Netheneale's Office ✿ Evening
Let it win. Let some part of yourself win, for once, something they couldn't take away and that they couldn't just ignore. He was done with the shadows.
Yet they were never done with him; Lars, in all his rightful wrath, was still nothing but a statue in the walls of Brunnhold, nothing but a monument to his kind's absolute uselessness to be passed by each day and ignored. Perhaps a brick sticking ever-so-slightly from the wall, but not enough to be noticed. Never enough to be noticed.
On the evening of one wintry Achtus day, he received something strange: a summon to some visiting researcher's office. The reasoning behind the researcher's summon had been left unclear both to the passive that had informed him as well as Lars himself, but a request from a superior was of course never a matter to ignore.
So it came to be that the blonde left the kitchens after his last shift of the day, heading straight towards the Bodecca neighborhood housing the researcher's temporary office, rather than making a detour back to his shared dorm and perhaps cleaning himself up or at least changing. He held no interest in any small breaks in his living space; he cared not for the people nor the space that had once provided relief and a small sense of safety and privacy. These days the servant preferred spending all the time he could wandering the university's numerous and unending halls, tending to what matters a lone passive could, keeping his time spent in the dorm to the absolute minimum when at all possible.
He honestly had no clue what a researcher might want from him personally. The passive he'd sent to fetch him could've provided him with whatever assistance he needed, whether it be in moving his things or grabbing things from elsewhere, and so he was utterly lost as to why some traveler would request his presence.
No matter, all things would be made clear soon, even if they were confusing the man on his walk towards Bodecca. Not actually possessing a jacket that would provide shelter from the cold, winter air, Lars' pace was quick, and he arrived in record time, doing his best to quell the shakes that had briefly overtaken his form.
He wasn't built for this cold, no.
Standing in front of the door to the unfamiliar researcher's temporary university office, Lars took a breath, steeling himself for whatever odd and unusual things a foreign galdor might want of him.
Reaching out with a cold, bony hand, he knocked against the door three times, afterwards calling quietly, "sir? You requested him?"