Busy, busy, busy. Dustin had been given a sizable list of things to do upon touching down at the new facility-- a list which had lengthened considerably due to the breach. A number of employees-- both C and D class-- had been terminated due to their involvement. Some had planted explosives to release a dangerous SCP into the halls as a distraction and there was a rumor that some equally dangerous objects had been stolen in the chaos. For him, the worst part were the filing rooms throughout the facility, which had been tossed rather effectively. It would be weeks before things were sorted well enough to figure out what (if anything) had been removed. None of detained employees seemed to have any knowledge of it.
Dustin was shuttling a cup of coffee in one hand and rustling through the messenger bag loaded down with papers with the other. He couldn't remember quite what he was looking for, and was running under the thin hope that he would recognize it when he saw it. So involved was he with scanning dates and numbers, that he bumped into Heather, sloshing lukewarm coffee over her regulation booties.
A strangled noise marked his surprise as he sprang away from her, eyes wide as he assessed. He sighed inwardly when she was not clad in the D-class regulation uniform-- some of those guys didn't care that their heads could be popped remotely. Encountering them was rarely pleasant. It took another second to recognize her as Heather Mason. He'd read her file. And her standing in the hallway meant that her interview with Jinn had gone well.
His tired, frantic brain attempted to spin an appropriate response to the rush of information. "So sorry. Miss Mason-- sorry. I--" And it was about then that the stress caused his nose to bleed ink, which was better than becoming a cephalopod, but still inconvenient.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2014-12-14 06:55 pm (UTC)Dustin was shuttling a cup of coffee in one hand and rustling through the messenger bag loaded down with papers with the other. He couldn't remember quite what he was looking for, and was running under the thin hope that he would recognize it when he saw it. So involved was he with scanning dates and numbers, that he bumped into Heather, sloshing lukewarm coffee over her regulation booties.
A strangled noise marked his surprise as he sprang away from her, eyes wide as he assessed. He sighed inwardly when she was not clad in the D-class regulation uniform-- some of those guys didn't care that their heads could be popped remotely. Encountering them was rarely pleasant. It took another second to recognize her as Heather Mason. He'd read her file. And her standing in the hallway meant that her interview with Jinn had gone well.
His tired, frantic brain attempted to spin an appropriate response to the rush of information. "So sorry. Miss Mason-- sorry. I--" And it was about then that the stress caused his nose to bleed ink, which was better than becoming a cephalopod, but still inconvenient.