While the notice was less than dramatic, a little alert in the shape of a white square at the upper corner of his screen about a change in his laid-out day-plan, it would derail his entire schedule. Leunan decided to make the best of it. People who considered themselves his enemies were just unaware friends. He went about the continued therapy of a Mrs. Bloom who'd checked in six months ago with terrible nightmares and just the amount of freckles that he liked. Their sessions had soon double and tripled, and then he'd booked a permanent room for her in the wing where he could devote particular, precise and private attention to a select few of his patients. All of them stunning.<br/><br/>No doubt his next appointment would be interested in that. He wasn't the kind of doctor to take a piece of information and read it for what it seemed - his entire profession was pulling at offered strings to unfold something hidden. And while the patient had been clever enough not to say much about themselves, only that they wanted to see him in person, he'd deduced that it had to be someone of great resources. He was a household name, and only the truly desperate - who had no trouble giving all their information - or truly wealthy bothered to pursue his direct care.<br/><br/>When his door suffered the raps of decidedly slight knuckles, he minimized Mrs. Bloom's files and stood. He had to admit that he was at least a little curious. This might prove to be entertaining. The rich were in a perfect position to pick up issues - their lives were usually irregular, and their values and pressure-points were different from the common man's. While some thrived under this, there were many blank-spaces not easily filled in by convention, which the middle-class and lower leaned on for their own security and guidance. This lead to numerous unusual and - to the doctor - hilarious diagnonises.<br/><br/>The man that opened the door smiled with those famous rose lips at his guest. The glasses came off as he parted the barrier from its frame wide to invite her in. He hung the spectacles in his shirt pocket and gestured at the rest of his office. The poster boy of Hollander would not have anything less than immaculate decor, minimal, open spaces with baroque art pieces on some surfaces. It was a scene that fit him - tall, slender athlete with elegance in his own design and an air of threat around him, like the prettiest plantlife have the most venomous sap. Only sinister flowers, no matter how handsome, can grow in a sterile environment.<br/><br/>"Welcome." he said, having figured her out already. Alissa Vauquelin, of the Vauquelin Concern. This day was shaping up. He humored her like a child, but kept his theatrics in check while he played along. She would get to put up her front, and he would let her see him dancer around it. This was his home, she'd not get the better of him here - he knew all the reflective surfaces, and he'd be able to see the business side of the cards in any hand she'd play.<br/><br/>He gave her a professional smile and led her in by the small of her back, long arm extended to show her to the sitting table. The couch was comfortable, not too gaudy. He'd picked it out to be more approachable than the rest of the tasteful pieces strewn about this room so that patients would gravitate toward it. "So, I hear you're in need of help. It's all very mysterious. Would you mind filling me in?" hiswas  voice dark, he couldn't help that, but he kept it soft for her, torso brushing close as he followed her all the way to the cushions. In the past women had instinctively shown submission to such proximity to his height, and it made them more pliable. "And oh, your name too please." Whether she wanted to be who she was, and for him to pretended her family's fame hadn't reached him, or if she wanted to play at some other persona.<br/><br/>He was sure to take in her physical form. It would be a problem if she fell into his taste, high-profile character like herself, but wouldn't it also be delightful to put a leash on the not-too-realized Vauquelin reporter? In here, it was to one's utter detriment to be beautiful, and would a French Revolutionary house have anything but stunning daughters?