@knockknockinginthedark suffers to go their own dark way...
█ ▌Dr. Alastair Young was sitting up straight at his desk, or as straight as his misshapen posture would have him sit. He took in a deep breath to steady his nerves, looking for something to do with his hands. He fidgeted with paperwork on his desk, setting it to one side of the table and then the other, then back where it was before. He organized the bottles and antique tools behind him on a small curio cabinet, then polished the glass. And he spent an awful lot of time fussing over which books to place at the head of his desk to show what he had been recently reading. An encyclopedia of medicine plants? Journals from the operating theatre? An updated history of chemistry? In the end, he decided all three had a place in a nice, neat little pile.
He was waiting for a very important client. He wasn’t a medical client looking for a tonic or an examination, but rather a member of the constabulary: a Mr. Dmitriy Miroslav. He was all the talk around town thanks to his good work with solving a recent grizzly homicide, but this time around it seemed as if Alastair was the one expected to assist him. The Scotsman worried himself over how to pronounce his name, even practicing it a few times under his breath, as he waited. And as the clock struck on the hour when his visitor was to arrive, he pushed back his chair to prepare himself to briskly stand and shake his hand as soon as he entered, all the while making sure his shirt and jacket were smooth and his suspenders weren’t even the slightest bit crooked. From outside appearances, Dr. Young was a man who kept every single one of his vibrant orange hairs in place and never left a smudge on his clothing. He was the very picture of a neurotic, but giddy perfectionist.
Finally, he could hear the sounds of steps coming up the staircase. His maid must have let the man in at long last. Alastair sat with a silly little smile on his face, nervous but eager to make a good impression.
And as soon as the door opened and he saw the constable enter, he stood up from his chair just as he had rehearsed...and promptly smacked his foot on one of the legs of his desk, stumbling forward an inch before straightening his back again. Every goddamn time.
╣ “A-ah, excuse me, you must be Constable Miroslav. You’re right on time.” His voice wavered a little bit, forming a high-pitched squeak as it broke before he swallowed his embarrassment and cleared his throat, extending a hand in greeting. He had a curious accent: a mixture of heavy Scottish and Welsh, but with a very precise dialect that showed he tried his best to speak clear and professional. “Dr. Alastair B. Young, chemistry professor at the University of Medicine. It’s a pleasure. Please, uh, sit and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? Tea, water, brandy?”