Said German fellow, had been invited to London by the University. Marcus Heinrich von Liechtenhoven, named after his grandfather, earned the title of respective 'Zahnrad Meister', freely translated Gear Master, the highest rank in engineering. Quite impressive for someone as young as Marcus. For he had just turned 28 a month ago.

He had received a letter, quite out of the blue. Where he was asked if he wanted to come over to discuss some business. The University had somehow gotten air of the young Master and wanted his service for one reason or the other. Marcus didn't fully understand the letter, for it was written in English and he never got the chance to learn that language. But after a few hours spent in the library with various dictionaries, he managed to grasp the concept.

Along with the letter came some change for a coach, two train tickets, instructions for a hotel and a boarding pass for the ferry to from Holland to England. The German was to be expected as soon as possible!
Instantly he had grabbed his most important things together, stuffed them in a trunk, got another bag with him with a few of the library's English dictionaries and other books of importance. Said is family farewell and hopped on the train.
This had occurred a few days ago. And now he stood at the gates of the university.

The first thing the German had noticed were the strange glances he got from the locals. They all looked at him as if he was a threat to them. He could be, for he was taller than most men around and he had stolen the glances and attention of a fair amount of ladies. But he was not interested in such manners, he came here to discuss work and nothing else.
He was quite the sight, tall, seemed muscular underneath his clothes, pale blonde hair that was combed back and held in place with wax. His pale blue eyes looked quite lost as he glanced about, he had made himself a note with a chart of where to be, but... The University was big.

After trying to figure out where to be himself, he decided to ask for directions, for his own scribbles didn't get him any where. But before he could ask anyone, the Dean rushed over to him.
"Oh, there you are! It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Marcus. I'm sorry, I would've waited for you at the gate if I weren't this late!. Please, follow. "
Confused as he was, Marcus simply nodded. "It is quite alright." he managed to speak with the most horrible accent ever. "I do however have to...ehm, ask you to speak slowly and clear." Marcus often had to pause to think of the right words. But he was getting there. "I do not understand your language that well."
Of course this was blown into the wind as the Dean began to walk and tug Marcus along. The man began to chatter away, leaving Marcus in the blue for most things that were told and asked.