"Fuck's sake," he snaps back, his rigid, tenuous patience dissolving utterly. He severs his glare with a scornful turn on his heel, attention narrowing to the problem on the whiteboard and not its originator, whose relevance to the issue at hand has just decreased by roughly eighty percent by virtue of being, apparently, useless. "You're not gonna be useful, stop wasting my time."

He'd engineered her solution, inserted it into the problem and it had been a beautiful arrangement and he would never admit it to anyone save himself, but they are in possession of said solution and so the solver of the problem is not required to be seen as relevant.

Hence - the growing need for her dismissal. Soon, ideally. Before it severs his focus. Before it damages his weakening grasp on a wholly transparent composure that would lead him to a progression of events in which he would not do very well at all, and an end result that would be best avoided.

His knuckles are white around the pen in his hand, fingernails sunk into skin.