[ at what cain has learned is a reasonable hour of the morning by this city's standards, he takes himself to the address provided, feeling a little amused and intrigued in spite of himself. he'd enjoyed the back-and-forth with the archivist the previous day, and he expects there'll be more of the same at least at first this morning.
he's polite with the receptionist, shows himself down to the office indicated, and with leather-clad knuckles raps lightly on the door. he waits for an acknowledgment--researchers are often busy, and unlike most of them, he has all the time in the world to wait--before pushing the door open and stepping inside. his wool suit is dark navy and well-made, though the dark shirt beneath it is polyester, and it hints at the tracking collar ringing his throat beneath the fabric. ]
Good morning, [ he greets, accent soft and odd, and in the warmth of the building, he looses the buttons on his blazer and removes it, draping it lightly over the back of one of the chairs opposite the archivist, then stepping forward to offer out a hand. between his cropped gloves and the buttoned cuff of his sleeve, the artfully-crafted metal of his wrist gleams dully, lit blue at the joints. ] The Archivist, then? Please call me Cain.
no subject
he's polite with the receptionist, shows himself down to the office indicated, and with leather-clad knuckles raps lightly on the door. he waits for an acknowledgment--researchers are often busy, and unlike most of them, he has all the time in the world to wait--before pushing the door open and stepping inside. his wool suit is dark navy and well-made, though the dark shirt beneath it is polyester, and it hints at the tracking collar ringing his throat beneath the fabric. ]
Good morning, [ he greets, accent soft and odd, and in the warmth of the building, he looses the buttons on his blazer and removes it, draping it lightly over the back of one of the chairs opposite the archivist, then stepping forward to offer out a hand. between his cropped gloves and the buttoned cuff of his sleeve, the artfully-crafted metal of his wrist gleams dully, lit blue at the joints. ] The Archivist, then? Please call me Cain.