Hera(mentioned)

In a basement in Brill, behind steel doors, Jakobus paced down the isles of his laboratory, a blackboard closeby. Occasionally, he glanced at his scribblings; endless rows of formulae incomprehensible to any but him. He ran a hand through his golden hair, the ring on his finger catching a few of them – the light pain as the hairs were pulled from their nooks in his scalp barely registered. Self-activating behaviors, Jakobus mused, before snarling at his own lack of focus and returning to staring at the board. It all added up. It was correct. It had to be.

"You women worry too much", the scholar spoke in response to the leatherclad woman’s request. He leaned in to kiss the pout off her face, but the woman leaned back, her hand against his chest as she held him at a distance. “"You women, eh? Way t' trivialize it, Jakobus. Fuck you. We's right” she accused, angrily. Surprised by the strong reaction, Jakobus leaned back, taking in Aedran’s copper-colored hair: “I know my limits, love” he responded, pausing for a moment before adding:  “Trust me – I will be alright”. Clearly, Aedran was not convinced, weeks of held-back concern coming out in one sharp, snorted response: “Whate'er y' say. So when y' stop breathin' in th' night an' I think fer 'alf a secon' y' might be dead, I'll jest tell m'self it ain't no big deal an' put m' pretty li'l 'ead right back down on th' pillow.”