centered around Tais.

Zaharis is carrying folders full of printouts as he comes into the morgue, dressed in his recognisable dark blue scrubs. The CMO raises an eyebrow slightly at the sight of a lawyer actually -in- here, turning to slide the large folder up into a compartment.

Drusilla's attention was drawn to the newcomer. She drew her attention up to recognise the CMO as he went about his business. As erect as she had been before, her muscles tensed slightly upon the man's appearance. Majors' insignia had a tendency to do that to her, even if he was doctor. She thought of her own promotional review slated in the future, but whisked that train of thought away as she focused on the matter at hand. "Ahh, good afternoon, Sir." she greeted Zaharis. "Doctor Pomona has just referred me to you. Have you a few minutes to spare?"

Tais is still counting on the presentation of the JAG's gag reflex at some point, making a point to round each vowel and to speak carefully, prolonging the advent of further stimuli to enhance Drusilla's morgue experience. Her gaze lowers, amusement in her face as she observes the lawyer's eye flare, curious if she's an upper eschelon junkie. If the sight of birds higher than hers causes an acceleration in her heart rate. A brush of Tais' finger beneath her nose brings the scent of menthol to the fore, a welcome diversion.

Zaharis turns on the faucet over the large basin of a sink at the wall, sleeves rolled up over scarred arms to rub his hands briskly under the water. Soap follows. "Sure, Captain."

Dead things did not bother Drusilla. Not in the least. She had seen her fair share of it, though certainly not on the level by which they were now surrounded. She could withstand some discomforture and learn to adapt to the rest. It was really just a matter of determination. Subtly breathing through the mouth helped and sheer pride was not something she would disregard. "I am interested in the toxicological state of the victims. There is indication that the prison population may have been exposed to LSD. I would like to know if we can determine if its usage may have been a commonality amongst the victims."

Tais pushes away from the table's end, the paper footies making little sound as she seats herself at a make shift table to finish filling out paperwork. She makes herself unobtrusive and silent.

Zaharis answers as he shakes off his hands over the sink. "We can run tests for LSD, but if it's true lysergic acid diethylamide then more than likely it will have left the body within 24-72 hours after the last dose. It's a difficult drug to detect. We have a better test that can be run on hair, though it would essentially stop our labs for a full day if not longer to process 600 samples. How direly necessary is this proof to what you're doing?"

Drusilla paused in contemplation as she considered her options. "It is required for validation of a witness' testimony. We should not need to sample the entire population unless any anomalies present themselves. Would…" she picked a number, "thirty samples of this hair test be too taxing on your resources?" Five percent should be adequate to her needs. "And is there a time window before it, too, loses its reliability?"

Tais lifts her framed eyes toward Zaharis, a slight eye roll before she mutters something unintelligible and continues writing. Oh, no. Autopsying 600 bodies isn't enough for the JAG. Let's find something else to do to give them a leg up…

"It may already have passed, considering we don't know when the last dose of said LSD may have been," Zaharis replies, quirking a dark brow. "It's a drug that only needs minute amounts to cause effects in humans, so that trace vanishes quickly. We'll need to get to work."

The lady lawyer sighed in disappointment. There had been hope there, briefly, a light in the darkness that would point to finite information. To fact, undeniable. That had been whisked away and in its place was the foul stench of the room that she had so carefully repelled since her arrival. The dizziness threatened to consume her again as her senses were overloaded and Drusilla brought a hand up to touch fingertip to temple while she fought to regain her inner balance. "No." she said, removing her hand to make instad a gesture of ceasure. "Thank you, sir. I will not have your office's resources expended until I can be more certain the result would prove pertinent." Life was -so- troublesome at time. Why couldn't everything just -conform- to her convenience? "Have you any projection of when your final report on the autopsies will be ready?"

So many things she could say and for once Tais was thankful for her lowly status of Lieutenant and not having to play step and fetch it for the JAG officials. Her teeth capture her lower lip before some of those comments slip from her. Leaning nearer one of the charts, she writes slowly. Something, anything to keep her from speaking.

Zaharis raises an eyebrow slightly at that. "Preliminary report that went out has got everything except for a stamp that says 'final report'. Did that not make it to your office? I'll have to have someone forward it down. The final will be done in a few days. You can rush humans if you're determined, but lab machines unfortunately don't listen as well." He gives her a thin smile.

Drusilla nodded her head in the affirmative. She did not say anything for a moment. She'd just about restored her equilibrium and didn't want to muss it up with ill-exerted effort. Sliding right past the part about this phantom report that had somehow missed her desk, she'd have a talk about that though not here, not amongst these individuals, she said, "I see. And what will these ongoing tests tell us that we do not already know?"

Tais glances towards Zaharis and knows its his call. If he wants them to stay here 24/7 to redo any tests, that's exactly what they'll do. However, you can't wring blood from a turnip, nor can you pull data out of tissue if its not there to begin with in order to satisfy a Captain's curiosity. Gratefully, she lets the Major reply as she moves on to another chart.

Something about Drusilla's question seems to amuse Zaharis. "Not really going to know what we don't know until we get them back, now are we Captain?" He snaps a pair of rubber gloves out from the dispenser on the wall. "We're doing a further analysis on the capsule coating mainly, to get a solid idea of how long before death they would have been ingested and get a sense of the timeline of this incident. Knowing the materials used to make them will also help us pinpoint where exactly in the Peerless they may have been made, and by way of that may assist you with exactly who made them. We have quite a few corpses that look as though they were involved in violence directly before death, so that is being processed for any trace of epithelials, fingerprints, or DNA from those still alive. There are some other things we're looking at. Now is there anything else, or can I step off the witness stand now, Captain?" He asks her, sounding patient.

"I am a lawyer, Sir." Drusilla replied to his opening question. "A negative result is just as good as a positive." She had chosen an exact science as the direction of her career, presuming of course that 'exact' was open to interpretation. She listened attentively to Zaharis as he relayed to her just what it was they were doing and what it was they intended to achieve. Now things were getting interesting, her dull eyes started to exhibit livliness as she absorbed the information. Her attention was so focused on the Major that Tais had completely exited, or, well mostly at any rate, her conscious awareness. Now would have been a perfect time for the good doctor to make a funny face! "Certainly, Sir." Drusilla said to Zaharis upon his conclusion. "Thank you for your time. I await the final report with great anticipation." And by the pleasure exhibited in her voice it sounded as if she was ready to sink her teeth into the document.

A delicate purse of Tais' lips drew her first conclusion to be valid. Interesting how one's body language can shout so affectively. A dry chuckle erupts from her as she pulls another chart from the pile to add her finding to. The way the Captain leaned nearer in anticipation towards Zaharis, the way her pupils dilated…was that a tell-tale shiver of expectancy in the good JAG's demeanor? All the woman needed to do for confirmation is to lick her lips. Oh, yeah. The Major's got his work cut out for himself.

Zaharis smiles at her, tucking his thumbs into his rolled up sleeves to secure the folded part under his elbows. "Like a good steak, isn't it? Just a little putrid in parts. Anyway, kindly don't await it standing here; we're a little busy."

"Yes sir." Drusilla responded crisply to what was quite obviously a dismissal. "Good Day, sir." And then extending the farewell to Tais. "Doctor." And as purposefully as she had arrived, the woman turned and withdrew from the morgue. Onward now she went, onward to inflict herself on others. But not without first a brief visit to to the head for there was a small matter of bile continually pressing upward against her throat that had first to be dealt with. Privately.

Drusilla leaves for Sickbay [O].

Tais tosses down her pen, "Frakkin' bull dog."

Karan comes in from Sickbay.

Zaharis' eyes make a subtle roll but he says nothing as to the encounter. Sleeves up, he pulls the casefile he'd been working on down from the cabinet and checks the number of the one of many hundreds of toe tags.

Tais is seated at a make shift desk going over charts of the recently autopsied. On each of the tables are black bags, zippered, the remains from casual view.

Karan steps through the hatch, a few papers under one arm and dressed in his duty blues. He's sure to shut and spin the lock shut after him, expression bland as he briefly surveys the room, then the second to last sheet of paper he's carrying.

Zaharis picks up a large magnifying glass, looking carefully at some abrasions on one of the corpses' bruised hands. His eyes flicker up when another tourist appears at the doors, and he reaches for his pen. "We're working in here, Lieutenant."

Tais's head turns as the door opens, another live body entering the morgue. Who would have thought so many visitors would be on the docket amongst the dead? Standing, she dons the paper protective coat, a snap which resounds in the room as she dons the gloves.

The sound of Zaharis' voice draws the chaplain's attention, and he turns smoothly to approach with a crisp report of boot heels on deck plating. He's clearly on duty, buttons fastened and pins pinned. "I can see that, sir. Do you have a moment? It's regarding the deceased."

Zaharis glances at the magnifying glass in his hand, a little pointedly. "Not…just immediately. We're in the middle of something." He looks up at the clock on the wall, counting in his head. "Give me about two hours and swing by the office, please."

Next comes her scrub hat, the image of the human brain on its surface and then the body fluid barrier mask before taking up a scalpel and unzipping the second corpse in the room. Her eyes fall towards the cleric's a query in her eyes. She knows the body isn't going anywhere for a while.

Karan nods once. "Yes, sir." Tais is given a polite incline of his head as well, and the chaplain ducks back out.

Karan leaves for Sickbay [O].

Zaharis looks back down at his work, trying to focus his mind now. Focus makes things go smoother.


Corridor 11D - Genesis - Deck 11
This corridor runs Fore and Aft, or front and back. The corridors curve with the ship structure and are low-lit with halogen. Crew and personnel of the Genesis move along on their daily routes and duties around the ship.

The door to the offices opens and D'Artanion steps out. She tucks something into her pocket and turns toward the stairs. Her uniform is immaculate, apart from a few dark spots on her slacks that appear to be drying water. Perhaps a fountain splashed. Her hair is perfectly in order. Her face…? Well, she keeps her head down, eyes focused somewhere only a little ahead of her.

Almost a mirror image but for all of the differences. Drusilla Oliveira was walking through the corridor en route to her office to the fore. The captain's uniform was kept in pristine condition, there was not a fold or wrinkly out of place and she took great care to prevent stains, or such was the case when there were no more new arrivals, tending to those that were inevitable. Her hair is well coifed. But Drusilla was otherwise lacking in something that was a customary part of her severe demeanour. There was something about the way she walked, as if not confident of her footing, and the woman's face was a pallor not common to her flesh tone. A hand briefly touched the wall, the solid surface serving to reassure her, the mere touch enough to allow her continuance of her travel. But her concentration was broken, diverted, and not focused on the path before her.

Luckily, the Marine remembers her training and looks up before a crash becomes imminent. Now, all things considered, she might have walked on past, but the medic in her simply will not allow it. She slows, then stops, her tone gentle, "Excuse me, sir?" Her hand extends a bit toward the Captain and concern chases everything else from her expression, "Are you okay?" Her eyes flicker over the woman, assessing potential problems the symptoms might indicate.

"Hrmmm?" Drusilla's attention was drawn to the sergeant, oblivious to the almost imminent crash she had precipitated. The woman seemed to regain some of her normal strength now that she had gained an audience. "Oh. Yes, I'm perfectly—" she was about to lie. She was not the sort to admit to weakness, even as she had shown it. But the rebellion within her had set that aside as another wave of nausea coursed through her senses. "No. I'm a bit dizzy." She should not have waited so long. She was about ready to throw up then and there but the head was -sooo- close.

D'Artanion says, "Right." Turning, she offers an arm to the officer, "Lean on me, if you like. The head's just there." Her gaze lifts to the other woman's forehead, then drops to her eyes. While she does not offer to touch the woman otherwise, she seeks visual cues, "Any fever? Or…?" Her glance falls to the Captain's mid-section, though the glance does not linger."

The was a short pause but Drusilla, considering her options, chose to take D'Artanion's offer of aid. There were a lot of ways this scene could be worse and, just as the medic said, the head was just over there. "No, no fever." she said softly as she allowed herself to be led. She did not exhibit any signs of pregnancy either. "Just an upset stomach." It looked like a little more than that. As she closed in on D'Artantion, the other could detect the faint aroma around Drusilla that the medic was probably familiar with, if not necessarily accustomed to. Drusilla didn't quite think anybody, not even she, could ever acclimate themselves to the smell of decay. She'd held up pretty well, though, she thought, and used that pride to force herself onward, relying on the Sergeant's arm only as necessary to retain her equilibrium.

D'Artanion walks with Drusilla, their gait a hurried sort of shuffle. It really is not a long walk to the Head, which is a good thing. Opening the door, D'Artanion tries to gently usher the Captain in. "It isn't easy, is it?" The first whiff of decay… of death… sobered the medic's expression entirely. Sympathy replaces the concern in her eyes. "Wish that I could say it gets easier, but it doesn't. Not really. Especially not when faced with so many." Shaking her head, she pauses to let the other woman have as much privacy as is possible within.

Drusilla led the way into the head at D'Artanion's prompt. "Just… unprepared, is all." Drusilla exlained for herself. She faced worse things in life. The problem was most of it she could detach from, put it out of her head. The stench just wouldn't escape her nostrels, though. And then she disappeared with the medic from the corridor.

Aft Head - Genesis - Deck 11
The Head, or bathroom as the military call it, has a line of sinks for washing hands and face. Mirrors are above each sink for convienence. There are also showers, closed and open as well as toilet areas.

MacGregor comes into the head, looks around, quirks a brow and makes his way over to a urinal and unbuttons his fly. He does a little shift, then whistles quietly to himself as he relieves himself. He glances over to the sargeant and captain, "Everything alright Gunny?" and studies the captain a moment before shrugging and returning his attention to the business at hand. Shake twice, button up, then wash his hands.

After entering, D'Artanion let the Captain alone. "Didn't they warn you? Frak, Captain, that was irresponsible." Shaking her head, she leans a bit against a wall out of the way. When MacGregor enters, she nods, then returns her attention to the woman she entered with. "Wish I could give you some pointers, but…" She shrugs, "Some folk say to breath through your mouth. Me? I don't think it helps." Glancing back to MacGregor, she nods, "Yeah. Thanks. The Captain was in to see the bodies, I would guess."

Drusilla made a beeline right to the stall. She didn't look alright, even by McGregor's estimation, as her face was pale and the expression upon it not wholly pleasant. Not at all pleasant, really, as she fought the nausea just a few more seconds. Ducking her head into the concave apparatus, she vomited into the toilet with as much grace and dignity as could be expected in such a situation. That was to say, not a whole lot, but she still had the presense of mind to try. After a minute of rather unpleasant noises, Drusilla had finally completed voiding the bile from her stomach. She picked herself up and flushed the reminder of her weakness away.
She looked better, as she removed herself from the stall, still harried but at least the nausea had gone away and she was more confident of her footing. "Not very much, no." Drusilla agreed in reference to D'Artantion's coment toward breating through her mouth. "It was my own fault." she then added, and it would be her only admission. She didn't go into the business of professional and entirely rediculous rivalry between some medical and JAG personnel, how the doctors meant for her to squirm and of her own pride in refusing to admit the compulsion to do so. That would be degrading. More degrading, apparently, than finding herself here doubled over puking her guts out before some NCOs. "Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant." she told D'Artanion, and by the relief in her voice sounded very sincere about it. She turned her attention then briefly to McGregor, ready to cast him one of her intimidating stares. But that plan was aborted when she saw the insignia on his uniform. Master Sergeant. Not only a marine but the variety NCO even Captains had to pay attention to. Nah, it wasn't worth the effort trying. She introduced herself to the medic who had helped her and then departed from the head.

Corridor 11D - Genesis - Deck 11
This corridor runs Fore and Aft, or front and back. The corridors curve with the ship structure and are low-lit with halogen. Crew and personnel of the Genesis move along on their daily routes and duties around the ship.

(Melia) It's evening, and there's a little blue blur darting down the hallway, apparently on her way Somewhere. Where, however, is not apparently clear.

Drusilla Oliveira stepped out of the head. She straightened her uniform, immaculate, more so than the person wearing it in this instance. The woman seemed a bit weathered for some reason. Her hair had apparently been subject to a five fingered comb and the woman's face indicated an exhausted pallor that did nod normally cohabit those features.

And ziiip goes Melia, though she pauses to salute the poor officer who's just coming out of the head. "Sir," she says quietly, snapping to attention. "Good evening, Sir."

"Hmm?" Drusilla wasn't expecting to be engaged by blue blurs en route to her office. The other woman's formality seemed to remind the lady lawyer where she was and what she was doing. Restoring the severity of her normal demeanour, Drusilla effected a return salute. "Good evening, Ensign Sullivan. As you were." She haddn't intended to interrupt the woman's progress through the halls. Did she really look that bad, Drusilla wondered to herself. Stupid, stupid woman. She'd garnered far too much attention to herself for one day.

Melia's smile warms, widens. Not often to see someone with a smile like hers. "Thank you, Sir. Enroute on an errand for the Major. Do you mind if I drop by your office to check the medkit, Sir? I should be by within the next three days. I can make arrangements with your Aide."

Medkit? What medkit? Best not to show ignorance, particularly while she was still recovering from before. "Yes, of course, Ensign." Drusilla answered. "Drop by at your convenience, the office should always be open." Particularly while there was the matter of those detainees to deal with. The JAG office was running double shifts.

The smile brightens even more. "Thank you, Sir," she says, then straightens again. "By your leave, Sir? I'm on my way down to engineering."

Drusilla nodded. She was unaffected by the smile. The -respect- though, the deference to her station, that was appreciated. "Proceed." Short and concise. What a deliciously perfect choice of word.

And…she's off. Like the Terrier she's nicknamed for, she takes off down the hall at top speed, heading for parts unknown. Poor engineers.

As for herself, Drusilla continued on her way back to her office. She gotten over the worst of her nausea and now needed rally her remaining energies to finishing up her report, to say nothing of combing her hair.

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