sanctuary, narrative } Who: Nikola Tesla (Narrative) What: Working. Where: Sanctuary Door. When: Friday. Warnings/Rating: None.
Nikola had settled into something like a routine. He usually spent a few hours a day at the hotel, exploring its rooms and corridors trying to figure out where they could be hiding the mysterious power source that had landed them here. The rest of his time was spent in his own world, or at least what passed for it in this place, locked away in a lab, working on possible alternatives for when they failed to find whatever it was that created the hotel and the worlds it connected.
He’d had little luck on either project, and frankly, the lack of progress was beginning to wear on him. It was almost surprising Helen hadn’t been by to lecture him, given the frequent outbursts, which often included swearing in more than one language and the clatter of non-crucial projects being carelessly tossed aside.
For the moment, though, all was quiet as he leaned against his work station, absently swirling a deep red wine around his glass and staring intently at the jumble of materials and various bits of equipment scattered in front of him. To anyone else, it would seem like chaos, but he knows exactly what he’s looking at, and it was still wrong.
Just as well. He had other things he should be doing. Like recreating his little experiment with wireless electricity. Hopefully without the giant rift monster. But sometimes science required sacrifice. He wouldn’t be mentioning that to Helen.
His lab at SCIU still mostly seemed intact. It would probably be best if that particular bit of research was carried out there. Then again, they had (apparently) fired him for that little project once already.
Picking up the nearby wine bottle, he emptied it into his glass, frowning at it before setting it aside again. He was going to need more wine.