He had paused in his work for a moment. The rhythm of his work was something he didn't like interrupted; a silent prayer to an idle god.
Oh yes, he believed in God. Someone in his line of work couldn't afford not to.
"Sorry, doctor," she said, and he could now focus on the slight shadow falling across the centrifuge. There always seem to be a halo with her shadow, the way that her slightly frizzy hair captured the phosphorescent light.
"What is it this time, Ms. Marron?" he said tiredly. Monks used to kneel in the wings of great cathedrals for days, hoping for that one glorious moment of insight from the Divine.
"You need a break, doctor," she whispered, faint feather touches of voice. Her mother had told her she never prayed fervently enough, never understood what the glorious savior would do for the world. She had to embrace the wrath... embrace.
"You of all people," he uttered hoarsely, like something grated in the back of his throat, "You should know. Losing faith, assistant?" He knew her name, and she frowned at that. She was still so young, and so was he. She knew he would age to be hunched and ugly if he kept this up.
For now, Doctor Hojo was frighteningbeautifulmadness.
"Then let me do something," she said, on the last end of her generosity, "Let me take some of the workload." She was simply bored and wanting approval so much...
He closed his eyes. Is this what he'd been sent? The visions would not come; he'd been kneeling for years, and years, and years...
"Maybe later," he said, stiff and formal, "You can go now, Ms. Marron. Your shift is over." She glanced at the clock, startled by the way he knew the time without even looking. She barely made any noise as she exited the lab.
His smile startled even him. It was getting harder to contain his grin these days.
"You may be the lovely mud..." he whispered, going back to his genuflection, "...Lucrecia."
AN: Hojo's last line is inspired by the movie "The Ten Commandments"... yes, silly me. I love old movies.