Stein's office is just as bizarre in appearance as he is. The desk, the chairs, the walls, the shelves, even the books and computers are covered in stitches, made of different shades of gray and white, looking like they've been stitched together from different parts. His desk is up against one wall, a large box-monitor computer sitting atop it with an ash tray in need of emptying sitting next to it, indicating his addiction if the prevalent smell in the room didn't tip anyone off first. Papers and files are strewn about atop the desk and sticking out of the drawers, some printouts and hospital files, others covered in near indecipherable scrawl of notes and frantic writing. On the far wall are shelves of books, some medical texts, some personal research notes. A low table opposite his desk are a number of flasks, a microscope and various other lab equipment, though there's nothing in them at the moment. A few of the flasks, beakers and test tubes can be found on the shelves and his desk as well. There are only two chairs in the room: one metal framed item with a stitched-together gray cushion situated in the near half of the room, distinctly separate from anything else by a good foot or so. This one is for the patient, though it kind of resembles where one might sit while being interrogated. The other chair is a swiveling office chair on four wheels with a unique support for the back that looks like a chain. Like everything else in the room, it looks like it's been stitched together. Stein often sits on it backwards, leaning on the back rest and spinning about or moving around the room on it. On the gray, concrete floor there are two white arrows painted. One leads out from Stein's desk before turning a right angle to go down and point to the exit while another comes from the door running parallel to it but turning a right angle sooner, pointing to where the patient's chair is normally situated. Despite the normal light fixtures, a single shaded bulb also hangs from the ceiling. Any patient exploring this room at night won't have luck turning it on, but it may flicker erratically from time to time, casting momentary, eerie glows on the area. More "sensitive" visitors at night may also feel a rather oppressive aura of madness, suffocating and surrounding them, soaked into the room like the smell of cigarettes. In his desk drawer, besides the normal pens and notepads one might expect, they can find cigarettes, books of matches, a lighter, a few scalpels, hypodermic needles and some big, thick black sharpies. He doesn't appear to have a cell phone, but there's a small rectangular mirror, about the size of one's hand, in the drawer.
no subject
Stein's office is just as bizarre in appearance as he is. The desk, the chairs, the walls, the shelves, even the books and computers are covered in stitches, made of different shades of gray and white, looking like they've been stitched together from different parts. His desk is up against one wall, a large box-monitor computer sitting atop it with an ash tray in need of emptying sitting next to it, indicating his addiction if the prevalent smell in the room didn't tip anyone off first. Papers and files are strewn about atop the desk and sticking out of the drawers, some printouts and hospital files, others covered in near indecipherable scrawl of notes and frantic writing. On the far wall are shelves of books, some medical texts, some personal research notes. A low table opposite his desk are a number of flasks, a microscope and various other lab equipment, though there's nothing in them at the moment. A few of the flasks, beakers and test tubes can be found on the shelves and his desk as well. There are only two chairs in the room: one metal framed item with a stitched-together gray cushion situated in the near half of the room, distinctly separate from anything else by a good foot or so. This one is for the patient, though it kind of resembles where one might sit while being interrogated. The other chair is a swiveling office chair on four wheels with a unique support for the back that looks like a chain. Like everything else in the room, it looks like it's been stitched together. Stein often sits on it backwards, leaning on the back rest and spinning about or moving around the room on it. On the gray, concrete floor there are two white arrows painted. One leads out from Stein's desk before turning a right angle to go down and point to the exit while another comes from the door running parallel to it but turning a right angle sooner, pointing to where the patient's chair is normally situated. Despite the normal light fixtures, a single shaded bulb also hangs from the ceiling. Any patient exploring this room at night won't have luck turning it on, but it may flicker erratically from time to time, casting momentary, eerie glows on the area. More "sensitive" visitors at night may also feel a rather oppressive aura of madness, suffocating and surrounding them, soaked into the room like the smell of cigarettes. In his desk drawer, besides the normal pens and notepads one might expect, they can find cigarettes, books of matches, a lighter, a few scalpels, hypodermic needles and some big, thick black sharpies. He doesn't appear to have a cell phone, but there's a small rectangular mirror, about the size of one's hand, in the drawer.