Universal Constants

[image description: a reddish brown canine furry takes up most of the frame, sitting down in a waiting room chair. his black hair is covering most of his face in a curly mess. large, round glasses obscure his eyes, and his expression is calm and stoic- a singular canine fang sticking out of his mouth. he's wearing a red turtleneck sweater, maroon high waisted pants, and a reddish purple cape with a holographic, starry print. there's pins on his shoulder, where the cape hangs off of his body- a no-entry sign and a heart split down the middle.

the room itself is simple in what we can see in-frame, a door off to the side with a distinctly alien handle compared to what we have on earth- with a smaller upper grip laid horizontally, and a much larger lower grip angled vertically. there is alien writing on the door's sign, indicating who works there, and arrow-like patterning on the door's surface.

color-wise, the room is a rather sterile white and gray, made to feel warmer by the piece's overall cozy lighting. shiny particles hover around the dog's cape, leading to a dream-like feel.]

Charon rubs his fingers against the edges of the folder in his lap, his documents kept nice and neat inside. He'd be meeting up with the head honcho of the Menagerie, a facility staple on this continent for its medical importance. A renovation job for someone with a very specific skillset, that's what the guild explained when he took a look at the contract.

The waiting room is clean, almost too clean to be inviting- the entire facility felt clinical and cold, and this area is no different. The only audible noise is the hum of the lights up above him and the unintelligible discussion in the office ahead. No one else is left, all other people having gone through the office before him, and a sense of unease begins to settle in.

He tries to see if he can get any sort of sound or look at whatever was going on inside, just to know what he's exactly about to deal with. This lab had many stories behind it, stories that spread and snowballed into the thing of myth and fables. He couldn't say his family would approve of him taking a job with the reputation the previous owner had, but he was assured things were… mostly different.

As if to confirm his worries, the voices inside escalate in volume, someone bursting out of the door and scrambling to get out of there as quickly as possible. The dog tries not to mind it too much, probably just an anomaly. At the very least it means that he’s about to be called up.

He gets to his feet and gets a quick stretch in…he'd been in that lobby too long. His whole body starts clanking and clattering as he does so, a mix of his metal limbs and his fluffy tail, adorned with porcelain plates, making a racket.

Charon shuffles over into the next room as quickly as possible.

The office is tidy, everything clearly having its own place- though a little sparse, with no decorations or knick knacks to be found anywhere. The karacel at the desk sits with straight posture, her hands clasped in front of her and a stoic expression on her face. Her brown fur contrasts with her green accents on her nose, ear tufts, and eyelids- the latter currently half lidded over what looked to be black prosthetic eyes. It’s an exasperated expression on her face, barely turning to acknowledge him in her exhaustion.

The dog creeps on over to his chair.

She doesn't react much, keeping her posture steady.

He slides over a file.

She seems a little impressed at the touch script inclusion, opening up the folder with care.

She grimaces, just enough to be noticed.

Her grimace worsens.

She runs her hand over the first paper, taking a proper look. The resume itself features a mention of involvement in a relatively well known investigation involving sensitives, users of scraps, those who can supposedly connect to spirits and remnants….

Maes’ frown twitches.

She continues reading, her brows just the slightest bit raised now.

It comes out cold- possibly more than she intended, by the look on her face- and she hurriedly gets back to her reading.

She flashes the slightest bit of teeth as she says it. Charon just barely catches a glimpse, his heart rate speeding up and a little intake of breath at the sight of it.

Shit.

Maes pauses, ear twitching almost too subtly to be seen.

Shit, she noticed.


She reads more of his file, but there’s something about the way she speaks that makes Charon feel…scrutinized.

She makes sure to almost snarl the last word.

Charon focuses- he’s grateful to be blessed with the ability to gauge subtle elements and emotions, an aspect of his family line. He tries to see what he can find in Maes, nervous about what he might find.