It wasn't a medical sterile that was significant in the corridor that took the echoes of her footsteps. The cleanliness was of design. Silver details and gray paint, walls of windows, tinted. St. Francis wasn't immune to budget restrictions, the receiving rooms were due for an update, but their sponsors had been swayed by a certain new doctor, and so his whims were gilded by the board, so they could hope to catch the surplus falling off Dr. Dhaal's coffers. Perhaps the intentionally starved design was deprived of something else, too, something spiritual, or soul-related? It was a ludicrous notion in a house of medicine, and that was exactly what kept most people from thinking it, and those who thought it from voicing it.<br/><br/>The man himself knew his appeal. He'd not put a ton of meat over his bones, lifting metals and pulling himself up iron bars. He remained a ghostly elegant, flitting through meetings like an apparition, granting wishes here and there, but never slowing his economical momentum. And there were articles on his success on the stainless tables. His fingers were long and beautiful, joints like they were industrial. A bespectacled ghost that could keep other spirits right where they were, in the flesh.<br/><br/>Sensational ears and eyes sought him out, while scholars liked to think his streak was a fluke. Scholars don't have impressive checks. Save a few trust fund royals and you're a blue blood by association. He swore by his well-lidded research, and they swore by him. Everyone was locked into a train of their word, and he had it in his hands to make them all liars. Good thing he knew how to resurrect the terminal like blue shocks can make them wave.<br/><br/>When he'd asked for the files of possible assistants, there'd been a pile on his desk. Paper - immortal. His fingertips danced on flat screens, too, but he liked to seal fates with something more sentimental. Would she ever know he'd thought of her in the deep darkness of his boiled-dead tile catacombs? He'd licked his pale lips when he read her story. He saw the potential of stress in her smooth face, and intended to raise her value in herself by presenting her with the potential of her suffering. She'd know real, harrowing pleasure too, before it was over.<br/><br/>Her announcement at the door was true to form, and he opened. Tall and long as life, before her, with his rare color of hair and the slightly off color of eye. Black trousers into leather shoes, and a rising collar beneath the white one that his profession liked. He had beautiful pens in the shirt pocket and the frames of his glasses took on the sunlight coming in from the great glass behind her. "McNeil." he said, though neither of them needed it. He knew, and she have better know herself.<br/><br/>"You're shorter than I imagined." so she had already failed. Fuel for her motivation. "Come in." he suggested and put the magic hands at the ends of his endless arms into the fat pockets of the coat. The way he turned suggested she close the door behind her. "Good day we're having." Dark voice from something with such a radiant surface. "Did you find my office well?" A perfect imitation of sentiment.<br/><br/>When he went further into the cavernous office, cold and exclusive in decor, she would know to follow. He leaned against his desk and pointed to the chair in front of it. It looked prettier than it looked inviting. "You've read up on Mote, I trust." What little there was should be in her tablet. Miracle from the miracle man. He'd sealed wounds with it, without scars, and healed unspeakable trauma. Some called it a medical fairy-tail, but no one could argue the results. He was said to brew it here, somewhere. He took his hand out from the white pocket and knocked on a paper on his desk. Her contract of silence.<br/><br/>"We can be friends." he said. "But only if I can trust you."<br/><br/>And it seemed court-enforced seals were part of that.<br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Fe7%2Fdc%2Fa7%2Fe7dca742a45a5deb790f5925ac1a8251.jpg&amp;hash=c579e4d0cc6a468dd5417f2a419450c2" title="e7dca742a45a5deb790f5925ac1a8251.jpg">
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