Eyes of a Tragedy

After that morning's meeting, Kerrigan was ... pensive.

She knew the rites of Parents' Weekend well enough to know she should be in her office for most of the weekend, and it was as good a place as any to be. Especially if she wanted to place a call to River later, and ensure that all the Protoss sacred sites they'd been in the process of... acquiring had enough brood to stop Zeratul if, for some reason, he found his way back to Koprulu.

Still, her human form felt like it fit her badly right now. She itched to send the extra human emotions back to the hell they'd come from. Itched for a fight.

But. Office hours.

The only way anyone could possibly tell what was on her mind was the incessant ticking of her pen against her desk.

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Oh, Kerrigan had felt that annoying Protoss presence slipping onto the island that morning. No, it wasn't that she wasn't aware.

It was that she didn't care. Not yet. Not unless the Dark Templar was planning to show up and ruin her office hours, when she ran the risk of dealing with some very interesting guests. It'd be typical, mind, but she was in no mood to tolerate self-righteous blathering and waving around of psi-blades.

Her office was spartan. Her bearing was calm. The Queen of Blades was ready to face any horrors Parents' Weekend would try to throw at her -- and their little warrior, too.

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