Professor Vespers' office is as chaotic and disorganized as his mind. Piles of papers teeter dangerously on his desk, awaiting a haphazard yet accurate grading. Bookshelves which have seen better years creak dangerously under the wait of hundreds of old and well-read tomes. A chair sits behind the desk, but it looks barely used. Instead there is a threadbare path dug into the floor rug: the sign of the restless instructor's pacing. Several empty cages in tanks are scattered about the room; one of them seems bent and the door latch is broken. Perhaps, this explains all the scratches on the furniture?
