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[If it makes her feel any better, Evelyn herself is wearing a rumpled dressing gown with her hair in a messy bun, which is about as schlubby as any self-respecting woman from the 1930s will allow herself to look.]

It's doing as much as it can, [she replies honestly. Earnestly.] It isn't the data alone, but how we use it. I'm coming up with solutions with Commander Shepard, but nothing is going to be immediate...and I don't have replies from everyone, either. We have to keep up with it, or it'll be ineffective.

[Evelyn pushes a curl out of her eyes and pauses for a moment before sighing.]

...I'm sorry, I've been very worked up about this.

No, don't apologize, I think it's a good thing to get worked up over. It's the first step in actually getting something done, right? Everything starts somewhere. I'm glad I could help the effort. I mean. Not glad, but. You know.

Doing my part.

I understand.

[No one is happy about it, but Evelyn is glad some people at least see the practicality in it. Doing something over nothing.

And she hates to be presumptuous, but...]

Do you need company? I wouldn't normally offer, but...I know what all of this can feel like.

[ Liv probably look grateful before the words actually make it out of her mouth. ]

As long as you don't mind drinking with someone who doesn't really care to get dressed for company right now.

[Evelyn noticed, but she won't say anything about it.]

I'm wearing a robe, Liv. [Nothing says "leisure" like a robe, and she needs to get out of her rooms before she goes entirely mad.] Which floor do you live on?

Second floor, room one. I'll have a glass waiting for you. It's good whiskey, I promise.

[Right down the hall, then. Not far at all.]

I'll be there shortly.

[True to her word and English punctuality, Evelyn adjourns to Olivia Moore's rooms, knocking politely on the door and bearing a bottle of conciliatory alcohol she thinks might serve as a satisfactory gift.]

[ Liv answers the door and truly did not change out of what's passing for pajamas, letting Evelyn inside. It's a warm space that she's made for herself, with one brick wall, cozy furniture, and nice, open space. ]

Thanks for coming over. It's nice to officially meet you, face to face. Sorry it's to commiserate over death and dying.

[The interior reminds Evelyn of warm warehouses, brick walls with unfinished, unassuming spaces the encourage movement. Following the trend, she steps beyond the threshold.]

Back home I worked with the dead rather frequently, I suppose Wonderland thinks it's being funny.

[Brightly, she turns to offer Liv a slim bottle full of clear liquid, with a spigot trapped in the stopper.]

But the feeling is mutual; it's very nice to make your acquaintance.

Edited (DW why do u format like this) 2017-10-17 04:44 (UTC)

[ Liv can't help but smile at the bottle, taking it from Evelyn and walking further inside to pour them drinks. But then she turns to look at her over her shoulder, standing at the kitchen counter. ]

You work with the dead? I do too, that's my job. I'm a medical examiner back home.

[Wonderland is apparently rife with people who either work in or are tangentially related to law enforcement - Evelyn has distinct memories of the sorts of cases Will Graham would share with her about the work he did for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and all the corpses that entailed.]

Your dead are about three millennia fresher than mine. I'm an Egyptologist.

[It lends itself to very similar anatomical study for the express purpose of determining the cause of death, though those individuals mummified were usually not the byproduct of foul play. Evelyn's experience with the recently-deceased is a later development.

She wanders in after Liv, smiling warmly.]

Not much call for either profession, here.

There's not, but your job sounds way cooler than my job.

[ Grabbing glasses, she pours them each a drink, then gestures to her living room so they can sit on the couch. ]

Thank you for bringing this, by the way. I can almost bet it's going to be better than the Jim Beam I was drinking.

[ Once they're comfortable on the couch, Liv can't help but ask - maybe because it keeps her mind off of why she's drinking to begin with. ]

So, you've definitely spent a portion of your life digging up mummies and ancient artifacts?

[Evelyn thinks they might not be too dissimilar: both professions require an intimate knowledge of the body, creative intellect, sharpness of mind. Also, it's just nice to meet another woman who works with the dead.]

Since I was young, I suppose. My father was an archaeologist, and an explorer.

[Back in the day when that was still a viable position to take in society. Evelyn pauses, just a moment, to point out the drink before Liv takes a cursory sip.]

...ah- this is raki, by the way. Greek. It tastes like anise, but it's very strong.

Very strong sounds about right.

[ Thank God, honestly. She does take a tentative sip first, finds it nice enough, and takes a bigger swallow. She'll pace herself for appearance's sake, but really, she hopes the fact that it's very strong means it'll work faster in her system. ]

I'm a doctor but...got a little sidetracked working with the dead. It's...I don't know. People die and then everyone moves on. Sometimes without anyone caring.

[ also she's dead and had no choice but, you know. Details. ]

I'm guessing you took after your dad, then?

[Evelyn laughs, tucking her feet up under herself and unconsciously arranging her robe. Force of habit, from another time.]

Both of my parents were...rather adventurous, actually. Runs in the family.

[Stretching all the way down to the only current heir of the Carnahan estate, a boy no longer in residence and one she misses terribly. Evelyn fidgets with her locket, and continues.]

But I agree with you, about the...lack of caring. Your frustrating is a sentiment shared by many historians; I suppose the entire profession of archaeology is, in a way, tied to a desire to not necessarily...avoid moving on, so much as learn from it.

[History repeats itself, ad nauseam.]

I've certainly been accused of caring too much.

I don't think there's such a thing as caring too much. Or maybe that's naive. I mean, you can care that much but know there isn't anything you can do. That doesn't mean you can just...flip a switch.

[ She's tried not caring about a lot that she can't change, but all she winds up doing is getting angry until she acknowledges it again. ]

At least working with the dead means no one can talk back and tell you you're wrong.

It's not naive. It's hopeful.

[Optimistic, even, although she's certainly been chastised for demonstrating too much of that, as well. Can a girl really help it when there is so much disaster in the world it threatens to choke out the sun?

Evelyn almost snorts into her drink.]

That I cannot contend. The dead are very agreeable in that they haven't the ability to argue. Leaves us to become a voice for them.

I spend a lot of time trying to figure out why people died. I mean, how, too, obviously. But...putting the pieces together, understanding what was happening during that moment of their lives. Families deserve to know, and it never feels right if I can't tell them. Or, at the very least, if I can't figure it out.

[ She takes another sip of the Very Good alcohol and then shakes her head a little. ]

Sometimes we're the only voice. I've had a lot of victims where no one comes forward to claim their loved one, and...I don't know. This is weird but I don't want them to feel like they were alone.

[ Even if they're dead. ]

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