With a light thud, the bottle hit the table.
“Nooooooooo…” she crooned, quickly scooping up the bottle using only her fingertips. It was too late though, as the sticky brown substance began to march onward across the desk.
Erratic, she tried to find a place to put the bottle down so as to begin to move other things out of the way in time. She proceeded to place the sticky bottle on a magazine to get her action figures out of the way.
“Noooooooo…” Having moved them out of the way, she flailed over to grab some paper towels, tissues, napkins. Whatever it was she had around her desk that could help ebb the outgoing tide. She had to reach a little further from her chair and her coat sleeve knocked the bottle right over again.
She shrieked. When her father knocked on her door to ask what was wrong, she could only continue to dab up spilled soda.
“Are you not a researcher?”
If Vidvan had an extra minute every time he had heard Iqbal say that to him, he could have gotten more done. “How so?” he asked, glancing up. It took his eyes a moment to return to focus as he returned them to his papers.
That got Vidvan’s attention again. He looked around for the mess. Then frowned. “It is all where I know how to find it!”
“Research is not an independent project here,” Iqbal reminded him. “You may be the Master’s favourite, but you have to work with the rest of us. Please, take a moment and organize this mess into something people could work in!”
It was not a mess, not really. Vidvan felt his temper flare, though he did his best to hold it back. He had done nothing but been as accommodating to the others as possible since his addition to the team. Honestly, nothing mad Iqbal happy.
But Vidvan wasn’t here to make Iqbal happy. He was here to repay the Master for all of the opportunities he had been given.
Which meant he may or may not have said something worth repeating. When Iqbal was far enough away, of course. Vidvan was getting along, after all. He only wished he had said it louder.