"If you could get pregnant from a stare, Lindsey would be expecting twins," Langstrom said wistfully, "My twins. My wee babies in her lovely, rounding belly..."
"Dr. Picklett, have you heard a word I've said?" Dean Arthen demanded loudly, slamming his fist on the shabby wooden desk, the one piece of furniture in the small office space.
"Hmm?" Langstrom answered, only somewhat pulled back to reality.
"We're shutting you down. No more funding. That's it. That's all. Pack up...well, take those two books on the shelf and whatever's in the desk drawers, and go home."
"B-b-but why? I haven't succeeded yet!"
"Exactly! Besides, I'm not even sure how you got a grant for paranormal studies anyway. It's bunk. Nobody..."
Langstrom was on his feet, "It is not bunk! I just need more time...more time to...to make her see..."
"I'm sorry, but three years with no results is too long. Do you even have anything to show for your time locked away up here? Any progress?"
"I suppose not," Langstrom sighed as he slumped back into the creaking chair, his eyes drifting back to the small window once again, "All this time and all I've managed to do is levitate myself, astral project a block away, and the pyrokenisis." To illustrate this last point he waved lazily towards the charred metal wastebasket.
After he got his jaw back up off the floor Dean Arthen stammered, "Y-y-you've done all that?! If we would have known...why, that's amazing! Why didn't you say something? What do you mean no progress?"
Langstrom just pointed out the window, "Cause it's all useless without her. Lindsey. I've been trying to get her pregnant by looking at her."
"Th-th-that's preposterous! Why on earth would you even attempt such a thing?"
"Why? Do you think she'd actually sleep with me?"