(no subject)
And this time, the Controller is neither composed nor weary. Dracon beam in hand, a couple of splashes of foul-smelling fluid on her clothes, an edgy, tensed air to her... it's possible that Telrim's day isn't going to plan.
Especially not when she finds herself here, still smelling of burning Taxxon, weapon in plain sight (and it's not like you can hide a Dracon beam that well without planning, they're kind of big). So much for inconspicuous. She gives a quiet groan, then shakes her head and replaces the beam at her side.
"Why can't people have some patience about their promotions?"