"Irish Whiskey, aged around twelve years. It's a new one, I haven't had this one yet, surprisingly enough." A soft trace of a smile made itself known on her features as she reached for another glass. "Would you care to join me for a glass or two?"

"Unofficially, she is. She did assume the role herself after all." Deirdre took another sip from her coffee mug, longer this time. Upon lowering it, she would nod towards the Alpha. "Whether or not it becomes official is entirely up to my discretion. For your sake, I hope I don't have to."

She'd raise a brow at him in response to his question, lowering the mug as the corners of her mouth pulled into a taut line. "Do I need to assign you a chaperone in order to ensure there's order on my ship?" Her eyes narrowed slightly, honing in on Emile like he were a target.

"I've noticed she keeps you from getting into too much trouble. I wouldn't take that for granted." Deirdre lifted the rim of her mug to her lips, taking a brief sip of black liquid. "I may be Catholic, but this isn't a confessional, Two-Three-Nine. I believe you and your own are still on leave."

It almost reminded her of catching a misbehaving child, it was charming, really. "At ease, Spartan." Though her headache was creeping into the back of her eye sockets, she managed a small semblance of a smile. "I'm glad to hear it was an eventful evening, as it should be for you all."

Her attention moved towards him as he was passing by, taking note of his demeanor. "Good morning, Spartan. I trust you had a good evening last night?"

She's awake, and with a headache. Deirdre is holding onto her coffee mug with a vice grip.

ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ

ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴɴᴇʟ ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ

" 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥, 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭."