Hang in there, baby.

“Dawley,” Occam said. Her brow was furrowed in a way that never meant anything good. “I’m confused as to why I got an e-mail from the building’s safety manager this morning about your coffee maker.”

Because they decided to CC you for some bs reason instead of just messaging me, Dawley thought, but in a rare moment of self-restraint, didn’t say it aloud. “There aren’t any outlets in the hall down here,” they said instead, a whine creeping into their voice. 

“You’ve daisy-chained three extension cords from the fume hood outlets across the emergency shower,” Occam observed. Her tone was flat, but her razor-sharp sail was trembling like a struck tuning fork, betraying her frustration.

“Yeah, it wasn’t my best decision, I’ll admit,” Dawley said. “But desperate times, desperate measures, you know?” They gave a smile that looked too stretched around the edges, and was not returned. “... I’ll take it down immediately,” they conceded. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Occam said. She relaxed a bit, but her brow remained furrowed. “Do I have to have a discussion with the others about this as well?” 

“No!” Dawley squeaked. “No, I’ll make sure everyone else knows not to get creative with the extension cords. Absolutely.”

Occam stared at them for a long moment, and then nodded. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her snout, peering at Dawley with piercing cyan eyes. “How’s the figure coming along?” She asked. 

They groaned internally. “It’s, going,” they said, searching for the nearest window to escape from - only to remember they had been moved to the basement. “A bit hard with all the unpacking going on, and getting the mice settled into the new facility.”

“Hm,” Occam said. “Well, if you start on Saturday, you can get another replicate in by Thursday.” She said, looking down at her clipboard full of papers. “I look forward to reviewing your data.”

Dawley’s internal groan gained pitch to something more like a scream. “Sounds great, can do,” they said. Next time. They would put their foot down next time. Or maybe Occam would forget she asked by Thursday.

“Very good,” Occam nodded. The phone in her lab coat pocket buzzed, and Dawley caught a glance of a long list of email notifications as she took it out and scrolled through. They indulged in the most spiteful thought they could manage, that they were all emails from very persistent equipment vendors. “See you then,” Occam said, the lights on her chest flashing as she turned away, already tapping a response to someone, already onto the next problem. Her long, sinuous tail was soon disappearing up the stairs. 

Dawley let out a long breath. A round, freckled face peeked out from around the corner. “Is she gone?” It asked. Dawley nodded. “Whew, thanks Dawles!” Tory said, emerging from their hiding spot. “She’s scary! Who spit in her RNA prep?” 

Dawley sighed. “I think she has a grant due,” they said, sinking onto their desk and running their hands through their already messy fur. “Was she always this bossy? You publish one paper in Sermos Science and suddenly you think you own the place,” they muttered sourly.

“Bummer about the Saturday thing,” Tory said, pulling a stick of beef jerky seemingly out of nowhere (also not allowed) and chewing on it thoughtfully. “Chin up, though. She’ll probably just forget she asked.”

“Probably,” they murmured. They looked around their new desk, which still had detritus from its last occupant. They opened a drawer to find an empty wrapping paper. They looked at the pinboard, which had a faded poster depicting a kitten clinging to a rope with the words “Hang in there, baby,” against a hot pink background. Given that Dawley hated cats, they found this oddly fitting. They grabbed their coffee mug from the far corner of the desk and took a swig.. Stale and full of grounds, just how they liked it.

“Have you gotten the vivarium running yet?” Dawley asked. “I can help you out this afternoon, since you carried all those mouse cages for me yesterday.” 

Tory brightened. “That would be great!” They said. “A lot of the parts came in this week. I really can’t wait, I know the basement is a little dingy, but... there’s so much more space! We can even start up the polychroa colony I’ve always wanted. And, well, neither of our organisms really like light anyway, so, what’s the loss of a window or two here or there? Light - too hot, too bright, just complicates things, that’s what I always say.” 

Dawley couldn’t help but smile a little at the little Paralogos’s enthusiasm. “I suppose we’d better clean all this up first,” Dawley said at last, prodding one of the extension cords with a clawed toe. “We’ll have to come up with another solution to our caffeine needs.”

“Maybe the lab across the hall will let us use one of their outlets?” Tory asked hopefully. “I hear that’s where the Drosophila Paralogos works, they seem like they’d be nice.”

“Yeah, maybe,” they said, but Dawley didn’t sound hopeful. They looked at their now-empty coffee mug. “Come on, I want to make one last pot before we dismantle this travesty.”

They took a last look at the mournful kitten poster as they headed out. Just another Friday in lab.

Hang in there, baby.