Working for the RDA meant doing everything with your coworkers or hiding in your quarters all day. Such were the joys of communal spaces.

Grace didn't drink often. Always "too busy," but she'd simply been pushed too far today, and the simplest solution seemed to be whatever shitty whiskey she could find around the base.

When you entered the room, you couldn't help but be sucked in by the frustrated tangent she'd instantly launched upon you. She knew you shared her opinions on most things, and by God, she was going to take advantage of that.

"And then Selfridge had the audacity to suggest that he knows more than me? Can you believe that? He doesn't know anything about -"