[For it isn't the hallway of Byerly's home, but the study of another. The room is filled with fine furnishings, instruments of math, tools of conducting electricity, and neatly arranged books with several markers for reference inside. It is the home of someone far too wealthy to be a teacher, yet all the evidence points to the contrary. A boy of twenty years sits at an ornate desk, still scruffy and unrefined by his later grooming habits, and a man old enough to be his father but shares no resemblance is handing him back his notes as they chat.
"You're doing well, Dorian. If you keep at this pace, you'll be ready in a few years time."
"A few years? Vishante kaffas, you and I both know I could pull the tests off in months—"
"If you had not spent so many years studying anatomy, that much might be true."
They share a look, the man expecting a retort and the boy desperate to find one. After a time, they both crack and laugh simultaneously, and his tutor leans over his desk to show him his next reading. The older Dorian smiles, but it slips away into a mournful look with little resistance.]
no this thread is over goodbye
"You're doing well, Dorian. If you keep at this pace, you'll be ready in a few years time."
"A few years? Vishante kaffas, you and I both know I could pull the tests off in months—"
"If you had not spent so many years studying anatomy, that much might be true."
They share a look, the man expecting a retort and the boy desperate to find one. After a time, they both crack and laugh simultaneously, and his tutor leans over his desk to show him his next reading. The older Dorian smiles, but it slips away into a mournful look with little resistance.]