[ It's no Qreshi estate, to be sure. But it is something. Not that Steinbeck gets to enjoy the cushier upper levels, but when he arrives it's to a towering cantilevered structure nestled in the foothills not far from the Scarbacks and their monastery. In the heart of his lab, Royce's focus is pulled from his task by Steinbeck's arrival; in truth, the sensors along the edge of the property had alerted him first, but he takes some amusement in noting through the camera feed that Steinbeck had taken his invitation to knock rather literally. People do tend to do that from time to time. Take him somewhat... literally.
Well, the defenses are already back up in Steinbeck's distant wake and Royce is, if nothing else, a civil sort, but he glances balefully between multiple PDDs and an adjacent pile of notes and the hallway joining room and entrance.
There's a panel with a screen just next to the door. Unbidden, it blips to life for Steinbeck: Royce's voice, is really all, accompanied by a static image of some part of the lab he isn't in. ]
There you are. I see you. Hello, hello... Come on in; it should be open if I'm not mistaken.
[ Manners, of course, manners do dictate—the manners he was raised with, you see—that he pull himself away for the sake of hospitality, but, well, he'd been honest. After all. Steinbeck may have taken precautionary measures himself, but the others? The others who have contacted him in the last little while haven't been so lucky, now, have they?
It's. Frustrating. Seeing a pattern emerge the way it has. Since the dreams. Since the virus. And having next to no idea what to do about it. ]
no subject
Well, the defenses are already back up in Steinbeck's distant wake and Royce is, if nothing else, a civil sort, but he glances balefully between multiple PDDs and an adjacent pile of notes and the hallway joining room and entrance.
There's a panel with a screen just next to the door. Unbidden, it blips to life for Steinbeck: Royce's voice, is really all, accompanied by a static image of some part of the lab he isn't in. ]
There you are. I see you. Hello, hello... Come on in; it should be open if I'm not mistaken.
[ Manners, of course, manners do dictate—the manners he was raised with, you see—that he pull himself away for the sake of hospitality, but, well, he'd been honest. After all. Steinbeck may have taken precautionary measures himself, but the others? The others who have contacted him in the last little while haven't been so lucky, now, have they?
It's. Frustrating. Seeing a pattern emerge the way it has. Since the dreams. Since the virus. And having next to no idea what to do about it. ]