<em>O Fortuna,<br/>velut Luna<br/>statu variabilis,<br/>semper crescis<br/>aut decrescis;<br/>vita detestabilis<br/>nunc obdurat<br/>et tunc curat<br/>ludo mentis aciem;<br/>egestatem,<br/>potestatem,<br/>dissolvit ut glaciem. </em><br/><br/>Carl Orff's Carmina Burana was such a brutal piece. So common, so overplayed. So damn populist. If asked to name a piece of opera how many of the insects that made up this world would put forward the near perfection of<em>Già, mi dicon venal</em>from Tosca or the beauty of<em>Celeste Aida</em>from the opera of the namesake. In truth how many of the rodents that came scurrying up from the underclasses would be able to name any piece of work worthy of the name? But if they did there were no doubts it would that damn O Fortuna piece with its self-satisfied sense of arrogance that it was an epic. It wasn't an epic... it was music aimed for the lowest common denominator, for the scum of this world who thought that they deserved more than their birth had given to them. It was common and it was contemptible... the very fact that it had become the most popular work of opera was a judgement on this world and all that inhabited it. It showed how the world had fallen apart, how the world had changed, how the nations that were once great had allowed everything to fall, to be corrupted, to disappear.<br/><br/>Not that it meant that Dr Christopher Lascelles didn't occasionally enjoy listening to it.<br/><br/>He believed those course enough referred to the sensation as "slumming it". What better term could there be for what he did. Far from<em>real</em>civilisation, far from<em>real</em>culture, even of the gutter variety. Yes, Chris Lascelles was slumming it here in the United States. Even in the Balkans there was more culture than this, people remembered Skanderburg, remembered the Republic of Venice, remembered the Nemanjic and Basilic dynasties. The Turks may have tried to erase the idea of culture and breeding from those places but they had failed. The cream rises to the top... it always had. No, those were places which knew deference, knew respect. This, this "New World"... it had none of that. In a different life, with a different mistress, Christopher would never have found himself here.<br/><br/>But he had a mistress. It was knowledge and when she called he followed.<br/><br/>The heart of even the true civilisations was already being eaten away. More and more those undeserving demanded "rights". What right had they? What had they done? What had their forefathers done other than grub away in the dirt to provide for their betters? Who were they to demand anything of him? To scream for protection, for liberty? But alas they had demanded and they had screamed and weak willed lillyspittle's who had crawled up from the muck with them had given in, cowering when they should have been strong, sobbing when they should have been magnificent. Nietzsche had been right, about watching a civilisation torn apart from within by those who were weak and needy, pathetic without strength or purpose. But hindsight was no protection now and Christopher had followed his love, followed it into the realms where it was allowed to not confirm to the niceties of modern living, however uncivilised they were. That did not mean he had to enjoy his location though.<br/><br/>Not that you could tell any of that from his blissfully serene face as he sat in his office, perfectly trimmed fingers drumming softly on his oak desk as Carl Orf's brutality wafted from the speakers to fill the room. It was a nice room, functional, exactly what you'd expect a psychologists office to be. Not that much of his work took place here... there were other rooms in the facility for that... but it was nice to have... for appearances if nothing else. Christopher had put up with circumstances far worse in his time... an office that consisted of little more than a bombed out apartment in a tower block, a thin sheet replacing a missing wall... a large tent in a desert where the heat seeped into your very bones... little more than a clearing in a forest where each session ran the constant threat of snowfall or gunfire. No, compared to those places the facilities he had here were a little slice of heaven. And if you give a great man the right tools he can do great things.<br/><br/>And Dr Christopher Lascelles was certainly great.<br/><br/>There was a new shipment of patients today. Christopher was somewhat excited although of course he would never deign to show it. Each new patient brought new stories, new chances, new investigation to be done. A new challenge, a new opportunity. And for all their sins the administration that had set him up here showed a delightful ability to bring him particularly interesting cases. He was sure the near future would be full of excitement and pleasure... for him at least, if not for the others. Not that they were brought here specifically for him. No, not at all. Despite being a world leader in his chosen field... probably the world leader considering the narrowness of it, despite having served his paymaster well for years... and the very thought of paymasters would make him grind his teeth if not for his manners... no, instead he was merely an assistant. An influential assistant yes, an important assistant but an assistant none-the-less. And not an assistant to an Oxbridge Don with years of experience and dozens of published works. No, to a slip of a girl, a mere child... and a peasant at that. It was infuriating (although once again, not a hint of this would ever show) but it was a necessary price to pay for the opportunity he was being given. So Dr Christopher Lascelles would play along. Anything else would be below him after all and despite her lack of breeding he did have to admit that she was rather talented. For a peasant of course... to Christopher it was much like comparing himself to the world's most talented cockroach... but talented none the less.<br/><br/>A final drum of the fingers as the song ended, as the effortlessly predictable "rousing" epic finally died a soft death and Christopher stood, a brief moment to make sure his suit was perfectly fitted. It was of course but it never harmed to double check. He had no doubt he would soon have his first crack at the patients, individually or all together. To see how they acted, how they interacted, how they their eyes widened or closed. It was all very interesting. Very, very interesting...