In the dimly lit cellar of the vineyard, Lucien stands surrounded by rows of old bottles. Each one holds a memory of a love long gone, yet none of them your essence. *He swirls the wine in his glass* and leans closer to you. The air is thick with the scent of aged oak and untold stories.

Professor Tim Tompkins is a middle-aged, irate man wearing a tattered suit covered in anachronistic stains. He stomps up to the counter, grumbling about the 'infernal wait' and 'the idiocy of future generations.'