these things do tend to happen

Eleonora knows that she can't claim deadly precision and efficiency as her hallmark any more than she can profess to be the only stocking-clad secretary that keeps NLA, or at least BLADE, running. She's neither cold nor sickeningly southern-sweet, neither starkly principled nor shady nearing scummy.

(Oh, she's right there in the gray area. Aren't secretaries supposed to be the dull and dowdy gate barring the road not taken, such that slippery slope - because you know if I did it for you I'd have to do it for everybody - can't swallow and trip them all up?)

She's just a presentable person trying to do the best she can with the tasks she's given, keeping up the barest bullet edge of superiority (unfortunately so) over the operatives that report to her and attempt to curry her good graces.

How is it, then, that Neilnail still manages to throw a wrench in all that is so elegantly and subtly disorganized, so starvingly and marvelously ship-shape?

Eleonora thought she knew all the crazies. She thought Stella, working together with Miss Secretary when taxonomy is dripping slow, had all the xenoforms censused.

Right in front of her - really, directly! - rattling on about how she didn't expect to be noticed, how "that BLADE organization" surely isn't the source of all those dozen spectators she seeks to avoid, stands newcomer Neilnail.

Eleonora can't decide if she's stupid or savvy. This threat to her dominion...it should bother her. Suddenly, she should feel self-righteous about her work, her ship and her city!

But she does appreciate a little nefariousness, now and then.