Wallace Avery sat at his desk at the patent office, staring at the little man across from him. Wilson was a creature with all the muscle and stature of a man who lived in the woods, albeit poorly. No mater what sort of labor he did there was nothing that would change the fact that the scientist was slender with a slight build and baby face. He was dark-and-pale contrast written over second-hand fineries; Wilson presented as a gentleman, regardless of station. He looked like his mother.

"Wilson Astor," Mr. Avery said in his low, gruff voice.
"It's- Higgsbury, sir," the seemingly youthful man cleared his throat, sheepish.
"Ngh. Right."

The man at the desk gave a wave of his hand, dismissing the correction. He was rotund figure with his thick moustache and greying hair. Avery had the physique of an athlete who retired into opulence and corpulence in his older years. He was large in both weight and stature- even sitting he seemed to tower over the scientist. His arms were thicker than Wilson's thighs (which, honestly wasn't hard to do, but we digress.)

Wallace Avery had seen plenty of quack scientists and delusional inventors in his time but this kid? He took the cake. His secretary couldn't contain her laughter when she'd said the young man made an appointment to discuss… something. Something with molecules? Something about lightning and chemical whosits which, frankly, all sounded a tad more like alchemy than any science Avery had heard of. The older man's head turned towards a gilded clock sitting on corner of his before settling back on Wilson.

"Now," Wallace started, "What was it that you were bringing to my office again?"
"Oh! It's- uhm- it's really pretty great, I think- I mean, this could really be revolutionary in whichever field it's applied to, there's so many different uses!" Wilson put his hand up and leaned over to the side. Retrieving his bag from its place on the floor, the scientist produced an ordinary-looking pencil. He handed it over to the large man at the desk whilst wearing a self-satisfied smile. Wilson's smile was the kind that children wore when they made a particularly remarkable finger painting. Unfortunately for Wilson, Wallace Avery had never really liked children or finger paintings. He stared at the pencil, clearly unimpressed.

"Go on, take it," the young man was undeterred.
"What are you getting at," he said as he snatched the pencil from his hands, "it's just a pencil."
"Break it."

The man's burly hands took the pencil in both hands and pulled, waiting for the sound of a satisfying crack but there was nothing. The pencil didn't budge. He looked back, tried again, then a third time before he glowered at the scientist.

"Astor, is this some sort of magic tri -"
"-it's Higgsbury, sir-"
"You brought me some kind of novelty toy and you are wasting my time. If you don't get to the point soon-"
"-I'm getting there-"
"-and stop interrupting," Avery glowered at the younger man. Wilson's throat was suddenly dry, but Avery barreled forward, "I will have to bar you from attempting to do business with this patent office again."
"No no no no no- wait!" he put his hands up and stood, bag tumbling off his lap. Wilson scrambled to pick it up and fish the little vials and a beaker out for a demonstration, "by chemically manipulating the electron bonds in a substance you can fundamentally alter its structural integrity. Change its boiling point, tensile strength- electrical conductivity. You're holding a tiny, portable lightning rod! And with enough modification it wouldn't be difficult to actually retain… that… electrical… potential?"

The fat business man's eyes were glassy and his jaw slack before he realized he'd rendered himself a human flytrap and shut it. The pencil- seemingly indestructible- sat discarded on the desk. It was no wonder people in that little Podunk town of his thought he was crazy. The fervor in geniuses was hard to mistake, and they rode a line between brilliance and slipping sanity. Wilson was lost in his own world—a dumb delighted smile on his freshly-shaven cheeks.

"Um, if… I'm remembering correctly… Edison's patent on lightbulbs extends only to those using a carbon filter? A-a-a-and this?" Wilson scrambled to pick up the pencil, though his awkward baby gazelle fumbling sent him sprawled on the desk. From that angle, the peculiar way his hair seemed to fall into a W shape was more obvious. It was almost cartoonish in a way; Wilson Higgsbury was theatrical without ever having to try.

Wallace Avery pointedly looked at his clock before turning his attention back to the young man sprawled on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under what years of a privileged life had afforded him- a full belly and an office chair solid enough for President Taft.

"Mister Avery, please," Wilson keened, "this is a break through. This process I've developed h-h-has so many applications, the smallscale lightning rod is… is…"
"It's what, Wilson? You're telling me you made an indestructible electricity pencil with that little chemistry set of yours that you're so keen on playing with? You're here, and you're only here, because I have a soft spot for charity cases like you," he hissed. Avery stood up from his chair and straightened his vest, "you want to re-make a lightbulb?"

"It's not just a lightbulb! This is reusable energy, reusable resources! This compound could make clothes stop wearing down, i-it could-it could make an axe or a pick or a hoe or a-a-a shovel stronger- people wouldn't have to replace so much! You could have portable, sustainable energy that you can just recharge-"
"If we make things indestructible, what will people have to buy?"

William Avery's voice was a goat's head burr stuck in Wilson's throat- an uncomfortable thing made infinitely moreso by where it chose to hit. He narrowed his eyes at the older man as he took the opportunity to put himself back into order. "How do you think your daddy was able to keep you and Mommy in that ugly little hovel of yours? Hidden away all nice and pretty instead of with his real family? Commerce. A lust for taking what he wanted and making something great out of it and you can't do that if you just give things way. This isn't some utopia, Astor-"
"My name is Wilson Percival Higgsbury you greedy, ignorant walrus!"

Wilson immediately clamped his hands over his mouth.

A full beat passed.

Wallace Avery strode towards the young man, his face all red and a low growl riding on every breath exhaled. His meaty hand gripped the back of Wilson's jacket and shirt, rumpling the collar and fabric in the process. The younger man went deadweight like a non-compliant toddler though it did little good to stop the older man from parading him through the front lobby.

Wilson tumbled through the unlocked French doors, ousted like a drunkard in a saloon. It took whatever failing graces he had to keep from cracking his head on the cobblestone beneath him. He wasn't allowed the peace to lick his wounds before Avery threw his things back at him. The bag. The pencil. The vials-

The vials. Wilson went ashen.

"Wait! Don't- please!" Wilson scrambled to sit up, to gain his feet, to try and stop the man before-

The soft, crystalline of glass shattering was deafening, regardless of how insignificant the sound was to the world around. Avery, head of the patent office- friend of one bank president Edward Astor- cast the vials the scientist had left on his desk into the street. His eyes fixed upon the scientist on his knees. The desperation with which he was trying to salvage his stupid little bottles would have been pitiable were Avery a man who pitied others.

"Go home, don't come back until you understand how the world works, Wilson Astor," with that the businessman slammed the door behind him, locking the ornate glass doors with an almost theatrical click. Wilson, however, sat transfixed on the ground. His shoulders folded inward and his brows knit together. His eyes, rust-colored and tired, studied the play of light on the gossamer liquid. He reached forward, fingertips trembling and breath uneven. Three months, gone, he thought.

"Stupid," he hissed as he pulled himself to his feet. Wilson collected himself, and started along his way to the railroad tracks. He'd never been a fan of freight hopping, but it was the only way he'd get home before dark. Night had started to feel thicker to him, shadows gripping more of what lived in their domain, though perhaps it was merely his imagination.

Whatever the case, Wilson Higgsbury was wasting daylight.

author notes: things work a lot nicer when I can format paragraphs and line breaks like you can in a word processor. As such, it makes back-and-forth dialogue difficult to format. Also, if you find typos or grammatical problems please, please, please let me know! Also also, anyone who can get me some way to indent a paragraph gets... uh... I don't know. My undying affection? Bad fan art? I have no idea, but I'm not above bribery.