Kit & Tory: Area 52
Kit didn't work in a start-up. The lab he belonged to, if by 'belong' you implied a hazy relationship based on contractual agreements and not much else, was polished and well-run. There were a lot of people whose job it was to facilitate other people's jobs and a vaguely threatening air of time perpetually ready to run out. They were tidy and clean and Kit wasn't the first even if he managed the second. He wore brogues that were shabby at the heel and toe and a sweater his grandfather had gifted him as 'warm' which was probably all the sweater had to say for itself. It was a color somewhere between mud and moss and the lab-coat probably made it less offensive, but he wasn't wearing the lab-coat when he left the lab.
It wasn't very difficult to find Tory. Even for someone who didn't much go in for detective work. Kit was someone who had an affinity for patience that occasionally veered into stubbornness but there wasn't much call for that, under the circumstances. He observed the nameplate on the outside of the door, knocked lightly on the exterior and paused for the moment or two that allowed for warning before occupying the space inside the frame.
Kit was not a very tall man. He was a thin man, which likely aided the perception of height and he had a lot of thick, haphazard hair that tended to stand up if he put his fingers into it, which he had. Several times. His face was narrow, and his nose was too large for the rest of it but he regarded the man within the room who had to be L.V. Wyler with very clear, very pale inquisitive eyes.
"Sorry." He didn't have much of a burr in his voice. It was more languid than that. Kit didn't sound especially sorry, either.