Donut Mind Me


cooper_icon.gif corbin_icon.gif emily_icon.gif squeaks_icon.gif


Scene Title Donut Mind Me
Synopsis Isis is stuck in Dirk's body and visits Fort Jay. Donut mind the body thief.
Date March 6, 2019

Fort Jay

A circular beam of light seems to highlight one particular desk - the one positioned just-so beside the thick door bearing the freshly etched and polished label: “Executive-Director: M. Choi”. An slender, little man in a gray blazer and white shirt, sans tie, is carried on polished black shoes across the room. He makes it a point to give a low, effeminate little wave to those that look up at his passing, but each time his blue eyes sweep back to that desk. He’s almost there: Three paces - did the beam of welcoming light get brighter? Two paces - does anyone else hear the crescendo of holy music? One pace - shit, his heart is going to bust right out of his little ribs and… Houston, the eagle has landed.

Those glossy black shoes give a push and the swivel chair twirls once before Dirk’s hands clap, perhaps a hair loudly, down on the desk and bring the short celebration to a end. The world when seen through Dirk’s eyes is a heck of a lot more “business” than Isis is used to. Like looking out the window of a hotel, Isis is just a temporary resident and puppeteer of this strange, little, man body. She conducts the foreign body into taking a deep, steadying breath and takes to looking over the desk.

Calendar. Stenobook. A kid’s drawing - Huh. The perusing starts to become a bit more frantic. Isis-in-Dirk had hoped the man would have left Post-It(™), or even a fun riddle, for a password. There’s a Plan B prepared though, and Isis conducts the man’s hand to wiggle the mouse, the other hand already reaching for the phone when the SESA official screensaver disappears and the monitor lights up:

Username: DDicksonNY

Password: XXXXXXXX

Remember Me 🗹

There’s a bright bark of a laugh before Isis-in-Dirk clears his throat, casts a look of apology about, and sets to work.

“Dirk! My man!” Agent Thomas Cooper called from across the busy room. A big goofy grin on his face, the man makes straight for Dirk’s desk. Dressed in a lightly creased grey suit and a pair of converse sneakers, it doesn’t even phase him that he looks that way.

A pair of coffee’s tucked against his side and a donut box in the other, it’s clear that its not all for him. .

“Dude…” Cooper’s voice lowers and he looks around himself suspiciously when he gets closer to the desk. “What happened? I like waited for over a half an hour and I even had to talk to my crazy-ex even.” One of the cups is set on the desk near dirk. “Your cream and sugar with coffee.” What? Everything else is set down so that he can open the box. “You forget it was TNT Night? I have never known you miss it! Like ever.” His head shakes in disbelief.

“However, I am a very forgiving friend…” The donut box is opened and he uses a napkin to remove a jelly donut and set on top of the cup. Something about this feels like a routine. “So I got you some breakfast,” he states rather brightly.

Studying only gets you so far in the game of faces. For example, it doesn't install the instinct to respond to one's new, even if temporary, name. So, Dirk doesn't look up at first, except that the call is loud and startling in the sterile, business-stuffy atmosphere. Isis nearly jumps out of Dirk's skin (now, wouldn't that be a cool trick!), when she directs those sparkly baby blues up and realizes Cooper is calling out to her.

Isis-in-Dirk sinks in the plush, rolling seat as Cooper draws nearer. That Jaws theme is just in her head and completely unnerving in the way in clashes with the approaching man's carefree grin. Isis-in-Dirk haphazardly brushes a hand over a tousled blonde mop and down a painfully pronounced, but whiskery, sideburn. "Oh, dude!" Isis is not the person to ask whether not not people still use the term 'dude'. It's been all too recently proven she hasn't kept abreast with changes in common social terminology.

The coffee is taken with only the slightest twinge of guilt - it's exactly how she takes her coffee, so it was meant to be. "I was totally going to come. I swear. But…" The last is a sing songy stall for time and then, "You know, there's only one thing that could make me forget…" Dirk's blue eyes take on a mischievous glimmer under Isis's captainship and the taunting tone of ambiguity. There's time enough to leave the statement hanging with all the meaning, or lack-thereof, that Cooper can fill before the coffee is brought up for a deep drink and sincere sigh of appreciation. "Lucky me, I got good wingman ready with a pick-me-up here. Would you believe me if I promised to make it up to you?"

Body-snatching 101: always make statements about one's self a question.

There is a blink and Cooper’s expression turns to one of worry. Moving to lean on the desk, he leans forward to study the man for a long moment, with pale eyes. It might make a person nervous. However, he doesn't call out Isis-in-Dirk or anything he drops his voice into a whisper. “Did… uh… that Ben guy find out about….” His head nods towards a door not far from them with the name Nicole Varlane on the door.

“Cause you told me once it would take death to keep you from all those… what did you call them? ‘Fine fine ladies’. But with what you’ve told me of that guy… man. Scary.” Cooper’s head slowly shakes as he straightens, picking up his coffee. “I told you that little blonde would get you into trouble.”

With an ‘I told you so look,’ he sips his coffee and starts to step away. “Sorry for your life, man. I’ll make sure they hold your wake at the club.” What type is left hanging. Dirk would know after all. “Enjoy the donut while you can.”

“I’m not sure how many cases you’ll be put on right away, but getting this experience is important. You’d be surprised how much of being an Agent is doing paperwork and sending messages left and right, especially with unreliable phones,” Corbin’s familiar (or not) voice can be heard not too far away in the rows of desks. He’s speaking to two young women, who don’t look old enough to be among the usual Fort Jay staff, but most Agents and staff know about the internships being offered. With an Agent as escort no one would normally even question it.

Speaking of paperwork, as always he’s carrying a small stack of files under his arm, some with the big CLASSIFIED stamp across them, even, but most much more mundane as he leads them along. “There’s always coffee and if you need a mug to call your own I have a small collection to choose from in my office. You can have one that you like, as long as it’s not one of my favorites.” He tends to give them away as office presents anyway. Except the ones that he likes, at least.

From all appearances he’s giving the two young ladies a tour of the office, pointing out places they will probably need to go at some point or another in their internship, and Dirk’s desk seems to be one of the current destinations.

“Is there hot chocolate?” The question comes from the younger of the two who, at a glance, appears far more interested in trying to look at everything all at once. Squeaks’ head is on a swivel — it probably has been since the tour started — and wide blue eyes make note of the ceiling tiles and sticky notes, the offices, computers, and even the three pairs of shoes including her own all grouped together.

Her fingers lightly touch over a stapler and set a chair spinning as she passes. Things might be touched, but are generally left alone once she’s moved on. “Are we going to get our own offices and everything? It’s hard to do paperwork without an office.”

Emily Epstein walks along Corbin's other side, carrying one folder with orientation materials in comparison to Corbin's stack of them. Her hair is swept back into a bun, a blouse and long, dark skirt complimenting her look of trying to fit in in the professional environment. Whereas Squeaks takes in everything, the older teen keeps track of people - what they're like, wearing, doing.

She hears Corbin's assertion there's always coffee, but she doubts the quality of it.

"We'll likely get desks, Squeaks. Not an office." she comments offhandedly while bringing her attention forward again, minding the desk they're on a collision course for, and the man seated behind it.

There's a 'scary guy' after Dirk?! Well, isn't that just icing on the cake! The scruffy blond man's throat emits a squeak of a noise as crystalline blue eyes turn to the indicated door. Isis is not surprised, so at least that doesn't register on the borrowed countenance when its turned back to Cooper. "Naw-naw, nothing like th-"… Isis-in-Dirk's stops, head slowly tipping to the right and one wispy brow creeeeeps up at the sight of more people coming this way. To the side, the illumination of the desktop monitor casts a bluish glow over a sideburn and sickly pallor, while beckoning the curious, prying consciousness that is wearing Dirk's skin. There's a quiet, bellowous groan of dismay and a flick of baby blues away from the monitor. "Is there some sort of sign on the door that says "The Dirk Is In", man?"

The knowledge of various files and company-specific programs has Isis-in-Dirk shifting impatiently in the swivel chair. "I don't know what's worse…" Dirk's hand is puppetted in a quick gesture towards the incoming clan. "Scary Man or teenagers." When Isis-in-Dirk looks back to Cooper it's with a wide-eyed expression and slightly lifted hand that reads: 'Where are you going? Don't leave me here with them!'

There is a brightening to Agent Cooper at the sight of the teenagers, but he continues his retreat. The plea for him to stay earns Dirk a ‘You so silly’ look. “Dirk. You kidder, you. You don’t need me. You’ll have them eating from your hands.” Lucky for Dirk, Cooper had a prime seat to watch it all go down as he drops into a chair at a pigsty of a desk. Stacks of files sit in leaning towers and that might be a couple of neglected coffee cups.

“Oh! Squeaks!” Cooper greets the youngest of the girls, like he remembered something. “Your mom said you’d be interning.” He uses his sneakered feet to propel him closer to the trio, letting the chair roll under its own power the last foot or two. Once he is close enough, he gives the chair a spin and opens the pink box, when he stops. Deepening his voice and doing some god-awful, what the hell is that, accent, “Might I interest you in a donut?” That question includes Emily, when he turns to look at her. The smile fades just a little as Thomas seems to recognize her. Shifting his grip on the box, he shakes a finger at her thoughtfully. “I feel like I have seen you before.” He then offers that same hand to her for shaking, “Agent Thomas Cooper.”

“Emily’s right, the chance of getting your own office is small, but they might give the interns an office for themselves,” Corbin offers, giving them an understanding smile. “If all else fails you can bring headphones. That’s what I do. And I even have my own office. Doesn’t make it much quieter even when you can close the door.” There’s always someone walking around with loud clicking shoes, always someone peeking in to ask for a report to get dropped. He’s had some rough nights the last month with all the paperwork he had to do, and with arranging for daily trips out to the closed area of Midtown as a personal favor to someone.

And there had been so, so much paperwork to file. Most of it highly classified to the point he didn’t have nearly as much help as he would have liked. Though with a wry grin he realized he could get help from at least one of these interns if anything needed touching up in the future. Her guardian had signed the agreements, after all.

“Morning, Coop,” he says with a grin and a nod, though he does not reach for the donuts. “Agent Cooper is the source for donuts. If there’s hot chocolate, he probably knows where to get it too.” After a moment he moves past to Dirk and shuffles through one of the files, before dropping it on the man’s desk, with the big CLASSIFIED in red still across it. Sealed, even, with a red strip along the edge.

“Another file for the new boss.”

If she’s disappointed about the possible lack of office, it doesn’t show. Squeaks is busy giving the one calling himself Dirk a solid eyeballing such as there’s never been before. It’s all kinds of suspicious, even if Cooper and Corbin both seem to know who he is. She doesn’t know. And he’s speaking of himself as The Dirk, which is just weird.

Her attention shifts to Cooper when he comes rolling over. “Yes,” she answers, for both wanting a donut — which she plucks out of the box after looking over her choices — and that she’s interning. She picks off a taste while scooting aside to let others have a chance to get a treat too, only remembering once she’s out of the way to add, “Thank you, Cooper.”

Emily's paused at the sight of Cooper's desk well before he offers up the doughnut box. Her brow slowly climbs, something feeling wrong about his messy arrangement before the full scope of it is appropriately seen and appreciated. Holy…

By the time he gets around to asking her if she wants anything, her look is one just shy of horrified at the state of his mess. She's entirely lagged behind Corbin, not following him to "The Dirk's" desk. When she finishes looking over Cooper's mountain of mismanaged deskspace, she looks back to him, square in the eyes, and asks in a low voice with language not curtailed purely out of habit, "What the fuck, Cooper?"

They have met before, at Gillian's birthday party. Her introduction might have gone unheard over the other conversation then, and she currently wears no ID badge - it's not been printed yet. At the Childs', Emily was far quieter, more reserved, and had almost always been leaning either on an object or against the wall to assure her stability.

She seems to have a problem with none of those things currently.

"How do you live like this?" she asks incredulously, shifting the the folder she holds while she eyes a long-abandoned paper cup that sits on near the edge of his desk.

Just waiting. To be thrown. Away.

Dirk's face screws up in the simple way of the 'Whhhaaaa?' Eating out of the palm of his hand, eh? Isis had never mastered the art of charm. She’s been described as mysterious, short tempered, and inquisitive, but never charming. Isis-in-Dirk's hand is brought up to rub the side of his face when he freezes, stuck with his hand halfway up a sideburn in a way that wrinkles half his face like a pug when the folder lands….

Where one person reads CLASSIFIED, Isis reads OPEN ME NOW! Fingers drum on the high, male cheekbone before falling to rest idly atop the garrish, red letters. What're the chances this is the information she wants? What's the possibility that one Director Choi and one mediocre, unregistered redhead are searching for the same person? Are you a gambling person? … Isis isn't, but that's only because she knows her weaknesses - one being the ideal that the win is always 'the next bet'. She looks down at the next bet under the unfamiliar lines of Dirk's fingers before turning those bright blue eyes up on Corbin.

"Aye aye," Isis-in-Dirk's voice is a dry semblance of its norm, vocal cords drawn taut by the nipping of so many eyes and bodies drawn this way. A sip of coffee is sought to stall as much as to remedy the frayed vocals and it’s there, over the plastic lid, that Isis notes Squeaks staring in the way that only Squeaks could stare. She has only met the little redhead once, but that look makes her feel as though the little sage has looked through Dirk’s skin and saw her squatting here within. Isis-in-Dirk coughs on the coffee and pounds a little fist on his sternum in effort to clear his windpipe.

“Corbin,” Cooper quips back the greeting, offering up the box to him as well. Not before plucking a sugar coated donut from it. “And you are very welcome, Squeaks.” He offers pleasantly before, with a squeak of sneakers he turns to look at his desk.

A large bite of donut is taken and worked on before he even dares answer Emily…. When he does it’s around a mouthful so it’s a bit muffled. “What?” He looks at her and then the desk. “It’s organized.” With a push of feet, Cooper and donuts coast back to his desk. He points towards the bottom of the pile. “Dead cases… “ his figure moves up a bit more, “Not quite dead yet, cases…” and then he points to the top, “Most recent.” He picks up the top most file, it’s pretty thick. Under it is a half eaten candy bar. “Oh hey… wondered where that was.”

Cooper drops the file back down, without ceremony, and motions to another leaning tower, “And paperwork that needs to be done and filed.”

Emily gets a beaming smile from Cooper. “I call it the controlled chaos method. Which is a BS name I just came up for it.” Leaning back in his chair, he kicks his feet up on his desk, and continues to enjoy that donut and occasional sip of coffee.

With a tilt of his head, Corbin regards the “secretary” for a moment before looking back over and Cooper and the desk of doom. “He manages to turn in his paperwork, more or less. And there’s worse desks out here.” He glances off to the side as if to reference one specifically, but really— maybe Cooper’s was the worse. “Make sure that’s on her desk tonight,” he adds to Dirk after a moment, not planning to rush him on this, even if it’s part of his job. It might not be that important, even with the CLASSIFIED stamp.

At least one of the people nearby knows what could be in a folder like that, but it could be so many other things, too. The agency had a some ongoing investigations.

“The coffee maker’s over there. You can check and see if someone’s brought hot chocolate, if you want.” He adds after a moment, gesturing toward said coffee maker counter. “Dirk here is Support Staff. He’s familiar with most of the functions you’ll be asked to do. Dirk, these are two of our new interns, Squeaks and Emily Epstein.”

The “Hi” from Squeaks is followed by another side-eye at Dirk. Probably because she’s busy taking a bite out of her donut. Although it could also be because she still doesn’t know him. There’s also some eyeballing of his desk area — and Cooper’s — as she scuttles past all of that stuff so she can examine this coffee maker. Hopefully there’s hot chocolate, because that stuff is way better than coffee any day.

The explanation does little to soothe Emily's concerns, and she actually flinches at seeing food sandwiched between the folders. Corbin's clean-cut, organized figure could not present more stark a contrast to Cooper's … controlled chaos. "Nice to see you again," she says faintly, like she hadn't just sworn at him moments prior.

Eyes fixed on the desk, she makes a silent declaration of war on it. By god, it will be decluttered. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow. But soon.

As she steps away to catch up with Corbin, Emily's head turns automatically to follow Squeaks and keep her in her periphery, keeping track of the smaller girl a second nature. Finishing the turn, she nods politely to Dirk, maintaining a cool distance. "Will we be dealing with anything like that?" she asks, tipping the top of her orientation folder toward the classified document that had been dropped on the desk.

Be cool. Be. Cool. While Isis-in-Dirk continues finishes dislodging coffee from his windpipe there's a solo pep-talk going on for the female consciousness within:

Joanne is a sweet, but skittish version of what was. Isis? Isis has been here before - in the body of another, dodge scrutiny in a clandestine government sector. What has Joe accomplished in the NYCSZ? Getting her body snatched, that's what! The letter didn't ask Joanne to come home. The letter invited Isis.

From the outside looking on the delicate, blonde man simply finishes clearing his throat and takes a steadying breath before looking to Corbin and the indicated interns. "Squeaks?" the name is as much an acknowledgement as it is a question. "Miss Epstein." A nod is given to each in turn as Isis busies borrowed hands with collecting a number of files, including that labelled classified, and tucks them under an arm.

"Support staff - that's got a nice ring," Isis-in-Dirk replies to Corbin with a smile that turns up devilishly charming in Dirk's impish way. He pats the stack of files. "Don't worry, I know where my bread's buttered and how to keep it that way." A quick click of the mouse and the SESA screen saver appears on the nearby monitor. Shifting out form behind the desk with what Isis hopes is an air of the casual working man, Dirk's baby blues drift to Emily next and then down to the indicated file. "Oh, I wouldn't worry none about these. I hear they're just memos about employee complaints regarding the two-ply in the restrooms." Isis-in-Dirk picks up the coffee and steals a quick glance towards the doorway leading out to the hall and the other areas of Fort Jay beyond.

Tongue working a piece of donut between his back teeth, Cooper is fairly content to watch those around him. Squeaks exploring gets grin, chair turned a bit to watch her. “If there isn’t any, I’ll pick some up on my way home. Make sure it’s here for ya.” He has always had a soft spot for the younger ones.

The lid of his coffee is removed with an air of anticipation, and his half eaten plain donut dunked into it. Though the action freezes as Dirk makes a comment… adding it to the other little things, Cooper’s attention goes back to the tiny man behind the desk. He looks at Corbin to see if he caught the faux-paus too.

Taking a bite of coffee soaked donut, drops of coffee staining his dark blue tie. He doesn’t really notice though. Finally, unable to stop himself, Thomas asks with concern, “Hey Dirk. You feelin’ alright, man?”

Oh, Corbin noticed it too, but he doesn’t do more than cast Cooper a return glance and a mild raise of an eyebrow before he nods quietly to himself. For a moment it looks as if he’s casting a glance around the room, as if looking for something, but whatever it is he doesn’t find it. “Still complaining about the toilet paper in the bathroom, are they?” is what he ends up saying, after a moment, grinning as his blue eyes move toward the direction Squeaks had left. He doesn’t plan to let her wander off too far until she has her proper badges on, but the coffee table isn’t dangerous.

Unless one happens to spill something fresh, at least, which has probably happened.

After a second, he reaches down to take back the CLASSIFIED file. “You look like you have a lot on your plate today, Dirkster. I think I can manage to find time to stop by the bosses office. She might want to meet our new interns before the tour is finished, after all.”

There will have to be real exploring happening, once she’s allowed. After a look over her shoulder — it’s like she knew the grown-ups would be keeping an eye on her — Squeaks busies herself with poking around through the choices at the coffee maker. Even though none of it seems all that interesting.

What is interesting is listening to Corbin and Cooper and Dirk talk. That has the younger teen looking back at them again, especially when the way they’re talking to the weird little man changes just a teeny bit. Her eyes dart up to Emily to catch the older girl’s attention, then return to the three.

The attempt at deflection earns Dirk yet another dubious glance, one that gets slanted down to Squeaks momentarily. Building complaints don't end up in sealed folders with block letters announcing their secrecy. She shakes her head just slightly at the smaller girl before she looks up toward the nameplate for the boss. There's a slow blink, brow ticking in a furrow that passes.

She's fairly certain that's a new pairing of titles and names. Almost positive.

Wandering gaze reverts back to Cooper first. There's a tilted, tired smile and the coffee-with-donut-topper is set down carefully. "Moi?" The newly free hand is brought up to press all fingertips at the center' of Dirk's chest, palm steepled up, for emphasis. Then those crystalline eyes slip to Corbin and the playful tone is continued "I'm insulted." Only then does Isis-in-Dirk indulge a sigh, the resigned sound of someone who has been caught and is now about to dish out the 'deets'.

"No. I'm not feelin' myself." Isis-in-Dirk rubs at the blonde, wispy brows above baby blue eyes. "I know I missed our fiesta, dude." As he talks the hand falls away and takes up the CLASSIFIED file from under the other arm and holds it out casually, with the edge just resting lightly at Corbin's fingertips waiting to be taken. Isis pupeteers the borrowed face back in the direction of Cooper, since it is to him that she really owes an explanation. "One word: Redheads." It said not only with a groan, but with the celestial ringing of unerring veracity. It is, after all, exactly what kept Dirk from being at whatever TNT is (though Isis has her suspicions) and has the blonde man out of sorts today. "That chick packs a wallop." A cringe for emphasis and the truths build steam. Dirk looks to Corbin again, a bit more at ease for the confession provided, "You're welcome to take it. I gotta few things to run around here though before I call in a 'mental health day', so it's no thing either way." Isis-in-Dirk shrugs and takes a moment to casually pick up the donut from atop the coffee Cooper was kind enough to provide, and stalls a little longer yet with a big bite.

Cooper doesn’t seem completely convinced by that explanation, pale eyes squinting a bit at his friend. Isis can feel that scrutiny. However, almost as soon, the man shrugs and breaks out into a bright smile. “You clearly have not learned from my long line of really bad choices.” There is a tsk and a bit of sympathy. “With red-heads especially.” The man knows he’s bad at that relationship stuff and doesn’t hide it.

It seems the Dirk Man, just like that is forgiven.

So it seems, until Isis-in-Dirk picks up that donut. Cooper seems to start to have a case of conscious as he starts to say, “Uh, Dirk? I wouldn—” But the words are soft and have no feeling behind them and even trail off. Though pale green eyes watch for a reaction with intensity as the bite is taken. They will find there is a sweetness to the filling, not typical filling… but it won’t be till the bite is swallow that an intense heat stats and buildings into an intense and eye watering level. The little bits of pepper left in the mouth don’t help either, where they seemly drill points of even sharper heat.

After a moment, Cooper asks again, voice heavily laced with an equal amount of humor and apology, “You okay, man?”

It would be true that building complaints usually don’t end up in sealed folders, especially not that sealed. But with certain things Corbin doesn’t trust anyone he doesn’t know has signed the paperwork looking at that particular file. And the only one who was among that small group happened to be over by the coffee table. “Ah. I understand. I used to be married to one of them, myself,” he responds after a moment, tucking the folder back under all the other ones for the time being. It might have been better if he’d delivered it himself anyway. The new boss might have questions about what exactly happened there.

But for now he seems to have accepted the redhead excuse. But he does wince as Cooper reacts to the donut being bitten into. Yeah, he can imagine where this might be leading. The Agents aren’t without a sense of humor at times. It wasn’t even the worst prank he’d heard of.

Squeaks, as witness to the prank, only watches with confusion. She darts a look up at Emily, probably to ask why anyone would destroy a donut like that, but finds the older girl’s attention on the door instead. She huffs a breath and pins the questions for another time, but returns to watching Dirk, Cooper, and Corbin. Maybe she’ll figure it out on her own.

The sound of Cooper's warning catches Emily's attention, bringing her to belatedly look back after The Thing has already happened. Not nearly as invested, it still takes her just a moment to see what's happened — the only thing that's changed is the bite, and the look that it's put on Dirk's face.

She silently makes a note to never accept stuffed donuts from Cooper. Ever.

Clearing her throat, Emily looks back to Corbin, wondering if they'll be moving on. She suspects Dirk and Cooper both are going to need a moment after this. Tears may be involved for both parties.

Of all the mistakes she's made today, this is the one Isis will regret the most - the mouth full of powdery sugar and jelly made from the bowels of Hell.

Isis-in-Dirk's brows furrow at the first, not yet connecting the awkward taste to Cooper's weird behavior. Gulp. Down it goes. The little blonde man can be seen smacking his lips a moment and then it's just about the time that a few beads of sweat begin at his hairline that those baby blue eyes begin to widen. "Oh." A look is given the offending donut. A hand goes to his mouth to suppress a little gag and when Isis-in-Dirk breathes out its feels like fire has uncoiled from his belly. Does anyone else see the firebreath?! "Oh fuck."

And with that, red strobes and alarm bells go off on Isis's own personal Mission Impossible. Abort! Abort! Someone has pulled the fire alarm inside this body! Get out! Had she still held the CLASSIFIED file, it would have ended up with the others that are now dropped promptly on the rightful Dirk's desk. Both hands come up, waving limply and wildly at Isis-in-Dirk's mouth with a couple of futile, gasping breaths. A few wheezes come out - perhaps these were supposed to be words, but they are like smokey, puff-ghosts of what were previously working vocal cords, and then Isis-in-Dirk jumps out from behind the desk and runs for the door - presumably to find the nearest source of water other than the waterworks coming from the eyes figuratively melting out of his sockets.

Well shit, that didn't go as planned.

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