Some of the sensors are recognizably pressure and temperature gauges, they monitor changes to other parts of the system that extend far beyond the limits of this room, their numbers stable, but never quite settling. If necessary, Gabi could trigger the emergency shut down of those systems for repairs. On another machine, samples are periodically piped in for analysis: when the fluid deviates from the expected pH range, she starts the buffer change cycle so that nothing falls outside of physiological ranges. There are other rooms like this in the building, with so much of it devoted to either cloning or health services, each bank of machinery had it's own room for maintenance reasons. From the outside, there's isn't much to it, and not much to learn, besides the numbers she seemed to be expecting. 7.4 came up a lot.
There isn't much time for conversation, which is funny, because all they're doing is waiting. Though the hum of machinery did pick up as time past, making talking difficult. And though he would have tried anyway, now isn't the best time for it. Stiles had taken to pacing back and forth around the room, occasionally stopping to regard machinery that catches his attention - bolted securely in place, beeps like R2D2, gives off more heat the the rest, - mostly though, he keeps looking from the door to the others, waiting fruitlessly in case something did happen. He would have been chewing on his fingernails, if he hadn't managed to kick that habit back in fourth grade.
Stiles is eager to leave when the time comes, having watched Gabi run through a process similar to the one she'd started with, checking and inputting data into the machines to make sure they're working properly and sending off her end of shift report, still he asks that she and Cisco wait a moment before following him out the door in the unlikely case there had been someone lurking around the halls outside, then out back to the streets.
Gabi's apartment is definitely awe-inspiring, Stiles gawks at the lavish furnishings and wonders if they're even allowed to sit on those couches. At least they hadn't had to wipe off their shoes, or anything. He stares back at Cisco, wide-eyed before he goes back to looking around again. This place is almost enough to make him forget just how tired he feels.
"Nope," he shakes his head in emphasis, before adding: "You can cook?" Here, he meant. He'd barely seen anything that resembles a stove, besides the food processors at the commissary. He'd started to think that kitchens just weren't something people cared for much. "Not that I'm disparaging your skills or anything, but it's just that things like pots and pans have seemed pretty scarce."
no subject
There isn't much time for conversation, which is funny, because all they're doing is waiting. Though the hum of machinery did pick up as time past, making talking difficult. And though he would have tried anyway, now isn't the best time for it. Stiles had taken to pacing back and forth around the room, occasionally stopping to regard machinery that catches his attention - bolted securely in place, beeps like R2D2, gives off more heat the the rest, - mostly though, he keeps looking from the door to the others, waiting fruitlessly in case something did happen. He would have been chewing on his fingernails, if he hadn't managed to kick that habit back in fourth grade.
Stiles is eager to leave when the time comes, having watched Gabi run through a process similar to the one she'd started with, checking and inputting data into the machines to make sure they're working properly and sending off her end of shift report, still he asks that she and Cisco wait a moment before following him out the door in the unlikely case there had been someone lurking around the halls outside, then out back to the streets.
Gabi's apartment is definitely awe-inspiring, Stiles gawks at the lavish furnishings and wonders if they're even allowed to sit on those couches. At least they hadn't had to wipe off their shoes, or anything. He stares back at Cisco, wide-eyed before he goes back to looking around again. This place is almost enough to make him forget just how tired he feels.
"Nope," he shakes his head in emphasis, before adding: "You can cook?" Here, he meant. He'd barely seen anything that resembles a stove, besides the food processors at the commissary. He'd started to think that kitchens just weren't something people cared for much. "Not that I'm disparaging your skills or anything, but it's just that things like pots and pans have seemed pretty scarce."