trying not to crack under the pressure, that’s where we are
@galaeus, x
there’s something a little sobering about, you know, pretty much most of your graduating class dying at the battle of vulcan. the result is that starfleet academy’s positively a ghost-town, and human mores of politeness have turned commander spock, the legit professor of her upcoming interspecies ethics course into a kind of persona non grata (as in oops, so sorry your whole planet got blown up! sorry for your loss! and just for the record, Vulcans Glare A Lot) so needless to say, the next hour and thirty minutes of cadet echo galaeus’s life were not looking good. sure enough, as soon as she waltzes in, she’s pinned by the unfathomable hazel orbs (they’re definitely orbs, like, the two pitch-black obsidian coal lumps sitting on top of his face or whatever literary device you want to call it, calling the subject of commander spock’s hateful gaze eyeballs might just be too kind) of her new prison warden as he immediately singles her out. “cadet galaeus. perhaps you would like to illuminate the class on the function of hilbert-space markers in speech, as i can only presume that you’ve utilized the past fifteen minutes to better acquaint yourself with the textbook.” he manages to make sarcasm sound bored.