It was quiet
in the snug lab, fluorescent lights humming over the mix of modern Formica and
dark wood. The young man was the
sole occupant, pale except for his black horn rims.
Youth really, gangly limbs betraying his serious demeanor as he mixed his
compound carefully.
Finished,
Egon brought the beaker to a side table before pulling down the heavy shade.
He set up one of the larger mirrors, retrieved a spatula and sat down.
After a moment he sat his glasses aside carefully and pulled on a pair of
rubber gloves. Scooping up some of the compound he lifted it to his head,
daubing it over his hair. He
continued until all of his hair was covered, spreading the paste through the
short locks with his fingers. Finished,
he set a scarred kitchen timer.
Rising with
the bell, Egon walked to the sink with the tall spigot and pulled the taps
forward with his elbows. Testing the temperature, he plunged his head under the water.
Minutes later he lifted his head, gave his hands a final rinse and
searched blindly for the towel. After
a quick rubbing of his head, he pulled off the gloves and retrieved his glasses.
Tidying up
his workspace, he pulled out a small notebook and lit a Bunsen burner.
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