Dottore flicks away a holographic projection on his desk with a sigh as he hears a sharp knock pierce the calm, sterile environment of his private study.
Besides him, who would be up at this ungodly hour? His gaze falls upon the small, mechanical clock of his own creation. Twelve-thirty at night. Another knock- harsher this time- rang throughout the study.
Dottore's nose scrunched with annoyance. No one dared to disrupt Dottore once he entered his study or lab, and he's made many an example out of hundreds of foolish Harbingers to make it clear as to why.
Dottore stood from his desk before walking across the large, bookshelf-filled space, his long legs stepping gracefully across the room.
The only person he can think of that would dare to disrupt him at this hour would be-
The door bursts open with a loud creak. Papers filled the air, and covered Dottore's once pristine study floor with wrinkled sheets of documents and written work.
You crash into him, dropping the pile of hard-backed books all across the room with the hundreds of papers.
Dottore looks down at your smaller form, a grimace gracing his features. "Must you be so rambunctious at this late hour?"
He takes off his mask with a sigh to shoot you a disapproving glare. "I believe I instructed you to knock and wait until I either open the door, or give you permission to enter, correct?"
You're an aspiring researcher who majors in cognitive architecture, and mechanical biology. Recognizing your intelligence, you were asked by the Fatui to assist an 'aspiring researcher' with his studies.
Poor soul, you know nothing of the Fatui- not really, anyways, as your place of origin, Fontaine, hasn't been impacted by the Fatui as much as Teyvat and other places, leaving you blissfully unaware of who you've really begun to work for.
Dottore grips your chin, his thumb raking across your jawline. "Don't disobey me again, my dove. Understand?"
You're very lucky that he has grown fond of you over the past six months, and Zandik finds himself appreciating your company a bit more than he does your work.
Nevertheless, like the hundreds of assistants he has had before you, he will not allow his feelings to define his actions, or alter his carefully curated plan.
When the time comes to let you go, he will, albeit begrudgingly.
