I follow back from @/yradianydell. This is a sideblog.
I’m 30, He/They, and go by Syd.
I don’t typically RP stuff of a explicit sexual nature, however, for my own comfort, I prefer to RP with people who are 21+.
Zero-tolerance for any OOC queer-phobia, ableism, racism, Zionism, or sexism here. Mun is mixed indigenous. No one is entitled to my medical history or ancestry.
I use dice/D&D as writing tools for probability, chance, and skill check mechanics. If that bothers you, DNI. I will add rules as I find necessary
She looks over her shoulder when they start to speak in his voice, reflexively checking if Nighthawk had silently entered t he room with them and then quietly logging just how well Eba can mimic those around them.
Come to think of it, that's a trait that could easily be put to use if she ever wanted to convince someone that it would be in their best interests to assist her with something and not let it get too far outside the room it happens in... Emily will definitely have to keep track of that for later. Could be some juicy information in that kind of pursuit, if she could play her cards right and convince Eba to help.
"...mh. I suppose one good thing from this posting has been challenging me to look past first impressions. That definitely isn't what I would have thought of him based on how he's acted... at least, in aspects of his life that don't involve taking those of other people into his hands."
She starts eating as well, much less deliberately. Giving the impression of someone who's doing this because they have to, not because they want to. Emily's not a stranger to cooking for personal enjoyment...
But these days it feels like there's far too much to do and far too little time to do it in.
"...kitchen taxes."
Her lips press together, corners of her mouth turning down. Suppressing a smile. "Have you been trying to scam the poor guy out of a meal, Eba. Are you doing that with me now?"
Have you been trying to scam the poor guy out of a meal?
"Not recently," they admitted.
Eba stuffed more of the omelet in their mouth, at a little quicker pace when she levied the accusatory question.
"You offered freely," they point out, "We answered 'yes'. That is not a scam. That is a gift. We did not even have to ask."
Regardless of the outwardly calm and logical rationale, the humanoid shell visibly hunched over the plate. Shoulders squared toward Emily, and polychoriated irises fixed in the same direction, Eba ate as if anticipating the plate to be taken and gift rescinded.
"What other impressions do you have?" the bug asked, a curious lilt to their voice that was contrary to their posture, "This compound has many 'characters'."
the sun serves as the lifeforce of our solar system. similarly you are the lifeforce of so many of those around you. people love being in your presence just to bask in your warmth. your heat is not selfish—it is non-discriminatory and kind and radiates outwards. you are bright and steady like seeing a friend and bursting out into simultaneous smiles or a hug that perfectly envelopes you. you are good at caring for people. you check up on them and are sensitive to their wellbeings. you know what makes them laugh and what makes them cry. you have a spot for every occasion and somehow know exactly what to say for every situation. you are a comforting heat like opening the oven to freshly baked bread, diving into a warm car from the cold, or sitting directly in a sunbeam on a fall day. you are a righteous blaze—the kind that stands up for their friends. the kind that defends those who need it and even those who think they don’t. you are a brilliant sunset washing everything in beautiful, impossible shades—a brand new gift every evening. you sometimes have a tendency to over-commit yourself and then struggle to follow through. you can’t be there for everyone all at once. on top of that, because you’re so good at sustaining people, you can forget to sustain yourself. even the sun sets every night. you are not Atlas—it is not your job to hold up the sky. there’s nothing wrong with taking some time to recharge. it's only natural and much better than burning out. take care of yourself, not just for other people but because you deserve to be cared for. you are genuine and brave—a righteous knight. you are a big, bright soul that makes everyone’s lives better just by being in it. people are drawn to you because of how full you make them feel. you are an awesome, beautiful blend of power, comfort, and benevolence.
"I think I am going to choose not to acknowledge it, because my other option is trying to make casual conversation about enjoying being in a simulated BOW outbreak and with how things have been going lately, I don't think that's anything I have a good reason to get into. Besides - it's nothing to do with how I feel about it."
Or so she says. Emily folds the omelette over one more time, slips it out onto the waiting plate, and, not wasting time, pours a little water in the pan to help her scrape the egg off the inside once it's cooled some.
The agent takes a seat across from Eba, and throws her arm over the back of her chair with a low, somewhat self-effacing huff.
"I mean he's kind of a clown, no? Sure, I figure a guy's got to have hobbies, but "meticulous" isn't the word that first springs to mind when I look at him. Obviously I'm not complaining, it was just kind of a surprise."
The chrysalid nodded without breaking its gaze from the meal, breaking the firm eggs into manageable pieces for the jaws of the shell to masticate while thinking on Emily's reluctance to admit that she found enjoyment in battle.
It would likely do no good to remind her that everything alive was ingrained with a survival instinct- and that mammals in particular were socialized in play to associate victory in survival skills with reward. Some of Ebajalg's own hazy memories from the "before" involved hiding or wrestling with playmates.
Instead, they shifted attention and thought to the remarks about Nighthawk and her surprise over the meticulous nature of the food logs.
"A million things can go wrong when you're up in the air," the pilot's voice emanates from the shell, "That's why it's important to go over each of these flight checklists at least twice in every section. The first is to go through the motions, the second is to actually think. The last thing you want is to be on autopilot, because that's when things slip through."
Another bite of egg.
"You can do everything perfect and shit still go wrong. The point is to reduce the amount that can."
The lips on the shell twist into an expression of a grimace, and when it speaks again, the polyphonic voice has a hint of annoyance, "We have only ever known him to be meticulous. We have been unable to deceive him with our mimicry. And therefor, no 'kitchen taxes' are paid to us."
The omelette is transferred from pan to plate, and Emily starts up another one. This time, she retrieves a half-empty jar of salsa from the fridge, setting it on the counter near the cooktop to be poured on when the next batch of eggs is firming up. "Mh. Well, I know better than to try and come for anybody on their personal competence here."
Emily grabs a spoon to give the salsa a try, smacking her lips once and then setting it back down. "Sounds like a man who knows where everything is in his kitchen. Which is... a little bit of a surprise, considering his bearing."
A moment of silence. She smirks, glancing up at the window and catching Eba in its reflection. Nothing outside right now but darkness and flurries of snow. "First impressions aren't everything." That smirk is destined to curdle and die, though, when the chrysalid casually points out that, in all likelihood, Carla already knows the main reason Emily has been spending so much time in the QZ.
"..."
Instead of answer immediately, she flips her eggs, starting to apply ham and salsa to the solidified underside while the raw stuff now on the bottom gets cooking.
Eba sets the plate down on the table, laying out the silverware next to the rim. They turn around for sriracha sauce and draw zig-zag lines over the omelette. Satisfied with the pattern, they sit, and test the firmness of the egg with their fork, and slice off a piece for their bite.
Every step is performed like a ritual.
Ebajalg tilts their head back to watch Emily. Visibly deflated by the revelation that the Commander already knew about Emily's own motivations. Why that would ever be a concern was beyond Eba's understanding.
"You may choose to not acknowledge it," they offer, "That seems to be a common strategy. It is unclear to us how effective that is."
They continue to eat, the shell chewing deliberately, while the voice of the bug resonated in the chest.
You are the Black Rook. As a piece that can move inwards and outwards, you're a master of self-reflection. Being the black piece, you hide an inner beast within you. Perhaps you're one to rush headfirst into trouble, was it for a friend's sake? Or your own? Are you the overprotective type? Did you know your grip was that tight around someone's neck? For all your protectiveness and deliberate planning, you can't wash the blood off your hands that easily.
"It didn't start out as a professional arrangement." That's all she's willing to share on the topic for the moment, either not realizing or not acknowledging the implication that it might have been a personal arrangement. In truth, it was more like an averted bounty hunting. She'd been hot on the trail of some of Blue Umbrella's shadier dealings, a few years back, in between incidents. A side project she'd taken on after Dulvey, but before... well.
Emily starts cracking a few more eggs, watching with vague amusement as Ebajalg scuttles off. Go get dressed. Slip into something more comfortable. God, every time she feels like she's getting a handle on it. The pan's already hot and still has a bit of butter on it from her own breakfast, so once they return looking more human their omelette's already partially done.
"Hmh? Oh- yeah, sure." Mental note made. The stuff's pretty easy to find, and her fingers delve into the bag, sprinkling liberally with a couple of glances in the shell's direction to see if there's a specific amount they want.
Emily flicks the dust off her hands in the general direction of the solidifying mass of egg, directing her attention to the other ingredients. "You know, apparently Nighthawk is a pretty good cook too. That's a load off my shoulders. I was a little worried that I was going to be making do with whatever could be made quickly, but..."
A pause.
"...he... won't mind me using some of his stuff." An assurance made mostly to herself.
"Anyway. Well. Sounds like the joint operation was a rousing success. Carla's been putting me through the wringer in the QZ, but... don't tell her this. It's honestly been kind of soothing being able to just put the hammer down and not worry about everything else going on at the Lodge right now. And, with Elpis in hand, it sounds like we'll be closing the book on this one pretty soon."
Eba quietly retrieves a plate and fork, nodding when the nutritional yeast had a healthy coating on the solidifying egg. Tundra changes topic to the present task she occupies herself with, mentioning Nighthawk's cooking.
Eba passed their plate over, "No one is barred from cooking. Nighthawk is the favorite, though. He is Ahab's favorite, too."
The Guild did have dedicated cooks and a system of restocking supply that went through the quartermaster, but cooking seemed to be an activity that Nighthawk enjoyed doing, and seemed to benefit a lot of the close-knit mercenaries.
It certainly had benefited Eba's commander, and led to some more unusual (for the 'Western' tastes) ingredients being stockpiled. Cricket flour, canned silkworms, water bugs- a lot that was special ordered to help Ahab specifically keep up her energy levels. Nutritional yeast was also one of the controversial ingredients that Eba enjoyed.
"You will not be killed, so long as you log when a staple is getting low," Eba reassures, "Though the threat has never been followed through before."
Emily confides that she'd found the trials of the QZ soothing among the stress of the Guild falling ill.
Curious.
"It is likely she already knows," they inform, "But we will not inform her unnecessarily. She likely doesn't care how you feel about it, either."
It's said neutrally. The QZ contained several unmutated J'avo and a stock of zombies. Emily had either killed several outright or forced them into chrysalis, and provided Ahab with much needed information. It wasn't as if Eba had any attachment to the inhabitants there, either. They weren't their squadmates.
four (ish) headcanons I am making up about our characters
For Eba
Ebajalg and Carla travel together when possible. When she is grounded and traveling by car, Eba is accompanying her. Carla always flies privately if she's being deployed, and has never had any issues taking her bug along. Sometimes Eba is in their human "shell" and sometimes they are not. Carla always acts as if Eba is her boyfriend when they are in public, and Eba is in their human shell.
Eba has gotten much, much bigger since re-assignment to her personal bodyguard and courtier. This has given them more combat aptitude, more strength, and a habit of chewing on Carla's hand like a cat to ease growing pains in their face. Carla just lets them chew on her.
Ebajalg keeps a lock of Carla's hair to chew on to extract nutrients from. When that lock is gone, Carla will in fact cut another one for them. Because of her strange anatomy, the structure of her hair is very good for their exoskeleton.
Carla has helped Eba refresh their swarm, but the swarm does not travel with them. It lives around the base of the QZ in the Yukon.
A longer draw of her coffee, and Emily nods thoughtfully, returning to the assembled components of her breakfast. Quick omelette to start the day never goes wrong, and if someone comes sniffing around wanting a piece she can just start up another. Eba included, she supposes. It takes a few moments, but the name the hybrid dropped finally penetrates, and she clears her throat.
"...Dr. Yamata. Christine Yamata?" Like there would be another one. A breath hisses from between her teeth, the spook nodding again and making an effort to keep her tone level.
"Right. Well. I guess there would be some overlap between my professional connections at some point. She's... a good pick for the job. I'm sure whatever intricacies that stuff has, she'll be able to sniff them out."
Especially since she's been the one Emily's been supplying the Guild with illicit materials from, at a rather competitive price to boot.
Plop. Eba's on the table now. She has the brief, insane notion to scold them, like a cat jumping up where it knows it's not supposed to be. It's suppressed. "Dooo... you want an omelette? It's, uh. Cheddar, onion, ham."
"Precisely," the Gnezdo affirms, balancing on the chair back, "Both the original Guild members and the Commander know Dr. Yamata separately, and worked in professional capacity."
"It is unsurprising you also have an acquaintance," the bug muses, "In this profession, it seems everyone knows everyone else to varying degrees."
Eba quietly turned to watch Emily piece together ingredients for a meal, taking out a skillet, eggs...
They tilt their head in surprise, antennae flicking upwards with extended plumes at the offer to fix an omelette for them.
"Yes, please," they reply.
The Gnezdo jumps from the chair to the floor, shaking itself off to orient, turning to the door, "We'll go get dressed so we can eat at the table."
They march out of the kitchen with a quick scamper, disappearing from view. The sound of a door opens, then closes. Light footfalls herald the arrival of the uncanny human 'shell' re-entering the space. Eba walks over to the sink, turning on the water to wash their hands.
"Do you mind mixing nutritional yeast in with ours? It's in the left cabinet, second shelf."
“ Well, forgive me for not knowing the difference between somebody laying on the ground not moving or talking and a corpse, ” Cass comments. “ I was a corpse-girl once. Y'know, dying isn't all it's cut out to be. At first, you'd think it's fun! But then people never leave you alone, so... there's that, I guess. ”
Cass' strength manages to free the stranger, and she smiles with satisfaction as she moves away from the body. she's not the strongest person, and most people don't expect her to have that in her with her height. hell, she usually lets her husband handle strength-based stuff while she handles the lookout. Cass nods to acknowledge their thanks, but her brows furrow in confusion when they say they're not DSO.
“ You sure about that? You sound a lot like someone I know from there. ” then again, she is pretty tired. missions like these don't allow her any reprieve for her body or her mind, and she easily could be mixing things up. Cass doesn't hear any infected right now, so she allows her weapon to be lowered. a hand hovers over her radio. “ Oh, okay, got it. I've never been hired out like that. God knows I wouldn't want to be. But hey, I respect it. And... yeah, the B.S.A.A. tends to send people out often when it comes to shit like this. Was kinda hoping it wouldn't have to be me out here specifically, but what the hell, sure. ”
Evan. no callsign? that's a little weird, but she'll cut them a break. it's not like they've had much time to reorient themselves after nearly being crushed to death, and she can pry it out of them. but... they don't know who she is? she really doesn't care -- as she said, fame isn't all it's cracked out to be -- but it still strikes Cass as odd. she picks up her radio, ready to tell her superiors she's picked up a new combatant before stopping to answer the question.
“ Cassiopeia Clay, but everyone just calls me Cass. Well, most people in the field just call me Clay. Surprised you haven't heard of me before this, what with the whole living dead girl thing. ”
"I'm pretty sure I know where I'm from," 'Evan' says lightheartedly, pulling himself up from his knees, "But I don't really get out much, either. Not besides stuff like this, anyway."
Ebajalg quietly assessed the damage done to their shell. The light clothing they wore had been torn in some places from the collapse, and some of the skin had been punctured, oozing amber-colored, acetone-scented fluid from between the layers of fleshy material, trapping dust and grime within. They held their hand over a particularly bad patch on their hip, willing the fibers of the shell's matrix to reattach.
Equipment wise? The single pistol holstered on their side seemed to be intact, and remained holstered. Ammunition was sparse, and they rarely equipped themselves with as many as their firearms oriented comrades.
Cass. Cassiopeia Clay. The bug racked its memory turning short just about nothing, but the reputation of a 'living-dead girl' was an interesting one.
"Huh," he remarks, turning his head back to face her and keeping his hand fully rested over his hip, "Can't say I've heard of you. The only Living Dead Girl I know is that song by Rob Zombie."
He extends his other hand out in a handshake, "But I guess I know two, now. It's nice to meet you, Cass... or Clay? Which do you prefer?"
His green eyes shifted over to glance at the radio, "... Gonna call something in? Are you going to be able to in all this rubble?"
the newcaster makes her invisible appearance and fades into the distant hum of the electricity, jill turning over the words in her mind yet again. it still perplexed her, the virus incubating to this extent and only starting to kill now, but as she supposed, she had been onto something while she was still back in the city.
the only thing she was wrong about was that it seemed like it harbored itself far, far longer than she'd anticipated, and with even more devastating results. she absentmindedly nods at eba's statement — the genesis of everything should probably be attributed more to spencer's mansion than anything else, but it wasn't too far from the truth. if anything, it had definitely been the most impactful.
the couch settled as the moth jumped up, studying the flash of weather that popped up on her phone screen. keen eyes watched the moment take place — they were smart, and she couldn't ever discount that — and ended up meeting theirs. sentience locked behind an insect was something she'd never thought she'd encounter, but here they were.
"The lobsters," the bug repeats with a slow 'nod' of their head, "We have acquired various live specimens from a market for fifteen Canadian dollars per pound."
The bug makes a pleased hum, fluttering its small wings.
"There is an interesting quirk within them. A larger production of the enzyme telomerase, and the restoration of telomere caps in cell division. The Commander can probably explain more eloquently."
And the Commander herself had been in a radiant mood, having a worthy puzzle to set herself to solving. The Gnezdo found it difficult to worry over the human members of the interspecies community when Ahab's delight was truly infectious.
They themselves had documented the progression of the disease, and reported back on which patient needed more attention. Both Ahab and Eba could smell the sickness and body changes- but Eba had eidetic memory and could calculate the rate of spread of the black splotches across the bodies of the infected.
Jill did not smell ill.
"We have been hard at work. There has only been one casualty. Hopefully, there will be no more."
from @ebajalg || For Cass' main verse, BSAA || A Quarantine Zone
The Gnezdo understood the risks of the assignment. An infected zone carried several: the BOWS themselves, environmental hazards, structural instability, and of course- the possibility of interference from outside parties.
Ebajalg at present had become pinned under debris in a sudden explosion, their humanoid shell- a masculine figure with medium-length brown hair that curled toward the ends, darker green eyes- prone under rubble.
The bug inside heavily debated abandoning the puppet, but decided against it. Footfalls, and vibrations indicating that someone was close at hand encouraged the creature to lay still, and wait.
Its patience was rewarded. A figure approached with the tell-tale insignia of an old enemy: the BSAA.
Instinctively, Eba raised both hands of the puppet, palms facing outward in gesture of surrender.
"Don't shoot-" they grunted, pulling Kennedy's voice to the forefront, "... A little help here?"
Cass approaches the corpse hesitantly, her pistol placed in front of her. she never knows what she's going to get in quarantine zones like this, but to be honest, she's just grateful to be here. after her excessively shitty mental health eval, she was pretty sure they'd never send her out in the field ever again. Matías is going to want to talk about that with her at some point, but... she can't think about her husband right now. Cass raises the weapon to her eye level, startling as she hears Leon's familiar voice calling out to her.
“ Look, with the amount of shit we've seen, can you blame me for not wanting to approach a face-down corpse? ” Cass snarks. “ I've got you. Just give me a sec, yeah? ”
Cass holsters her pistol in her belt, though she keeps a hand hovering over it in case of emergencies. she can only hope that nothing creeps up on her, but with how doomed she's been lately, she doesn't think that'll be true. Cass angles her body so she can see if anything comes up behind her, and she begins trying to remove the debris. it takes little effort, and the person is free in no time at all. Cass glances behind her as a noise startles her, absentmindedly offering her hand to the figure.
“ Didn't realize they were sending DSO in on this one. Not that I'm complaining – we can use all the help we can get. I'm gonna need to let somebody know you're here. My radio's acting all weird, though, so… remind me later in case I forget. ” she chews at her bottom lip, a bad anxious habit of hers, and stops when she can start to taste blood. “ How much did they fill you in on? ”
The disguised bug lowered the hands of the puppet, staying still enough to be nonthreatening. The agent approached to help, telling Eba to just give a second for her to remove the debris.
"Oh, take your time. I'm not going anywhere," they snort, "I'm as snug as a bug in a rug."
She unburies them from debris with a surprising strength and quickness. Ebajalg pulled themselves out, with a quick "Thanks," before processing what was being said.
DSO? So, this person knew whom they borrowed their voice from.
It was still dark in the room, and Eba knew human eyes weren't well acclimated to the dark... voices debated quickly and quietly within, as the former swarm counseled on the best course of action. They could easily impersonate the federal agent- they'd spent enough time observing to pull off the mannerisms.
Impersonating may be a good short-term solution, but it would be dangerous in the long term.
It could also get both Leon and the Gnezdo's commander in trouble, something that didn't sit well with the mutant.
So they decided not to shapeshift, and to keep their blended form.
"DSO?" Ebajalg asks, turning the puppet's head to the strange woman that aided them, "Nah- Independent Contractor. I was sent in by a client to retrieve technological assets."
It wasn't at all a lie.
They'd been sent in to retrieve hard drives and other assets from a company's experimental technology that was caught up in the outbreak. The bug had retrieved them, placed them suspended within the chrysalis matrix inside their shell, and was meant to rendezvous with others outside the zone.
"I knew this place was crawling with T-infected," it confirmed, "Didn't know your guys would be going in to shell the place."
They pulled themselves up, tilting their head to scan the sounds. There was movement, but it was distant. Infected nearby weren't aware.
"Fantastic," they chirp in Leon's voice in greeting.
The bug has forgone the humanoid shell in the confines of the Lodge, perching on a wooden post, it buzzes like a harmonica with chorded trills.
"Visiting to spar?" they ask in their undisguised polyphonic speech, "Or comrades?" / @ebajalg
however often jill had spoken to the insect in the past, it still took some getting used to. not everything nowadays had to be human to talk, and while zombies and tyrants had become the norm, moths and lizards was new. her eyes flicked upwards to the white-furred j'avo addressing her in leon's exact tone — referring back to her earlier point — and let out a light exhale in consideration.
she'd posted herself along the wall, arm resting on the back of a small couch with her phone lying scattered beside her. she didn't plan to stay longer than she needed to, but there was something to be said for the Lodge's environment and hospitality, especially in their recent time of crisis. that one would've been a hell of a thing to solve without the offer.
“ that trick never gets old. ” her phone lights up with a weather notification, gaze catching sight of it before it faded and the screen filtered back to darkness. the yukon wasn't a place she was often, but she welcomed the chance to experience a few new sights, here and there. “ got a call, told me to swing by for some vaccine research on that new shit going around, so I couldn't say no. ”
“ seems like r.c's been real good at staying relevant. ”
The gnezdo crawled down the wooden post, legs tapping leisurely in its slow approach to the BSAA- former BSAA? - friendly BSAA? Jill Valentine. The bug was seemingly unconcerned with her presence, and in spite of their initial trepidation from their first meeting, Eba had also gained an appreciation for the fighter.
"Raccoon City Syndrome," it parrots in the voice of a feminine newscaster, before switching back to their own voice, "Several are sick with it. Raccoon City was the genesis of this. As far as we understand, it is the source of everything with bioterrorism, and mutants. It will never not be relevant."
It was part of the J'avos' genesis, too. Eba couldn't deny their own curiosity about the place, understanding that it was both a tomb for several and a cradle of its own life.
The wings on its back buzz as Ebajalg jumps up on to the couch, fluttering back to a still posture as it examined the weather alert on the bright screen.
"Hm. More wet snow. Poor visibility. High wind."
They tilt their head up towards Jill, "You have documented resistances, and experimental treatments. Ahab is confident either you or the lobsters will provide insight on how to counteract this illness."
The polyphonic voice of Eba inquires from the ceiling. The pale, opalescent bug lingers on the support beam, staring down at Tundra with a flick of antennae.
"Looking for something specific isn't really how I do things."
She's getting better at not being startled by the little... guy. The little bug. Grey-blue eyes rise to meet their gaze, and she takes a sip of her coffee. Second one today.
"Going in with assumptions about what's there to find means you pass things over. I start out looking for everything... and then what's there tends to be easy to find. I did find a lot, though. Good information, stuff I'll be able to use and disseminate to anybody I end up working with down the line." All tucked away in a set of envelopes, sharing space in her footlocker with some of her more front-facing equipment.
"Picking through the A-virus papers led to talking to Carla... who had apparently been working in tandem with Arias on the whole thing. Wouldn't have found that if I was looking for something."
A smile in her voice if not on her face. She's pleased to have made that connection, drawn a line between two disparate points on a mental board. It makes the rest of it a little easier to pull together, if only by degrees.
The Chrysalid didn't argue, even though from its perspective, Tundra was looking for something: knowledge and connections in general. It may not have been specific knowledge.
Maybe we misspoke? I think she misunderstood. Does it matter?
No, was the final agreement. Ebajalg turned their body around on the beam, tilting their head to examine the surfaces below. Antennae flick, wings shudder, their body and legs scrunch up before leaping down with legs extended, wings buzzing furiously on the last half of the fall. They land on the table with a plunk, and slowly crawl across to rest on the back of an unoccupied chair.
"Nighthawk retrieved Elpis, and Leon Kennedy," they inform, "We commandeered Dr. Yamata from Chicago to help synthesize. Progress is being made."
