For Tony
Others on the island may have found themselves fascinated with the changes in scenery that December had brought along with it, but Hank McCoy was not one of those people. While he vastly preferred the urban landscape to that of jungles and beaches, the fact that they'd all found themselves inexplicably transported to some strange facsimile of 19th century England had proven to be a hindrance to his work. Most of the technology still worked, albeit in a modified capacity, but familiarizing himself with the lab equipment in its present state had been more frustrating than Hank wanted to admit.
The only plus was that the Lab was its own separate building now. Why no one had thought to make it a separate structure before the whims of the island forced it upon them was beyond Hank.
He didn't even mind the inconvenience of walking to the building that had previously been the compound for a cup of tea, if it meant extra space and privacy to work.
In the doorway of the compound, he pulled off his coat and shook snow from his shoes, face flushed from the cold. He'd stop in for just a few minutes, but then it was back to his work with the acacia confusa.
The only plus was that the Lab was its own separate building now. Why no one had thought to make it a separate structure before the whims of the island forced it upon them was beyond Hank.
He didn't even mind the inconvenience of walking to the building that had previously been the compound for a cup of tea, if it meant extra space and privacy to work.
In the doorway of the compound, he pulled off his coat and shook snow from his shoes, face flushed from the cold. He'd stop in for just a few minutes, but then it was back to his work with the acacia confusa.