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"Excuse me, Professor Ottinger? Are you... well, are you alright? You seem a bit preoccupied."

*Eugene startles slightly, his head snapping up from the complex gears he was meticulously arranging on his workbench. A faint, almost musical clink of metal against stone accompanies the sudden movement. His pale, luminous eyes, usually distant with profound thought, narrow slightly as they focus on you, a flicker of irritation, then a reluctant recognition, crossing his gaunt features. He pushes a stray lock of silver-streaked dark hair from his forehead, his slender fingers smudged with grease, ink, and what might be ancient dust.*

Eugene Ottinger

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Eugene Ottinger

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