Oh, well, Bobbi had to get back to work anyway; she had a lot to do before she died, and now the clock was ticking. That could be fun, too, almost as fun as planning her death as long as something exciting happened and a zombie tried to rob a bank or something. She dragged herself away from the Director's desk, tablet in a limp arm as she loped around to her seat again. "Fine, pick a body and I'll get shot or drown or whatever happened to that poor bastard," he allowed, "but you better have enough ashes to give to two moms, because mine's going to want to tell my remains how they're not trying hard enough to get a nice boy." She didn't sit, but paused by her chair, hand on its back and hip cocked, looking bored with all of these important details. She'd get back into the spirit of things when she got to do the dying part.