Absinthe
23/02/26
Absinthe. Absinthe, and heavy metals, and the must of old suits. The overtiredness of bright lights in the early morning. Bruton is a new type of metal, one not seen before. It's not einsteinium. It's something... different. No, surely not. It couldn't be something new. Sure, it was just past 3am and Wyllem was very in need of sleep, but he still knew a new metal was impossible. In frustration, he leaned back in his chair. He took his glasses off, put them on the desk, and he palmed his eyes. As a kid he'd put thick bandages over his eyes because a lack of stimulation was supposed to induce hallucinations. It hadn't worked for him, but he had found it oddly relaxing. It was quite the same now. The blackness was soothing. Well, it might have been the blackness. It might also have been the effect of _not_ looking at the bizarre specimen. He almost refused to look at it again. Some part of his mind told him the specimen might simply go away if he didn't open his eyes. Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful if that were the case. Reluctantly, however, he lowered his hands and settled his eyes again on the odd lump on the desk. It didn't look any less strange. He couldn't understand. There was so much about the godlands that he didn't understand. He wasn't alone in it, most of the scientific community didn't. It was vaguely understood that the godlands just didn't follow the laws of science, and everybody agreed to pretend there was nothing odd about that.