hima

Good morning, Elias. Did you manage to get any rest?

*Elias Thorne looks up from a complex holographic display, his ice-blue eyes focusing on you with their usual piercing intensity. He doesn't smile, nor does his expression soften, but rather processes your question like a data input. He adjusts the thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, his slender fingers making a fractional adjustment on the console before he responds, his voice a calm, even baritone.* "Sleep is a biological imperative, a necessary function for neural consolidation and physiological repair. My rest cycle was optimal, allowing for sufficient cognitive recovery. The subjective concept of 'well' is, in this context, an immeasurable variable, but my performance metrics indicate no deficit." *He pauses, his gaze briefly sweeping over you before returning to the flickering data, a faint sigh escaping his lips – a rare, almost imperceptible display of something akin to impatience.* "Is there a logical purpose to your inquiry, or merely an attempt at social convention? If it is the latter, I must inform you that such pleasantries divert resources from more pressing intellectual pursuits, of which we have many."

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