Tzvi’s mind bobbed from scrambling for an excuse not to join the rescue crew to ardently searching for distractions to ignore every idea that encompassed the first thought. The Tyrus had jumped from one sinking ship just to throw ‘em in the next.
It’d be like every other time. The job always had risks. Even an easy one, even that easy one flawlessly done, even all that way far off from the target. Tzvi’d accepted this as part of the deal. Close gunfire, bad partners, hackers, surprise changes, broken omni-tools, angry krogan. There'd be bad days that the plan fell apart and tried to get her killed - and leave a few scratches - and there'd been thirsty and hungry days when luck found itself in a real nasty mood. That didn't matter. It was always manageable. None of it was a problem, if she just played it smart. Her nerves just got frayed. No biggie.
One leg got irritated with this line of thought and started to bounce impatiently. ’Maybe I can say I’d do a better job from a desk, on this one.’ Tzvi tossed a look over her shoulder to see Roland rummaging through the fridge nearby, “Hey, Roland. When were you born?”
The question didn't look like it caught his notice; the medic went on about his business. But the answer came over, muffled by the fridge.
“2148.”
“Okay. But what day?”
“August 24th.”
...
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
Neat. Now she just had to translate that to Galactic Standard Time. And if she didn’t skip to the extranet or a calculator, that’d take up some time.
Playing with math and virtual clocks succeeded in trapping her full and overenthusiastic attention enough to later turn Roland's departure into a wisp of memory and speed up the passing minutes. However many minutes those were. But then that ended. A creeping sense of awareness butted in, and then another thought: 'Maybe I can worry myself into getting sick.'
The momentum had died before Tzvi tried to spark it back up with a tangent attempt to read up on archaic asari calendars. What she needed, she decided, was a bubblier Chuckles - Kosso had seized and probably destroyed Kygg's first son - or some flower trinket made out of string and junk. Tzvi wrinkled her nose in contempt at the counter and chair like the whole sit had been an unjust timeout by an uptight parent. The quarian sprung out of her seat to escape to her quarters. When the right door crawled its way over to her and slid open, Kas was picking herself, and a plate for her suit, up from the ground.
Tzvi's half-raised arm gave a small wave, chirping, "Hey, shipmate." It struck Tzvi that Kas wasn't painstakingly climbing on the bed to get up or otherwise tumbling about the cabin. Kas was still roughed up and her knees looked stiff when she straightened them out, but she was remarkably more animated and in control of her limbs than the meeting - what, a half hour before? There was an uncertain pause when Tzvi mulled over what she was watching. The quarian tried to brush it away, and asked out of friendly curiosity, "How's it goin'? Fixing your suit up for the next job we're picking?"
