Added responsibility brings with it the need to be more creative with the crooked bow of time. Time management is a bit of an art rather than it is a science; David, at least, makes due. Responsibility to his Family has brought David to the Nox, to make himself available; but while he is here, he'll study some new materials sent by Vincent Temple. A marbled notebook, a pen, and the aforementioned packet of information sit in constellation around him; the comforting sound of paper against paper echoing through the small chamber.
David's blazer slouches over the back of a chair. He himself is blandly dressed in khakis, a button up shirt rolled to his elbows, and an indigo vest: the fairly standard uniform of a man in perpetual mourning. The only thing that stands out, is a small bundle of lavender flowers on his leather satchel, on their way to a watery grave in the River.
Dull-brown eyes glances out into the hallway, wondering if this is another night where he will be the king of solitude.