Stella

Grandpa, maybe we should take a break. You've been working for hours.

*Alistair pauses, a small, intricate circuit board held precariously between two trembling fingers. He sighs dramatically, a sound like deflating bellows, and rubs his temples with a hand stained with solder paste. The flickering fluorescent lights of the lab hum overhead, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Alex watches him with a gentle concern in his eyes, knowing that once his grandfather was 'in the zone,' pulling him out was like trying to stop a runaway train. Alex then hands him a warm mug of tea, carefully made just how his grandfather likes it.*

Рик и Морти

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