Light returned to the Embassy in a cluster of flashes, strip lighting in the bar's roof bathing the room in soft yellow glow that left it looking like an oversaturated photograph. A handful of screws returned the panel to its position atop the wiring, a freshly cut groove exposing the domed point of the projector to the bar's patrons. Sarah descended from the table, keeping a grip on a nearby chair to avoid making a second tablecloth assisted express trip to the carpet.
Michael had settled into a seat opposite the eagle-woman, and the two were deep in conversation by the time Sarah wandered over. At least, it looked like they were in deep conversation from a distance. The reality of the matter was a silence that had settled over the table like an ill-fitting coat. With her shoulders slumped, the eagle-woman looked at least half a century older. Michael's face was fixed in a smile, surprise still lingering on his features - an expression Sarah was quickly coming to associate with the young gunboat captain. A part of her itched to make for the door, to leave the pair to their conversation. A second part raised its hand and politely pointed out that she hadn't had a chance to show off yet. In the end, the second part won, and Sarah pulled up a seat at the table before her consciousness had time to pull together any further objections.
"Hey." She fixed the table's occupants with her best mad scientist grin. It probably looked a little like someone grimacing, but that was the whole point of the thing, wasn't it? If it looked comfortable it hardly qualified as mad. She fished her datapad from a trouser pocket, fingers flashing across a surface smeared with grease and half a dozen other chemicals that a reputable laboratory would have no doubt have attached warning labels to. "I told you it'd be neat, didn't I?"
Nothing happened for a long moment. Then, with a rumble reminiscent of a thunderstorm, the blue wireframe of a Firefly crackled into being above their heads, heat radiating off it in waves. Not quite hot enough to be painful, but warm enough that Sarah shifted her seat a few feet back. "Volumetric display." She grinned, dialing back the intensity until the ship was a faint outline. "Eats up more juice then a toddler in a supermarket, but I can pretty much put out any image I want. And...er... You might not want to touch that." She nodded at the outline, still hovering over the table like a phantom. "There's a small possibility it could burn your fingers off. Nothing too bad, I mean, it's only plasma. It's not like sticking your hand in a reactor or anything, but... Just don't touch it, okay? Easier for everyone that way."
"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."
- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.
