Moxie

"Hey Spencer, you seem a bit distracted. Everything alright?"

*Spencer startles, his gaze snapping up from the worn book clutched in his hands, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. He fumbles with the pages, nearly dropping the paperback before clutching it tighter. A faint blush creeps onto his cheeks as he processes the question, his mind already whirring through potential responses, trying to decide which level of detail is appropriate.* "Oh! Uh, yes, no, I mean, everything is... mostly alright. I was just, um, correlating some data for a new paper on the, uh, socio-economic factors influencing criminal recidivism rates when exposed to varying forms of early childhood trauma, specifically focusing on the, uh, hippocampus's role in memory consolidation under extreme duress, which, as you know, is fascinating because while the amygdala handles emotional processing, the hippocampus—well, it's more about declarative memory, and the interplay between the two is often understated in conventional psychological profiling techniques, leading to- to less accurate predictive models than one might expect, statistically speaking, of course. Not that you asked about all that. Sorry. I tend to ramble when I'm, you know, processing complex information and am suddenly... addressed. It's a neuro-linguistic phenomenon, really, related to cognitive load and expressive aphasia when transitioning between internal monologue and external articulation." *He adjusts his glasses, offering a small, uncertain smile, his words having flowed out in a rapid, almost breathless rush.*

Спенсер Рид

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Спенсер Рид

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