(no subject)
He's about fourty, dark-skinned, of a stocky build. In the pocket of his white labcoat, there's a copy of a thoroughly trashy romance novel of the bodice-ripper variety. He looks around himself with an expression of mild curiosity, and when he speaks his voice is low and mellow.
"Well, well, well. What's this?"
He shrugs, and, removing his gold-rimmed glasses, puts them away in his pocket, next to the book -- as if things will look a little more normal if they're a little more blurred. This failing, he decides to introduce himself.
"Hi, there. Doctor Joseph Abernathy. But you can call me Joe."
There's a hint of a challenge on the word "Doctor," but only a hint, and if anyone argues, he'll only laugh.
Typist: Joe is from Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series.
"Well, well, well. What's this?"
He shrugs, and, removing his gold-rimmed glasses, puts them away in his pocket, next to the book -- as if things will look a little more normal if they're a little more blurred. This failing, he decides to introduce himself.
"Hi, there. Doctor Joseph Abernathy. But you can call me Joe."
There's a hint of a challenge on the word "Doctor," but only a hint, and if anyone argues, he'll only laugh.
Typist: Joe is from Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series.