The writing on the paper in front of him wasn't handwriting. He wasn't even sure it was chicken scratch.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose he leaned back in his chair while trying to figure out if he should text the young man to come translate or if he should just call dealing with that report a lost cause until the following day. Technically he had a week before they were do to his superiors so there was time for the notes to be redone and he could focus on something else. There were two of his own reports that needed polishing, the lab results from the students latest experiments needed to be compiled and sent to both the head of the university's biomedical division and the lead scientist at Chiron, and he definitely needed another cup of tea.
But
How did he even make it through school with writing like that?
endejester