Pretty short. Duncan gets his assignment from Vivaine and loathes her silently.
It was a good thing she was getting more workers in. There was something of a cold going around, and while very few had caught it and the new workers would more than make up for those out, she still had to restrain herself from being even more unpleasant than usual because she couldn't control peoples' immune systems.
There were better things to worry about. Assigning the extra help, for instance. She knew she needed it, or at least, could easily use it, but it was getting harder to tear herself away from the whole thing. She wanted to be able to do everything herself, be in control of every little number and DNA molecule, but that, too, took restraint to control. Her Alakazam stood beside her at her desk as she went through the various papers- biologists, chemists, geneticists, a scientific design team that she had been keeping apart. If they could work on the small things seperately, she might be able to put the big picture together herself.
"Do you have much experience concerning personality traits, Mr..." A brief pause passed as she glanced at his nametag, long lashes lifting from her cheeks for a brief moment before he eyes went down to the paper in her hands again. "Mr. Jackson?"
Duncan did not want to work for Vivaine. He did not want to be here and he was not happy about having to be. This showed in his posture, in the way he stared back at her with his arms folded and his posture rigid. "I do," he replied.
"Good," she said, considering the first piece of paper and then going through the pile for another, ignoring his attitude. "Now, are you any good at working with personality traits?"
She looked up to him, over thin, red-rimmed glasses, her eyes as large and blue as ever, much as they were several years ago. Except she didn't really seem to remember at all. "Because if experience means 'screws things up often', I can always just put you on clean-up." Hm, she should probably assign someone to clean-up. One couldn't be too careful this time of year with sterilization.
"I'm a geneticist. I do genetics work. I do it very well. If it involves genetic coding, I can do it." He got the feeling, though, that if it were Vivaine he'd be much better off just doing clean-up.
She stood up and, taking the first piece of paper with her, abruptly turned and walked to the northeast corner of the room, expecting him to follow. If he didn't, Romerald made sure he did with a little mental push in the desired direction. There were already a good deal of people working away busily at computers, flitting glances at the project lead before getting back to number crunching.
"This is important," she said, stopping suddenly and turning back to him. She gave him the piece of paper. "It may not look like much, but this was hard-gained information." She reached up to push her glasses up. "The original traits from the pokemon we are working on do not so much include this, so it is imperitive it is formatted into this new form. Before you do any work with the real thing, I want tests run and data for simulations ready as soon as possible."
He did follow, but only after the push. Romerald got a glare for that one. He stopped just short of running into her and took a step back. He took the paper, glancing over the information on it. "Right." That was easy stuff, no problem.
There was a strange pause, as though she were having difficulty leaving that piece of paper in his hands. Instead she leaned over to the computer console and flicked on the monitor, the program already on. "The password to the programs are listed in those directions. They are not to leave this laboratory, as everything in here is considered top-secret and any indiscretions will be heavily punished." Her mouth tightened into a straight line, the monitor reflecting off of her glasses before she stood up again.
"You won't have any difficulty with this, will you?" Another pause, and her eyes went to Romerald, then to him again. "I know you like to make use of the DexNet..."
He gave her a flat stare, a very "Bitch, please" look. "I know how to maintain security. I've been working in this facility for four years. Trust me. None of this information is going anywhere."
There was a similar look lurking underneath those dark lashes, but something much more protective. "I must make certain of this, Mr. Jackson. The company is putting a lot into this particular program." I am putting a lot into this particular program. "So you'll forgive any pushiness on the matter."
She was certain she remembered him from somewhere. That stubborn stance, that murderous glare, that freakishly straight nose...
"Of course." But he didn't sound particularly forgiving. "Is that all?"
"Don't screw up." She didn't mean it to be personally insulting. "If there are any problems, call me over immediately. I don't have the time for people to be mulling over the material."
She slipped her hands into her labcaot pockets and stepped aside so that he could sit down. She checked her pocket watch. "A designated break is available to you at noon, and another at four o'clock. That is all."
And instead of letting him fire eye darts at her any longer, she walked away to check on another workstation.
He continued to glare off after her for a moment before finally taking a seat at the workstation. He wasn't happy about this in the least, but he was going to make damn sure he never did a thing to give her any excuse to berate him. Fuck you, bitch, revenge in the form of competence!