4:15PM
L glanced up wearily from his stool. He'd started the day standing up, cynical and annoyed, but the way the day had progressed had been... taxing. It was one thing to know beyond all certainty that he had no psychic abilities whatsoever and that he was ill-selected for phony fortune-telling. It was another thing entirely for someone else to turn him into a ventriloquist dummy and exhaust him. When he saw the Doctor, he received a prod from the Gypsy, and he dragged himself to his feet, chain clinking heavily.
He was wearing a pair of loose brown trousers, a linen, Renaissance-style shirt, and a large, open poet's vest in harvest yellows and burgundy reds. This was the most cheerful thing about his appearance; his eyelids were heavy and bruised-looking from lack of sleep, and his skin tone was pale, dull, and unhealthy. He wanted to ask this man for help, but that rifle the Gypsy seemed anxious to use killed the words before they could even form in the back of his throat.
"Welcome... welcome to Madame Romani's and Son. Do... do you wish to inquire about matters of past... present, future. Consult the... famous Romani third eye." He shuddered as the Gypsy stepped closer to him.