Melissa had been one of the later arrivals to the crew, and far too many of the days leading up to their departure had been occupied bustling around, making sure the right documents had gotten to the right people, having to deal those documents being lost for a day and then reappearing the next. Then the matter of settling in, to the extent one<em>did</em>or even<em>could</em>in an environment like this, and...<br/><br/>But that was over. Had been over for just under twenty-four hours, the last<em>issue</em>being resolved. She'd take a much-desired shower, gone to bed expecting to have the most restful sleep she'd experienced in weeks, and woke up sore in half a dozen places and feeling like her mouth was full of chalk. Apparently the universe had decided to get in just one last joke at her expense. She chose not to be too bitter about that, and her mood had stayed bright even though it took the entire morning (as much as 'morning' existed in space) to not want to go find a coffin to crawl into.<br/><br/>Despite the gravity of their mission, she'd spent the rest of the time leading up to the mission, of all things, combing her hair and painting her nails. Had anyone come upon her, they would've surely though her absurdly vain. It wasn't about her appearance, though. It was something calming, something soothing. Something to help placate the yowling beast called anxiety that had been ravaging her thoughts and overall wellness, a way to slowly unwind the knot in her chest. It was nearly mindless, but took enough of her focus that she could avoid worrying too deeply about everything else.<br/><br/>When the announcement was made, of course, there was no longer any time for such concerns, any more than there would have been for meditation or a cold shower. Once the ship has cleared the station she does as instructed, making her way to the conference room.<br/><br/>The look she'd gone for was ultimately a series of compromises. Her dark hair had been gathered up into a thick, tight bun, with two short, hand-crafted wooden hair sticks forming a flattened 'X' holding it in place. A bit more ethnic than her usual tastes would allow, but she felt the rest of the outfit made up for it. She'd gone with light colors, sporting a white shirt, pale slate-blue button-up suit jacket, and trousers matching that jacket. The heels of her shoes were elevated, though not pointed, less than half an inch above the toe; it was little enough that she could walk briskly and normally without problem, and also enough to put her firmly, unequivocally, over five and a half feet. Very ready, very business, yet not... severe. Amicably professional, if she'd been successful in conveying the impression she was going for.<br/><br/>Melissa had of course verified the room's identity before going inside, though if there'd been any doubt, the sight of the people inside--a mixed-looking group, all clearly waiting for something--confirmed that she was in the right place. She wastes little time in taking a seat, folding her hands one atop the other on her lap, and from there taking the time to survey the room, and its occupants, at greater length.