(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7dd1oHkY31rargk6o1_500.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Ilya G. Faustin<br/><strong>Location:</strong>USS Georgetown, outside the Infirmary<br/><strong>Addressing:</strong>Samantha Jamieson<br/><hr/>Ilya was glad that he was at least not making a complete fool of himself. He straightened up and regained his very professional composure, slamming the heels of his boots together with a crack like a gunshot and bending his body in a ninety degree angle at the hip before straightening up again. His face was set in stone now, the very image of a grim Russian officer in the Czar's Imperial Armed Forces.<br/><br/>"If our commander is waiting for us we should not waste time. The check up can wait until after the briefing. I promise I 'll give you moment's notice in case I suffer any symptoms." His voice had taken on a very dry and mechanical tone and his eyes had lost some of its spark. It tormented him deeply to put on this display. He was so tempted to call her<em>Tovaritch Doktor</em>and give her a friendly pat on the back like in the good old days of the Revolution. That is before it all went to hell and the<em>politruks</em>began firing upon their own. He managed a genuine smile though when he offered her his arm in a rather archaic fashion suitable for the conservative Czarists.<br/><br/>"Shall we, Doctor?"