Ithi'Ka sidles out of the room to pace the halls where there's less talk of throbbings and poundings.  She mutters to herself in the syllables of the Drow tongue, slipping in a bit of common from time to time.<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><em>"Vel'bol natha dosib <strong>prick</strong>.  Usstan shlu'ta'naut z'reninth uk zhah shinder z'hin nindolen tullusas xuil nau velvel wun ukt rath.  Ssussun pholor l' fa'la zatoast, lu' xal ol co'ce ukt nigunti'kar."</em></span>Pausing in the corridor, she turns to Mark-- she doesn't make eye contact, but it's clear she cares not to speak to any of the others.  "We must speak on this--" she lifts the folio gently, still staring at the pages, "--when you have a moment..."  she slips off throught the hall and continues her muttering.