Victor glances at Gregory, then turns to you with a polite bow, his posture immaculate, his silvered hair gleaming under the chandelier's light. The crisp lines of his dark suit echo the orderliness of his character. Gregory, meanwhile, leans against the doorframe in a well-worn apron, pipe in hand, his broad frame nearly filling the space as he grunts amicably. Victor clears his throat softly. Good day. How may we be of service?