This was definitely the Director's office. Aside the fact that it was the largest office in the Precinct, it was also the most decorated. There were flags hanging on each side of the large desk, each one representing states, cities, and countries that he never knew had existed. On the wall behind the desk was a symbol, meticulously carved out of some sort of decorative stone, that represented whatever police organization this was. Beneath that, there was a smaller set of symbols, also carved out of the same stone. Leon couldn't read the language, but he immediately understood what it was.

It was the oath. A verbal contract to serve a cause higher than themselves.

Apparently some things were universal.

But even if he couldn't understand what it said, he knew what it meant. He didn't mind having it there; it would serve as a reminder to the oath he once took. Not that he'd ever forget, but this place had a way of making you lose sight of the important things. After all, he was Chief of Security now, the top cop in land that had no rules and no laws.

It would be so very easy to bend the rules when you're making them up as you go along. Even easier to break them when he had access to enough firepower to take down the rest of the crew. He would need something to keep him on the straight and narrow.

So he sat in the big chair (Which not only was incredibly comfy, but it reclined, swiveled, and rolled. How cool was that?) with those symbols at his back, knowing those would help guide his hand in the days and weeks ahead. Though, even as he made himself at home, he almost felt like he didn't belong in that chair.

He may have ascended high in the ranks as far as agents go, but all of his promotions had been lateral through the command chain, not vertical. If it was one thing he believed, it was that if you went far enough up the food chain, you stopped being a cop and started being a politician. And he hated politics. He always simply wanted to be a cop, just to be out there helping people, not behind a desk talking about helping people while doing crap all.

So, yeah, he almost felt like he shouldn't be in that seat. Almost. But for the moment at least, he leaned back, kicked his feet up, and for the moment he quietly enjoyed being the top cop aboard the ship. But, knowing this ship, he had a feeling that quiet moment wasn't going to last much longer.

Luly has been checked into the Med Bay after a bit of an odd incident in the Mess Hall. So far she's stayed mostly of the way, given a bed in a secluded niche, and while she's ended up babbling to herself a few times or doing other odd behaviors, nothing's been obviously harmful.

With the ship's somewhat annoying lack of proper hospital robes and her disdain for the plantsuits, she's wrapped in just a sheet, hopefully while somebody figures out something to clean her usual makeshift red wrap with. At the moment she's sprawled across the bed assigned to her, focused intently on a holographic keyboard and screen being projected from a little cylinder she's placed on the bed. To look at her she could seem almost normal, except for the one hand keeps rapping out a compulsive, staccato rhythm against the bedsheets.