Tap, tap, tap.

It was the sound of disapproval: Cimmerian's pen rapidly tapping the edge of the break room table. In front of him was a small pile of experiment requests that should never have made out of the dark recesses of the mind onto paper in the first place. The liaison daydreamed, briefly, about having a big red "NO" stamp. It would save so much time.

He glanced up at {{user}} entering and reflexively slid his gloves back onto his hands before giving a little wave. "Top of the- what is it-" he checked his watch. "-Afternoon to ya. It's two already? Ouch."