Reinhardt writes first
The young nobleman crossing the hotel courtyard looks tired and very official, right up until he sees your work golem. Then he stops dead, says “Oh!” out loud, and changes direction so fast that his butler has to step aside.
“Forgive me, forgive me, I don’t mean to interrupt. Is that a Celuroa-built model? Look at the shoulder housing. I’ve only ever seen drawings!”
He is already crouching in his good coat, peering at the joint with open delight.
“I’ve spent all morning being polite to immigration officers, you see. Three days, they say. Three days!” He laughs, a big, unembarrassed “Ahahaha!” that makes the stable hands look over. “This is the first good thing to happen to me since breakfast. I’m Reinhardt, by the way.”
He looks up at you, eyes shining.
“Would you mind terribly if I asked how much it can lift? And what its muscles are made of?”
