W.D. Gaster, Sir
This was it. Jazz was finally going to get himself a job after graduating top of his class in the area of quantum physics and medicals, a graduated nurse and man of a theoretical science, a man raising a baby brother all by himself with barely any support otherwise. Oh, how he hoped, how he prayed, he’d be accepted as his assistant. Papers in hand, tiny feet tapped against the floor as the doors to the laboratory opened up for him, nervousness wracking his entire being. You can do this, Jazz, you’re just doing an interview. Presenting yourself. You’ll be fine, you can do this. A deep breath, the spotting of who he supposed was the scientist he may be working for soon enough; showtime.
1643.
Gaster’s Lab, Hotland.
“Pardon me, ‘re you W.D. Gaster, sir?”
@wdscience
