"Dr. Pines' apprentice."
“Ah.” DR. MASTERS raises his eyebrows with interest. “So you’re the apprentice Dr. Pines was referring to- it's a pleasure, young man.”
“O-oh!” You had a strong start, but you weren’t exactly expecting the guy to know who you were right out of the gate. “He talks about me?”
FORD practically scoffs. “Of course I do, kid! You’re as much a part of my work as anything else. At this rate, your name is going right up there with all the rest of us on the thesis.”
OH. YOU DID NOT REALIZE THAT.
Don't freak out. Do not squeal in the middle of this Big Important Party with all these VIPs.
(Especially do not fanboy about your life in front of THIS PARTICULAR BASTARD. He doesn’t deserve to know you feel joy. SQUASH IT.)
THE JOY HAS DIED. It is buried, smothered in some deep, deoxygenated sepulcher of your heart chambers.
YOU ARE CALM. YOU EXPERIENCE A NORMAL AMOUNT OF EMOTION.
“It would be an honor, Grunkle Ford." Nailed it.
Suave. Even. Immaculate. Poggers, even.
DR. MASTERS (and wow, that’s certainly a sequence of words to put one after the other, especially as a name) cocks his head. "Grunkle? Is that a title?"
FUCK. “It’s, uuuuuh-” You make a noncommittal noise. “-it’s a family nickname thing.” You casually thump your chest with a cough. “We’re related.”
DR. MASTERS looks between the two (Well, three, but twins don't count here) of you.
“I see. Well, nothing wrong with keeping things in the family. I envy you, actually- it's so much harder to outsource good help these days." He laughs lightly to himself. “Not to say I’m lacking in kinsman, of course, but you know how these kinds of things can be. It's rather difficult to find like-minded individuals in this field.”
He looks over at the DRINKS TABLE, where a YOUNG MAN loiters by a bowl of fruit punch. He doesn’t exactly look like DR. MASTERS, but- something in the eyes. There’s that same cold, sleepless tinge to it. (In the light of the chandelier, you could almost swear they were glowing.)
“Daniel and I do work well together these days, but there’s times that we’re just a little too alike to really get along. You know how it is with teens, Dr. Pines," DR. MASTERS chuckles, reaching out and patting the larger man on the shoulder. "We have our spats, but they're over soon enough."
You and FORD share a glance. STAN snorts. Haha. TEENS THESE DAYS, AM I RIGHT?
Yep. Teens. Of which you technically aren’t, yet, and the more you hear about all these POINTED ADULT COMMENTS, you’re hoping you don’t inevitably get lumped in with this mysterious, nebulous group of supposed PUNK-ASS DELINQUENTS. It would suck for your academic credibility, you understand, even if you were soon to be in a doctoral thesis.
(Only one month, two weeks and a day until you technically are. Not that you're counting. Surely not.)
You clear your throat. (God, what is UP with your vocal chords today?) “So! What do you think of the guestbook tonight?” you attempt to subtly pry. “Any names sticking out to you? You know, being different than expected or anything?”
DR. MASTERS blinks, scratching his goatee. "... None particularly. I suppose the guest list has more variety than usual this year, but I think that’s due to the Northwest heiress’ influence- and an improvement, at that. Though, now that you mention it, one thing did strike me as odd."
You have to fight not to lean in with anticipation at that lead- no wonder this guy was a Mayor at one point, he had all the fancy words and diction.
"Why is it, Dr. Pines, that you and your family were at the end of the guestbook, when everyone else was in alphabetical order by income?"
AH.
FUCK.
YOU FORGOT YOU WERE TALKING TO SMART PEOPLE.
THIS WAS NOT HOW YOU INTENDED THIS TO GO.
>["We’re poor."]
>[“We did RSVP later than expected. You understand how busy things can get- science waits for no one.”]
>["We had personal invites from the heiress months ago- we just never got official ones in time for first print."]
>[“Could just be formatting. Your plus ones are looking a bit weird in the guestbook, too.”]
>[“Eh, no big deal. Asteria Diamond asked us to come.”]
>[OH GOD. OH FUCK. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. DISCREETLY TEXT GRUNKLE STAN AND ASK HIM TO BULLSHIT SOMETHING RIGHT THIS SECOND.]
>[WHERE'S MABEL WHEN YOU NEED HER?]
>[YOU COULD… YOU COULD TELL HIM. THIS IS A GHOST EXPERT AFTER ALL. IN FACT, THE MORE YOU THINK ABOUT IT, THE MORE YOU KIND OF WANT TO SAY IT. THE URGE IS STRANGELY COMPELLING.]