[center][b]Cindra Dubrovnik[/b][/center]

Cinder sighs, annoyed at the tiny amount of information she is privy to, and heavily walks out of the room.  She makes her way to the armory, stopping at her locker, and unloads her AGR-14 rifle and a cleaning kit.  With an irritated half-smile, she settles onto a bench and tucks one leg up close to her as she begins disassembling and swabbing the weapon down.
It's not like she has anything else to do...
Cinder takes her time, knowing there isn't really a need for her anywhere at the moment; if the admiral needs her, he can send her a com.  
[i]Pull this pin, remove this slide, turn that screw, swab, tweak this mechanism...[/i]
What could the admiral be thinking right now?  Is he debating a strategy?  Is he panicking?
[i]Attach this clip, snap that cylinder back into place, slide the piece over...[/i]
Even though she cleans at a far slower pace than usual, she absentmindedly finishes all three rifles and her psyblade within a few minutes. 
She looks down at her gloved fingers, smeared with grease, then stares at the pile of weapons by her side.  Frowning, Cinder wipes off her hands and replaces the rifles and blade emitter in her locker.
After locking it, she sits back on the bench and stares at the ceiling for a bit, lost in thought.