Govannon was proving himself to be an interesting investment of attention, if nothing else.  He portrayed himself to be calm and in control.  The depth of his unease or fear was hard to tell, though Aedan was certain of both, because he still wore a mask of sorts to cover it.  No doubt it was second nature to a man who was used to playing the part others expected.  Still, Aedan could tell by the man’s posture that he was not as at ease as he’d like to come across, the way he sat almost rigid in the comfort around him.  The thought had crossed Aedan’s mind that his guest was always that stiff, all tightly wound and ready to pop if the right amount of pressure was placed on him, but decided it was an incorrect assessment.  There was plenty for him to be wary about already, but Aedan began wondering what Raff might’ve done or said to get him there.  Had he been polite and inviting?  Threatening?  Violent?  As predictable as Aedan thought himself as, Raff could often surprise him.<br/><br/>As could Govannon, if the apparent sting he felt from uncaring words of judgment slung his way meant anything.  “Wound you?” he scoffed.  “I don’t care to hurt your feelings,<i>Doctor</i>, if you even have them.  And I’d have little use for you if you were so damned fragile to be hurt by the opinions of a stranger who knows next to nothing about you.  Though I meant it as more of a compliment, to be honest.  You want to break the barriers of human mortality, you’d best be prepared to embrace breaking the limits of the mind.  What fully sane man could do that, I wonder?” he mused, though his tone was bittered and eyes dull as they remained fixed elsewhere.  Aedan himself was well aware what others thought of him, those who knew of his existence.  To experiment on himself, to refuse ‘professional’ medical care, and to deny his own imminent death even when he was clearing his own lungs of blood…  That was madness.  It had also kept him out of the grave thus far, so he viewed it as an asset rather than a debilitation.<br/><br/>Aedan hated his scars.  They were memories.  They were pain.  He’d always had a sharp mind, but it was a tragedy in itself that he could remember each and every one being carved into him.  He could have, if he cared to, pointed out each one in order from first to last.  It seemed that Govannon was trying to do just that, as well.  The eyes on him sent a chill up his spine.  They were intense and calculating, the man taking in everything and analyzing it on the spot.  Uncomfortable as he was with it, Aedan forced himself to endure, because how could he withhold that sort of information from a man who was supposed to treat him?  He’d only see them later, and Aedan would rather have the information shared and the issue out of the way than be plagued with a more curios look.<br/><br/>It seemed to work to his benefit in more ways than one.  The condemned doctor settled back into the chair and looked more a part of the environment instead of coming across as layered onto it.  Getting him to relax and feel more secure and safe, even if he wasn’t, made things easier on all of them.  It also seemed to trigger another little quirk of Govannon’s, the man rattling off the diagnosis as if he were trying to impress someone.  Or to be rude.  It wasn’t likely to be the case, not on either end, so Aedan let the sudden interruption slide with nothing more than an unpleasant glare.  He again found himself wondering how much Raffaello had divulged to the man before they had arrived.  Fucking blabbering Italian…<br/><br/>Even if he didn’t seem to be, Aedan was studying the man across from him with care.  It was something Raff had taught him early on.  The environment was an important element, but it was generally static, or at least more so than people.  People were the real challenge in any situation.  The more complicated the person, the more complicated the challenge.  Govannon was nothing if not complicated.  He was hard to read, yes, but his motives were out there for all to see.  Escaping death was a noble cause, though it was bound to be a greedier endeavor for someone who didn’t seem to be that compassionate over those he killed in failed attempts to accomplish it.  And yet he was there, willingly from what Aedan could tell, putting himself in immeasurably bad situations just to continue the attempt.  So Aedan watched from the corner of his eye as the coffee was accepted.  It wasn’t eager.  The redhead was also sure the man had looked for something else to put into the coffee.  There likely was sugar in the kitchen, somewhere, but nothing like cream.  He didn’t have a good habit of eating much, so filling the place with useless foodstuffs was stupid.  Regardless of want or satisfaction, Govannon drank.  The act put another smile on Aedan’s lips, as did the reaction his guest had to the coffee.<br/><br/>“Raffie-boy here is a highly trained assassin,” he divulged with sudden and alarming transparency.  “He specializes in poisons.  How’s the coffee, by the way?  He does make it a little strong.”  There was no evident reason for Raffaello to poison anything.  It was only to gauge the other man’s reaction to the information given, see how he felt about it.  The way the man transitioned to the subject, however, Aedan was confident that he already knew something about how they lived their lives.  “I was his only protégé.”<br/><br/>He took a few more careful drinks of the dark liquid, then set it aside and fumbled into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.  The moment they were in view, he could feel Raff’s eyes burning holes through the side of his head.  The disapproval was ignored, as always, and he lit up one and stuffed the rest back into his trouser pocket, just to make sure the Italian didn’t get some harebrained idea about disposing of them when he wasn’t looking.  His attention was better placed on the possible salvation of Govannon’s work.  The man was right.  There was a great desire to pour over pages of detailed notes, to see the samples of those failures, and to fall to endless hours of study of the man’s theories.  He must’ve been onto something, right?  Otherwise he wouldn’t be where he was, sat there with that beautiful, confident smile, trying to negotiate for secrecy and freedom.  At the same time, Aedan had to wonder why none of this supposed research had been brought there.  Not even a page?  Not a single shred of evidence or documentation to prove himself?<br/><br/>“I have a lab here.  Underground,” he admitted, though now his words were slower, more careful than before.  Since he trusted no one to begin with, his suspicions were starting even higher with Govannon.  “It’s highly secured, of course.  There’s an obscene amount of equipment for a personal lab, so I doubt you’ll suffer.”<br/><br/>He looked to Raff then, the two sharing a short and silent agreement.  Then he was looking to Van, deep in thought as he took a long drag from his cigarette.  Unwise, as always.  He felt his lungs wanting to protest, but it was no good to let that happen in front of his unusual guest.<br/><br/>“I’ll have to clear out some things before taking you down there.  It’s set up for a single body to work, so I need to make room.  While you do your work, I need to continue mine in the meantime.  It might not be curing me, but it’s keeping me alive.  Though I have to admit, I<i>am</i>interested in seeing what you’ve managed to accomplish thus far.  I also find it curious that, desperate as you claim you are, you brought me nothing to persuade me into this other than pretty words.  You can image how that worries me.”  He snubbed out the half smoked cigarette in a crystal ashtray, then smiled.  His then freed hand reclaimed his gun.  It wasn’t leveled on Govannon, or brandished in any threatening way.  Aedan was much more comfortable with firearms, and it fit more like an added accessory in his hand.  For some, that made it just as distressing.  “Raff can go fetch your research for you.  Where is it?”