Clara stalks in with a glance at the clock, followed by an approving nod at being ten minutes early. She casts a wave at the medic being relieved and slides into a seat at one of the desks, logging on to the terminal.

Honalee enters the room, her floor length robe trailing slightly. This is probably a calculated outfit, as with her Edreeni grace, the elderly woman almost appears to be floating. She inclines her head and shoulders in a bow to those present. Smiling she steps over to Clara's desk, "You're early, dear."

Clara stops tapping at the various data retrievals she'd been pulling up and peers up the distance at the Chief Medic as she rises to attention. "Yes, ma'am," she agrees, then relaxes slightly, dimpling in a grin. "Old habits die hard, and I figured it was a good one to keep. I was just pulling up some information on procedure and policy."

With careful grace, Honalee gestures for you to resume your seat. "I'm afraid we don't stand much on ceremony in here. We leave that to the rest of the Complex. Or at least that's been my policy, I hope my successor chooses to maintain it. No one bothers to try and harass us into observing formality when we can use that medical override flag on anyone's orders in the building." She smiles in a rather devious fashion, "Procedure and policy is certainly a good place to start."

Clara chuckles, easily sliding back into the seat and managing to look almost careless about it without being improper. "Oh, thank goodness. I'm afraid that's something I had to fight a bit in school, was remembering to be formal. We never much were on Cannerton." She glances up wryly. "Chief Addison didn't seem much inclined to cross you, no, so I certainly see your point."

Reaching over to pull a seat from an unoccupied desk, Honalee seats herself on the other side of your desk. Close enough to chat easily, but on a side so that your terminal is not visible to her. She's a polite soul. "Formality is overrated." She chuckles musically, the one time her age is not present in her voice. "Greg's not about to cross me, no. He knows I'd turn him over one knee. I've known him since he was still wet behind the ears and fluffily idealistic. Scratch that, he still is fluffily idealistic. But the principle's there. He also knows I could just pull up his sheet of delinquent exams for review and haul him in here kicking and screaming."

Clara folds her arms and leans her elbows on the desk, eyes dancing over lips quirking madly in the effort not to grin impishly, and losing the battle. "That long, ma'am? He seems a few good years older than I am at least." She taps a quick query, then lets out a low whistle, one brow sneaking up. "He has missed a few...for shame. Still, sec types are bad about that." She pushes back a few stubborn curls while asking, "Still, he seems like a nice enough fellow. Saints, everyone here is, so far. It's been nice, despite all the stress of the political mess."

Honalee nods again, from her almost a regal gesture. "He probably has a decade on you, but then I'm old even for one of my people. And we're somewhat more longlived than humans." She straightens one edge of her robe, "A lot of the long timers here are decent people. A bit insane perhaps to put up with the place, but decent enough. It's the diplomats that are...unique."

Clara's smile softens into a rueful laugh. "That you are, most certainly. I remember spending a good five minutes being jealous as all get out when we learned about Edreeni longevity in school." Her eyes flicker to the door thoughtfully. "Diplomats are always a sticky situation." She steeples her fingers, tapping the index ones together. "Did you request a surgeon with a background in xenobiology then, ma'am? I'd wondered why I was pulled back in so fast..."

Honalee nods, looking somewhat abashed. "I'm afraid I had to act rather swiftly. My retirement is hovering overhead. And with the Interegnuum...well, I don't know what the policies of the new Chairman will be. So I had to act while I still could. I went over records for ages, I do sincerely apologize for the unseemly haste involved."

Clara dips her head to regard her hands for a moment, then looks back up with an understanding smile. "There's nothing to apologize for," she assures, then sighs. "My tour of duty was up, and it's not likely they'd have let me re-up, anyway." A hint of annoyance colors her voice at that admission before she leans forward. "And everyone's entitled to a peaceful retirement. If there's anything at all I can help with to order things the way you'd like before then..."

Honalee harrumphs in indignation. A surprising sound from her refined features. "I've no desire to retire I'm afraid. I've grown attached to this place, but there are mandatory retirement ages. So I'll be twiddling and fiddling and generally trying keep my fingers in until they make me quit. Which includes being conniving." She smiles, "Dear, I was hoping you'd say that. There's a reason I picked you out of the rest."

A lighthearted laugh escapes Clara as she shakes her head, curls bobbing in opposing directions. "Like Colonel Jensen. He's bucking until they hand him his gold chrono, too. Besides, being conniving build ch-..." She stops suddenly, the rest of the sentence hitting her like cold water. "You picked me, ma'am? I wasn't just reassigned for background?"

Honalee's a devious wench. But she manages to look dignified instead. Ah, the joys of age. "No, I'm afraid not. I'd been pouring through records for a week when I came across yours." She pauses, "Barring the thing about the pens that was so mystifying, yours was perfect."

Clara simply blinks for a moment, then groans and buries her face in her hands, although a fair amount of snickering infests that sound. "Not the pen...I can't believe he put that in my file," she mutters, then laces her fingers and rests her chin on them. "I'd normally make a crack about perfection being second nature, but I think I won't this time. What, if I might ask, were you specifically looking for? That way I can do more research in the right direction..."

Honalee relaxes back into her chair, having picked up the art of looking relaxed at the same school as Riley it seems. Only on her it seems less artificial, and more a trait of nobility. She doesn't couch her words in any finery however, or even give an elaborate introduction. "I require a replacement."

Clara responds with a similar air, although born of long and boring hours at "proper" social functions as she schools her face impassive. A long moment passes as she thinks this over, then responds rather honestly, "Politeness says I should ask if I can assist in helping you find a replacement. But somehow I don't think that's what you mean, although this may be presumptuous of me," she explains, for once serious.

Honalee chortles softly, "I don't think presumption is involved. I think you're just being straightforward, which I appreciate. Double dealing with diplomats all day makes bluntness refreshing. No, you have the right of it. I want you to replace me as head of the medical department when I retire."

One edge of Clara's lips edges up in a wry grin. "I've often been accused of being blunt," she offers, then takes in a deep breath and leans back in her chair, clasping her hands at her waist, elbows balanced on the arms of the chair. "And would the rest of the medical staff respond well to this?"

Honalee offers one of those sphinx-like grins, "They'd probably applaud, I'm afraid there's nobody here that -wants- the job you see. And you have an ... irreverence ... the position needs. The only other person I had in mind hrm, dislikes Greg excessively. And since the boy is theoretically in charge, well that just won't do."

Clara squeezes her eyes shut, a low chuckle emerging. "Saints add preservatives to us, what am I in for?" she asks rhetorically, then tilts her head. "I do think I'll get on well with the Chief," she muses. "Even if he did threaten me for my sense of humor," she adds with a grin. "Would the...ah, other person considered harbor ill will? I only ask so as to be prepared."

Humor sparkles in Honalee's eyes, and she looks excessively pleased with herself. "No, Dan's still back on Earth and wouldn't even know it had so much as come up. And the first thing to learn, Greg is not 'Chief'. Greg or Gregor is good, Riley if you're not feeling daring, or Greggykins if he's doing something -particularly- absurd this week. He needs to be taken down a couple of pegs periodically. It's good for him."

Clara covers her mouth with one hand, eyes dancing above and myriad snickering sounds coming from behind the hand. "Greggykins," she finally manages. "Mmm. There's a train of thought to follow. The trick will be to see if I can get him to stop calling me Captain Aleron, though," she decides, smirking. "Greggykins. Therapeutic deflation of the ego, indeed."

Shifting slightly, her extraneous joints creaking, Honalee smiles. "Most of the time the world will just leave you alone in here. I've managed to keep Medical free of the politics that inhabit the other sections. So all it takes is the ability to laugh at how absurd the place is, some patience, an old fashioned needle or two to keep the whiny ones in line, and to remember that periodic days off spent somewhere -other- than the Complex are a good thing, and entirely allowed."

Clara chuckles and rises from her seat to move towards a synthesizer. "Can I get you some coffee, ma'am? Tea?" she offers, tapping in an order for something resembling sludge for herself. "A pin and a well waved speculum works well, I found, for over-pompous officers." She leans against the wall with one shoulder, eyes going distant. "A day off...a whole day?" This seems a distant concept.

"Mint tea, if you don't mind, dear." The elderly woman is not just sitting in the chair. She's taken the seat, seemingly made it wholly hers. She has a lot of presence. I'll just say it outright, since dangitt I don't know how to RP -presence-. "Thankfully AF rank doesn't get abused much in the Complex. Greg's the ranking officer, and he doesn't even so much as mention his AF rank or list it in the public files. People tend to follow that. 'People' being staffers of course. The fourth-floorers are a whole different world. Thankfully few of them ever stay for more than a year or so."

Clara taps in the other order, and brings both mugs back to the desk, setting the far more appetizing mint tea before the woman, more in respect of the presence than in awe. Then again, there's seems to be not much she'd be in awe of. Flopping back into her seat, relief skitters over her face. "Excellent. If no one mentioned my rank the entire time I was here, I'd be thrilled. I knew I liked Addison for a reason." She glances upwards. "Do they...the diplomats...how are they handling the current political problems?"

Taking the mug with a nod of thanks, Honalee explains, "Oh there are mixed reactions. Delighted glee on the part of those who did not work well with Maosun, despair amongst those that had tied their political star to his. Mostly they are scrambling like Makri to get their teeth on a scrap of power of their own. We had at least two near-assassinations last night, probably a good number more that just didn't get as far as Medbay. It's all very silly."

Clara sips at her own mug, which vaguely smells like java, only strong enough to get up out of the cup and walk away by itself. "All the more reason for all of Med Bay to stay as uninvolved as possible and just patch up those that call us in or make it here. I see..." She leans her elbows on the desk, hands around the mug. "I imagine we could open up a shop sign," she decides, chuckling. "Antidotes...getcher poison antidotes here! Stab wounds fixed up, two for a credit..."

Honalee takes a sip from the mug, swallowing just in time to laugh at that. "You might want to try that. A big sign, maybe offer package deals or something. It would add some color to the place certainly. And the look on Alistair Lexington's face would be -well- worth it."

"Alistair Lexington?" Clara queries, obviously not familiar with the name. "Sounds like one of the fellows my grandmother was trying to foist on me after I finished secondary school. Part of the Council?"

Honalee sets the mug down with a careful nod. "He's been around as long as almost anybody on the Council. The Stilvani delegate from Omenski. Thinks he runs the place. He goes by Security at -least- once a day to file a formal complaint against Greg. I think two or three of Greg's halfblacks are from him in fact." Seeing as two halfblacks gets you cashiered, that's just a scary statement. "He's upset about his office, and the carpet, and the press, and... I think you see the trend?"

Clara's mouth sets in a grim line. "Sounds like a truly congenial individual. And just the type to tempt a girl to get involved by slipping a tranquilizer or two into his inoculations," she murmurs, then sighs. "Which I would never do, though. None of those things are Gr-...ah, Ri, er, Addison's fault, are they?"

Honalee retakes her mug, sipping delicately. "He's a twerp. But a required twerp. He may be loud and offensive, but he gets things done." She smiles again, "It depends on who you ask I suppose. I have -never- believed the whole thing with the bucket of gearing grease was an accident, but Greg will swear to his dying day it was. Technically he 'deserved' every one of them I suppose. He has a tendency to forget to keep his mouth shut around pompous individuals. It's gotten him in a lot of trouble."

Clara mulls this over, absently taking another drink of the...well, java, if you want to call it that after what's been done to it. A slow smile gradually covers her face. "Hmmm...yes. Yes, I think I may have a few things in common with him, definitely. Gearing grease, huh? Never thought of that one." She snaps out of the reverie of prank planning and smiles apologetically. "Sorry. Is there anything I can do to help him? I can't imagine he'd appreciate me asking him directly."

"Lady something-or-another was being a pest during some construction. She went under some scaffolding and ended up coated in gearing grease. I think the only possible accident is that Greg didn't drop something even -nastier- on her." Chuckling quietly the elderly Edreeni shakes her head. "Just harass him regularly. And he'd probably appreciate the directness. Just don't let him snowball you into things." Like being head of medical.

Clara bursts into utterly unrestrained and inappropriate laughter. "Oh, I wish I'd thought of that!" she hoots amidst the gales, setting her cup down and clapping her hands together. "That's -classic-!" The reaction dies quickly into small, random snickers before she shakes her head. "Harassing I can do...but some things I get snowballed into easily. Especially if it's in the line of duty," she comments with a knowing look as she lifts her mug in acknowledgement.

Honalee nods, conceding the point with an amused glance. "It happens. And I'm afraid Greg lacks the imagination to be other than 'classic'. Maybe you can give him some suggestions. He really could use a few more half-blacks for his collection. I think he's talking about papering his office with them by the time he has to retire."

Clara shakes her head, a thin lipped grin in place. "Oooh, no. Regardless of whether or not he wants the rank or not, I'll not be party to him being drummed out. He can ruddy well paper his office with something else. Although that reminds me...any idea where the closest musical instrument shop is?"

Honalee smiles, "I don't think they'll drum him out. At his rank it would involve a public trial. And besides, who else would they find stupid enough to accept his job?" She nods simply, "The Java Quarter's got some nice places. Past the Java places and left at Cannery Row. There's a wealth of music and book shops all along there."

Clara taps at her temple. "Left at Cannery Row. Got it. Thanks," she replies, then wrinkles her nose in a slightly wistful grin. "Ma'am, I'm afraid to say, I don't know if it's so much of no one wants the job as, who'd be able to hold it together. He doesn't strike me as stupid. Neither him nor that assistant fellow of his."

Honalee's brows lift in interest, "Assistant fellow? Anya's finally gotten him an assistant?"

Clara makes a motion at her eyebrows, nose wrinkled in a grin. "Officer Niko...don't ask me to say his full name. I'd need emergency surgery just to have my tang untongueled. Tall fellow with eyebrows like individual critters? The one with the flowerdy shirt on last night."

Honalee's expression becomes a bit vague as she sets unto remembering. Enlightenment dawns. "Ohhh," her voice holds a hint of appreciation, "The taste treat, yes. He'd be hard to forget. Hmm, you know I can see that one pulling off that ridiculous uniform without looking like an action figure in a doll's dress."

Clara blinks at the elderly woman's assessment before she takes a moment to bring up a mental image of the officer. "Hmmm...he is, now that you mention it," she agrees somewhat vaguely, then chuckles, shaking her head. "Something about men in Sec. Easy on the eyes, certainly. I've not seen him in uniform yet, though," she admits, stealing a glance down at her own lab coat covered uniform.

Honalee chuckles softly, "Have you seen the dress uniforms for Security yet? Those alone are worth keeping the whole lot about, although I've yet to meet a single one of the lot that doesn't hate wearing the things."

Clara shakes her head with a sigh of mock-suffering. "Alas, not yet. I'm afraid I haven't seen much but half shaven fellows in baggy fatigues or scrubs for the last three years. I can't say I'm real fond of my own dress grays, but at least the women's uniforms are a little more forgiving, not to mention we have the overcoat for medical. It'll be nice to have a decent view again."

Long distance to Riley: Clara snugs a whole lot and may have to log off here in about 20 minutes. The screen's starting to blur, but it might go away. :)

From afar, Riley thinks sleep sounds good. Sleeping is always good.

Honalee finishes off her tea. "The security ones are different. For formal occasions and all. Black with lots of silver, these hysterically cute little frock-coats and vests, and patently ridiculous boots.

Long distance to Riley: Clara snickers and clarifies that the blurring might go away, not the screen. If my monitor goes away, this medicine's a lot stronger that I thought...

From afar, Riley rolls! That would be -bad-."

Clara chuckles softly, nudging her mug from side to side thoughtfully. "Egads, no wonder they can't stand them. Aaah, men in ridiculous clothing." She cants her head to one side, thinking. "You know...I can't say I've seen any male Edreeni here since I landed, for all that it was just last night. Surely there are some stationed here?"

The elderly woman chuckles, "A few hither and yon. One or two in security no less, but I'm too old to do anything but tease the boys. And the outfits really are quite 'dashing'. But I don't think they want to be dashing. At least they finally sorted out the first set. The Council wanted the women in -skirts-."

Clara waves her fingertips dismissively, smirking. "-Never- too old, ma'am. Although teasing 'em's likely more fun." She steeples her fingers thoughtfully. "Dashing, hmm? Dashing's quite go-..." She stops cold, then thunks her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Skirts. Oh, splendid. Someone was -not- thinking, were they?"

Honalee stands gracefully, gathering up her mug and returning it to the slot. She speaks as she returns, "No, not at all. But then they really didn't want them to look like guards at all. More like retainers in some Lord's house."

Clara makes a definite rude noise before bolting down the rest of her java. "Or like a debutante off to some dull as mud socialite function," she spits out, grimacing. "Oh, yes, I know the attitude well." A tall staffer, blue with olive hair, makes his way in holding a towel around his hand and looking sheepish, and she rises with an apologetic air. "Pardon me, ma'am? Duty seems to call..." She pauses, then purses her lips before adding seriously, "And ma'am...? Thank you."

Honalee nods, standing as well, "No, Clara. Thank you. I am pleased to be able to leave the place in your hands."

Clara peers up the distance at the taller woman, then nods one with a small smile, then turns to stride over to the patient, holding out her hands. "Come in, come in..." she soothes. "Had a little accident, did we? Well, let's just have a look..." A glance of gratitude is shot over her shoulder, and then she's immersed in treating the day's wounded.