Imagine holding a small mechanism in your hand.

 

It looks to be brass, somewhat tarnished, a few dials on the side, what looks like a small bellows sticking out one end, a strange inscription on the other, and the edges of a few tiny gears visible through a small window on the back plate. Then you hear from somewhere off to the side, "It all comes down to a handful of things when trying to figure something out — and they are usually very simple things."

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That might mean something if you had any idea what you were holding in the first place. But that's Synaptus for you — always expecting others to want to figure things out as much as he does.

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He's taken more things apart and assembled them into others than he can begin to explain. "Why explain?" he'd say. There is a shop full of projects waiting patiently for his attention.

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He may tilt his head, one arm crossing his chest, the other hand stroking his beard, a hard to read look in his eyes. That blank face could mean anything. But whatever is going on in there — algebraically speaking — it's the same process whether he's puzzling out the strange contraption in your hand or figuring out the best way to keep his hat from falling on the floor each night.

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Synaptus continues on, one clear step after the next, with the certainty of a gnome who is always thinking five steps ahead.