Out of the hall, a cute brunette stormed across the white-top tables, heading down the Cafeteria. Caufman's eyes followed her every step of the way. Now [i]there[/i] was a pretty face he wished he could match a name to... among other things. He tried waving, then immediately regretted it. There was this big white band-aid over his bicep that the Toxicologist had fixed on his arm that morning, and underneath his skin was swollen to the size of a grapefruit, an ugly shade of purple that wouldn't stop throbbing. The needle imprint looked more like some teenager's bad acne than a professional trying to take a human venom sample. He cradled the sore, and was still cradling it when company came to visit. Company in the form of a scrawny guy with green-tinged hair asking for his orange juice.

[b]"Sure man."[/b] He pushed the plain old juice box towards the new guy. It had one of those cartoony logos on the side; A beaming, sentient orange holding a pitcher of what was basically its own species liquefied. The little box at the right gave the dubious claim that the juice inside was indeed 100% natural. Caufman leaned back, slouching in his seat. [b]"Don't mind the pulp."[/b]

More people were arriving, and the room began to buzz with chatter.