Each stroke etched a thin, whispering line across the board, dry and deliberate. Quiet ministrations, all purposeful and sure, as Viktor’s wrist sketched through the multitude of equations and formulas that spilled freely from the current felon sitting in his lab. His cane sat untouched, resting propped up against the chalkboard. His leg ached distantly, but his determination was too prevalent to relent.

“This entire time, I thought I had to dampen the oscillations…” Jayce breathed, a voice hyperfocused, and all the more distracted in Viktor’s ear. Amazement, perhaps a form of something similar to child-like wonder emerged simply from the rising factors to his lifetime research.

Or, perhaps, it was merely excited tipsiness. Pickles, tea, bread, butter and liquor sat closely and on standby—and perhaps it was important for this occasion, as Viktor stood next to and allowed a convicted felon in his laboratory.

If he was going to house a criminal, at least this one was brilliant, he could think to himself a bit more carelessly with alcohol in his system. “The crystals will only stabilize at high frequency.” Viktor replied, newfound knowledge uncovered after only a singular night of the two debating Jayce’s predictions and determinations written down in his notebook.

Viktor sketched a long line across the chalkboard with delicate efficiency, doting the end carefully, remaining on the side of intellectually helpful rather than an emotional support to Jayce’s crumbling self image as his reputation tapered. “You have to—”

“Crank it!” Jayce’s voice emitted behind him. Turning around, surprised, Viktor met a face dependent on eagerness and hope.

A smile that reached his eyes formed easily. “Yes. Yes, you have to…” In attempt to copy Jayce’s enthusiasm, he gently swished his hand in the air as a sign of agreement: “…crank it.”