Quinn listened with rapt attention as Mikkel relayed his story, finding simple pleasure in concentrating on the melodic lilt of his host's gentle accent. It would have been too easy to ignore Mikkel's words and find himself diving headfirst into the soothing waves of his voice, floating among the stimulating thrum coming from his throat. It would have been--but Mikkel's story was far more interesting to him than he would have expected. Pleasantly surprised, Quinn sat with the tiniest hint of a grin upon his lips as he imagined a young Mikkel Ostergaard, three decades past, fiddling and fixing, dismantling only so he could put it all back together again, better than before.<br/><br/>Story completed, Quinn took a sip from his glass and nodded slowly. "Your honesty is startlingly refreshing," he breathed, a hefty sigh of appreciation whooshing past his curved lips. "I'm sure you've heard it even more than I have given your work environment, but the same, tired excuse of 'saving lives' is so horridly cliched at this point. While I don't doubt medicine does attract the altruistic, I find it difficult to believe<i>every</i>doctor just wants the sanctimonious satisfaction of snatching people from the gnashing jaws of death. I've come to find reasons as deplorable as money and social status more satisfying. But your motivation--that one is new for me."<br/><br/>It had been a long time since anyone had inspired such a desire for conversation in Quinn. Chuckling lightly to himself, he indulged in a few more drinks of wine before continuing. "The human body is one of the most fascinating, complicated machines in existence. I admire your dedication to your craft. A man who can make his hobby his career is well off as far as I'm concerned. As in love with the human body and the intricacies of surgery as I am, I wasn't terribly fond of the idea of studying years upon years of science. Ultimately, that is what drove me down the path of art. I'm good with my hands. It is as if I have creative impulses radiating from my fingertips. My brain imagines and my hands execute, and it's a marvelous feeling to see<i>something</i>born from nothing but an abstract idea."<br/><br/>In between their flowing conversation, the food on Quinn's plate was slowly disappearing. It wasn't until he poked to get another mouthful and instead hearing the sharp sound of clanking metal that he realized he had finished everything Mikkel had set before him. "Seems I enjoyed your meal." He set his fork down with a sly grin. "I would claim it was the worst meal I've ever had, but alas, I don't think you'd believe me." He finished his second glass of wine, setting the receptacle to the side. The desire to indulge more washed over him, but he repressed this urge as he repressed so many others.<br/><br/>"Do you have something else in mind for me? Something sweet and delicious, perhaps?"