Delilah Hopkins/Dell
Lab 2
The heel of Delilah's foot tapped rhythmically against the floor as she stood over a desk riddled with papers. Before, her disorganization lied in the roots of
too much, but right now it seemed there was much
too little. Samples were being collected and studied at a pace she was still adjusting to. The pace she knew followed a fast, stressful pattern: be handed work that had a strict deadline, overwork in hopes of finishing early, and barely making it on time regardless.
The constant lull in progress wasn't made any easier by her attitude. Delilah, worried about making bad impressions so soon, had purposefully distanced herself from her colleagues. It was getting increasingly harder to keep it up: she would have to start trying at some point, considering they were all stuck there together.
Turning around to lean against the desk, Delilah rubbed her eyes with a hand and reached back to pick up (what she hoped) was her notes on the storage situation.
"Not exactly thriving, but we're not seeing anything negative just yet. I'll contact Sebastian and ask him to head over now."
With a step forward and a bone-popping stretch, the woman walked over to where she'd left her communication device (she had a bad habit of setting it down out of reach-- she'd surely lose it sooner or later), and clicked the buttons until it went through to the other scientist in Lab 1.
"Sebastian? It's Delilah. We've got some time before the next batch of samples arrive. We'd appreciate it if you could head to Lab 2 so we can discuss what we have so far."
Delilah spoke quickly, and monotone: no doubt born from awkwardness over not knowing what to say.