[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qFC355N.png?2[/img][/center][hr][hr][right][sub][color=1a7b30][b]Location:[/b] The Crows' Nest[/color]     [color=A9A9A9]//[/color]     [color=007236][b]Date:[/b] February 25, 2057[/color]     [color=A9A9A9]//[/color]     [color=00746b][b]Time:[/b] 8:45[/color]     [color=A9A9A9]//[/color]     [color=0076a3][b]Interactions:[/b] Everybody and nobody[/color][/sub][/right][hr][hr]
People talked. Some had good things to say, but Lysandra found herself short on any appetite for knowledge or investment. She was doing it, she knew - what she had always done when feeling guilt: running from it and hiding. [color=7FFFD4][i]No Cerise.[/i][/color] It just sat atop her stomach and wouldn't go away. [color=7FFFD4][i]You did this, Lys. You thought you were so smart, going for that vestige.[/i][/color] In truth, the greater part of her wanted desperately to go on that mission. She burned with curiosity and longed to be away from the cavernous emptiness of the Crows' Nest while most others weren't there but, all inspirational bullshit and encouraging words aside, she knew that she would be a liability: drawback as opposed to boon. The allure of burying herself in her work - going through all of the salvage from the last mission and Akaia's earlier run and making new things with it - was not inconsiderable, as was the fact that she had a live Mistle to study and experiment upon. Then there was The Federation, which she'd been working on as best she could, ready to replace the Four Immortals and an improvement by virtually every measurable parameter.

The truth was that she felt herself genuinely neutral on this one. She just needed a distraction, whatever form it took. Choosing a break in the proceedings to interject, Lysandra uncrossed her arms, thumped back onto four wheels, and made a simple statement of dubious fact. [color=7FFFD4][b]"Don't ever let it be said I'm not a team player,"[/b][/color] she began, [color=7FFFD4][b]"I'll go wherever I'll be most useful."[/b][/color] She wrapped one arm around her waist again, the other flicking some hair over her shoulder. She controlled her eyes. The maps looked interesting. Her eyes wanted to pore over them. She denied their request and sat poised, professional, and distant.
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