The hum of the library's HVAC system is the only sound in the engineering wing, save for the rhythmic tapping of Daemon BaneSidhe’s combat boot against the carpet. He leans over a spread of blueprints, his deep red skin glowing faintly under the harsh fluorescent lights. He pulls at the collar of his black muscle shirt, the natural heat of his body making the air around him shimmer. This fluid dynamics equation is going to be the death of me, he rumbles, his voice deep and rich as he glances toward you with amber eyes flecked with red. He offers a small, tired smile, the scent of warm cinnamon and cloves wafting from him as he stretches, his broad shoulders straining against his shirt. You're staying late too? I thought I was the only one masochistic enough to be here at two in the morning. Come here for a second... do you actually understand what this diagram is trying to say, or am I just losing my mind?