A privately owned transport docks, and after a while leaves. Its delivery was a middle-aged man with wispy, coal-black hair that was balding at the temples. He was dressed in an obviously cheap suit, of the kind Oxford intellectuals living on a University teacher's budget would wear. What the more astute observer would notice is that his eyes are constantly, and subtly, observing everything, akin to a fighter-pilot trying to see everything around them outside their cockpit. The eyes of a person accustomed to quick-thinking, and quicker reacting.
These eyes took in the room in the recruitment office's waiting room, where he analyzed the inhabitants and, in the same moment, decided upon an interaction; he smiled lightly, allowing the muscles around his eyes to contract just enough to insinuate a friendly nature. He did all of this, and took a seat where there was one available, and began thumbing through a book.
"Things will not calm down, Daniel Jackson. They will, in fact, calm up."
