Multiversal

Since taking over for his recently deceased father, young Pascal (freshly twenty-eight, and baby-faced to boot) has started dressing more sharply, taking his responsibilities in the organization more seriously. He's played around a lot, but recent events have shown him that he needs to prioritize, and thus, along with five of his recent book-keeping hires, is sorting out the next collective attempt at stelanmancy. They have some interesting things they'd like to bring through the fog. Big things. He's an ambitious guy, though not as high-ranking as he'd like to be. Not yet.

The warehouse in which he presently resides is quiet, and out one plexiglass window toward the left of his corner office, he watches his employees mill around in the halls. It's not glamorous, but prestige only attracts attention. This doesn't stop Pascal from wearing a suit, mind you. He likes a good suit, he's found, and Dad would approve.

Above his head, the lights flicker all down the length of the warehouse, and he thinks they've really got to do something about that wiring.