<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">With the feel of Quinn's hand still embedded in his palm, Mikkel turned to watch him leave, entertaining a small, nigh imperceptible smile. His attention was hard-won, and Quinn had most certainly won a piece of it - at least for right then. The surgeon was not a fickle man, but though his attention was difficult to earn, it was even harder to keep. All the more reason, he supposed, to ensure that even if his time spent with Quinn ended up brief, he would make a point of enjoying it while it lasted.<br/>
<br/>
Mikkel lingered in the museum for an hour thereafter, crossing paths with more than one patron whose face he recognized, whose company he was obligated per social convention to keep, but whose friendly banter left him unfulfilled. He had need of a far more complex connection, one that had long escaped him, and one he certainly didn't expect to find in a museum. Saying his goodbyes and taking his leave, he drove in solitude and silence back to Windham that evening, where a two-story home with a stacked stone exterior awaited his return.<br/>
<br/>
Anticipating company the following night, unless Quinn had second thoughts, Mikkel made a quick stop in the kitchen to take stock of the inventory, making a note to pick up this and that from the market the following morning. Braised venison, he decided. It was a bit on the side of labor-intensive, something that would take a full afternoon to cook, but he hardly minded. He was a man who thrived on executing finer details, sometimes to an excruciating extent. All the more reason to get an early start, though he still had a few loose ends to fuss over before retreating to his bedroom for the night.<br/>
<br/>
Said loose ends took him down into the cellar. Into a secondary chamber, closed tight behind two deadbolts, kept separate from the main room which housed the usual fare - a workbench, tool drawers, and so on. Though he rarely took guests into the cellar, he had had to answer the occasional question about his particular need for privacy in what was essentially a storage space. Part of his inheritance, he would say; a wine collection worth as much as the house itself. That was often enough to discourage the prying queries of the curious.<br/>
<br/>
Granted, a private wine cellar was generally not so well lit for fear of damaging the stock. Nor did it tend to have quite as many sharp steel implements hanging from wall hooks. Nor indeed did a wine cellar usually house a large tank as long as a grown man was tall, lined with reinforced glass to contain a colony of nail-sized insects. Mikkel was a man with a very particular hobby, one that often required the employ of thousands of hungry dermestid beetles, all too eager to devour dead flesh from bone. At their task, they were most adept, requiring little in the way of human intervention once they had a food source. One routine spray of water per night, and they were set.<br/>
<br/>
Setting a spray bottle on the edge of the case, Mikkel crouched down to peer through the glass, observing the specimen inside. He had plucked but one limb bone this time; the beetles would be through with it within a day. Another hunt was in order.<br/>
<br/>
*<br/>
<br/>
When Quinn arrived the following evening, the fruits of Mikkel's labors had become readily apparent. His kitchen and the room next to it had become quite fragrant with the scent of braising meat, enhanced by port and spices. The venison had been cooking for some hours, leaving him time to take care of side dishes and dessert. He supposed he could have gotten away with something simple, but simple was not within his scope. Grand gestures were more his forte.<br/>
<br/>
Only a few minutes before eight and the doorbell rang. Though he had expected Quinn to turn up, he was all the same pleasantly surprised. He had chosen well.<br/>
<br/>
His home had something of an open floor plan on the lowermost level, making it a quick trip from the kitchen to the adjacent living room. Much like its owner, the interior boasted a sharp, modern design; largely warmer, darker neutrals with the occasional splash of beige for contrast. Clean, straight lines, not a hint of clutter save for the occasional piece of framed art on the walls. He had spent a full year designing the place, even longer bringing pieces over from his secondary home in Copenhagen, which had similar themes.<br/>
<br/>
Pulling open the front door, he greeted the younger man with an easy smile, stepping back to allow him inside. "Come in," he beckoned. In anticipation of Quinn's arrival, he had broken out a few new pieces from his wardrobe; a rich maroon button-down shirt layered beneath a warm brown vest and slacks to match. If nothing, it became readily apparent that he put a good bit of stock in his appearance.<br/>
<br/>
"Can I get you anything to drink?" he queried, wasting little time giving Quinn a once-over before reaching his gaze. "Dinner is about twenty minutes off yet, though I suppose that means I'll have your undivided attention."</span>