Her body was wonderfully tense at each turn he forced her through. He was fighting her ego, and even her self-preservation. The fact that he was not outright attacking her kept her subdued, the social terms of engagement still valid between them, and he was a master manipulator of those. He delighted in how hard it was for the woman to come along to it all, and read all the signs on her face that his story about her aunt was sinking in. There had been nothing wrong with Genna Vauqelin, other than her failing mental health and spiraling depression. She had been embarrassed by it, a woman of old values, and made sure all the records were destroyed or securely locked up. In the end his notes were his alone, there was no clue where they might be other than his private wing, since the woman had been so adamant on seeing the official papers gone. Nothing genetic other than the propensity for such instabilities.<br/><br/>But Genna's obsessive measures had also left a vacuum of knowledge which he could fill with anything. A journalist like Alissa, one with far-stretching means, would of course check up on this if she had a chance, perhaps she was well-versed in her aunt's diminishing before the end already, so he needed to be thorough. Even the most connected source would eventually have to submit to that there were a number of facts missing about Genna's time with the good doctor, and that's where he could invent and dream up any number of fantastical cadavers, never to be truly found. This was not the first time he'd acquired a formidable mare for his stable, and without knowing it, Alissa was being tamed. The higher they'd placed themselves, the more he wanted to shackle and obtain them.<br/><br/>She was curious about her aunt, of course, and with the frustration that he planted in her over not getting her way, she wasn't thinking straight. It lead her to poor decisions, and one of them was lingering on the mystery of her own genetics, and abandoning what he had to assume was a plan to discredit him. She thought she was being clever, crying a bout a feud within the family, but she'd worked as a journalist with very few known cavaliers. It was easy to assume she wouldn't trust him to diagnose her common cold let alone her precious mind unless she had underlying plans. He enjoyed how stunted she seemed, standing there and letting him fuzz over her clothes and posture. If he'd done anything like this without the proper lead-in, she would likely have swatted him or worse. She did not struggle when he lifted her chin, and easily gave her silver coins into his pools of darkness. She'd been cautious before not to stare too long, but in the tumult of maybe being thrown out, Alissa slipped up, and let the convergence of both his voice and irises trap her. Like a talking doll, wound up, she offered him to further pull her in with her question.<br/><br/>He stifled a manic grin and shrugged as though he'd not decided to keep her as a patient yet, still supposedly worried about her sciencirty. The privileged Ms. Vaquelin was not used to being weighed like this. She was used to getting what she wanted. Beautiful and strong, she was used to things coming to her, in fact. It was exactly because she was those things that he wanted to see her crawl. He did, however let her go, and lock his hands behind his back. It parted his chest and broadened him. Subconsciously she'd feel a bit threatened, and that in turn might make her more submissive. "I want to know about your relationship with your family, your direct family. Not some nonsense about your cousin, who I'm sure is a perfectly civil woman." He was already wondering if he should try to accruire this person, too, if she was as lovely as Alissa. Wouldn't that be a perfect pair? It would be on Alissa's conscience too, for having mentioned her.<br/><br/>"But first you must arrange to be with me for at least a week. The implications in your aunt's medical journals are grave, and I would like to devote some efforts toward that. It's for your sake, but I, as a professional, would also like to know I did my best to help you." There was very little in his voice that suggested the otherwise strong-willed woman had any room to argue. He did, however, take a step back, which might be seen as a first move toward reconciliation after her deceit. His hand came out toward his desk instead of the sitting area - a polite way to direct her after having been so blunt about pulling her along before. He was already conditioning her to getting used to his authority. The lonely room, his physical presence - she was being taught that he was important, and that he made the decisions for her, and that every move she made against him would be reprimanded.<br/><br/>If she'd come he'd walk beside her, quietly, serious, to give her no rest from this new pace and shift in power. Well by the desk he pulled out a drawer and put a contract in front of her, pen and all. "This is a standard disclaimer. Any patient who's here for a longer time signs it." he said and then produced another thing from the drawer. It was a hospital gown. He had designed them of course, and they were perhaps a bit more elegant than the usual clinical fare. A white, lightweight fabric, which had a better thread count than was economically defendable - but Dr. Varoe wasn't about to skimp on his private patients.<br/><br/>"This, also." he said and crossed his arms impatiently, meaning the gown. Him waiting suggested she would not have enough time to either read the papers or even go somewhere to redress in privacy. His head tilted, still this statue of stern rule, handsome or not, while he expected her to do as she was told. It was better to keep a steady march, to keep her questions at a minimum. She was used to being catered too, most of the celebrities that took interviews with her were less famous than she - her job had been a breeze so far. In the dying light he might seem more gothic than his midday self, beautiful gargoyle ready to haunt or eat her, if she showed too much teeth.