Primadonna was, for all purposes, not good at dealing with stress. The lanky, abnormally long cryo tended to feel like a crouching rabbit at all times, ready to burst off somewhere away from the drama. He had done so several times today the way the air smelt must have been attracting the crazies. It felt thicker then usual, and everything felt oddly quiet and still but he was not about to let that affect him, no. He had a goal in mind. He had been lounging for the l...
