Nikola Tesla

He’s tired.

No, it’s more than that; it’s a bone deep weariness that he can no longer hide. He’d been doing so for a few weeks now, keeping it to himself when he saw others but now he’s passed that point, passed any restraints he had.

They’ve been worn down, broken down, so that he must be raw and exposed and utterly worn.

But he keeps up his work, keeps trying to conduct his electricity experiments even though being weary and working with live wires is not the best combination of things. He does it because he can’t let his work suffer, he can’t give up when he’s actually coming close to something.

Even thigh he’s been at the same stage in his experiment for several months how. He tries to put that out of his mind.

Nikola closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath and tries to center himself, tries to pull himself together into something more than a walking corpse, which is exactly what he feels like right now. He moves to his wine cabinet, pulling out a bottle (he’s so out of sorts he doesn’t bother looking at what it might be) and uncorks it.

Pouring himself a drink, he takes in a deep breath; enjoying the taste and feeling his muscles unclench as he does so. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot but it is something. He can at least feel the tension leave his body and that is rather nice. He’d been unaware of how much he’d been keeping until that moment.

He’s not expecting anyone, not tonight, but if anyone would care to visit him, he has an open bottle of wine and is apparently taking a break, so it would be the perfect time to interrupt him.