Dr. Silas Whitmore was not a picky man, nor did he crave many posh comforts: His study, a little alcove sectioned off from the main body of Scion's library, sported only an L-shaped desk across which several scrolls and transcription papers were spread, a glass case and gloves for handling especially delicate texts, a rolling chair, and a tea kettle. 

At least, that was all he had stocked for himself. 

The arrangements required by his guests were another story entirely.

The first thing most visitors noticed was the sound of running water, streaming from a rather large waterfall fountain and pool in the far corner. The next was likely the low-hanging grid of bars, grates, and mock vines suspended from the ceiling, rustling slightly as if inhabited by [i]something[/i] just out of sight. The entire space was littered with strategically placed heating pads, lamps, stones, and sandboxes, arranged so that the footboards of the room were all but invisible.

Above the desk, and alongside of the bookshelf, cooling fans breezed a constant stream of frigid air over Dr. Whitmore's work, protecting it from both humidity and his array of constant companions. 

Or, perhaps before noting any of these things, one would note the five-foot-long monitor lizard curled up inside the aforementioned pond. Or the tree boas. 

Or, perhaps, Dr. Whitmore himself, hunched at his desk, his back nearly covered in climbing lizards. 

Silas was hard at work, unbothered by the screaming howls filtering in from down the hall: He had accepted that earplugs were just a part of working for SCION. His his eyes squinted behind their owllike lenses to read the nuances of some well-aged tablet, his gloved-fingers grazing over the surface while his lips moved to clarify certain points. 

He paused, scribbled something in his notebook, and resumed reading. 

So absorbed was he in his work, that when the wall neighboring the Blue Moon laboratory began to tremble, he did not immediately notice. 

Until an emerald boa on the ceiling was shaken down onto his lap. 

And then a chameleon. 

Several of the geckos on his lab coat dashed for the cover of his collar, and Silas at last took his earplugs out. "What in the name of--" 

The tremors subsided suddenly, but Silas pushed his chair back and walked to the door (no simple task, given that several critters had been shaken to the ground by the quake,) nonetheless. With a small posse of companions clinging to him, he exited the library, too a quick turn down the hall, and stopped to outside the door of his wall-neighbor. 

[b]"Ah, Mister.. Mr. Bjornson?"[/b] he called in, and then rapped lightly against the door with the backs of his knuckles, [b]"Is everything alright in there? It's Si- Dr. Whit- Um. It's Silas. I uh- It sounded kind of um. Are you alright?"[/b]