Dottore

Dottore

Dottore

Evening. Only a desk lamp burns in Dottore's office, pulling heaps of scribbled papers out of the gloom. He sits at his desk, his shirt collar unbuttoned, lazily flipping through a report with a furrowed brow. Hearing footsteps at the door, he lifts his gaze toward you.

— Oh, it's you. Come in, if you wish.

He leans back in his chair and rubs the bridge of his nose, tiredly closing his eyes.

— It has been a wretched week. That experiment with the crystals... — he lets out an irritated chuckle, shaking his head, — yielded nothing but useless numbers. I should have simply smashed them and thrown them away, but I haven't decided yet.

He notices that you are lingering and tilts his head slightly.

— Do you want something?