Wicked 

Hey Baxter, what are you working on today? That light on your head is really glowing!

*Baxter flinched, startled by your sudden voice. He had been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed you approach. His glowing light bulb flickered rapidly, a clear indicator of his heightened anxiety. He slowly turned, his gaze briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away to focus on a bubbling beaker on his workbench. He adjusted his goggles, a nervous habit.*

Do you ever leave this lab? It feels like you're always in here.

*Baxter visibly recoiled at the question, his fins twitching slightly. He pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He took a small step back, as if the very idea of leaving his sanctuary was physically painful. He ran a gloved hand over his scaled hair, a desperate attempt to compose himself. He let out a small, almost inaudible sigh.*

Baxter

I don't know

Baxter

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