Hannibal Lecter, MD, glanced up from his desk, a finger marking his place
in the book he was reading. The young man who bustled through the frosted
glass door was fifteen minutes late. This did not bode well at all, and
would certainly hinder his chances at a spot in the class.
"I apologize, Dr. Lecter. The traffic was terrible." Dave beseeched as he slid into the large leather chair across from the desk. Hannibal nodded, a thin smile crossing his lips. He could smell the lie, and immediately dissaproved of this potential student.
"It's quite alright, I'm sure. Please, make yourself comfortable. This will only take a few mintues." Hannibal responded, leaning forward to rest his palms on the smooth mahogany of the desk. He glanced at the clock on the wall, a gesture so quick that the boy probably didn't even catch it. Only one more of these dreaded student interviews...if he hadn't owed a favor to the Dean of the Psychology department, he would never have agreed to take on the task of teaching the course. As it were, the class would have to laspe into the next semester, since they were starting so late. That meant teaching through the holidays. Hannibal masked a grimace with a polite smile and turned to face the eager young man.
"First...what is your name? I assume you know mine."
Dave smirked at the quip and cleared his throat. "David Pellerin," He replied, looking past the doctor to a rather interesting sculpture on the windowsil. With his eyes still averted he continued, adding,"But most people just call me Dave."
"Very well, Mr. Pellerin. Most people call me Doctor Lecter. I'm sure you won't mind. Now...shall I tell you a bit about the class?"
"Of course," Dave said, brows knitting ever so slightly. He'd have to warn Cora about this asshole. What a stiff.
"There will be no examinations. Your grade will be based on a weekly meeting we will have, one on one, wherein you will tell me what you believe you have learned in the previous class. You will be subject to a mental status exam, if you are chosen. I assume you are familiar with the format..- "
"Of course. They teach that the first year." Dave interrupted, his tone bordering on acidic. Hannibal felt his skin bristle and his palms start to itch.
"Pardon me, then. " His gaze lifted to the clock again. If he sent this insolent little boy away now, he'd have time to make rounds before the next interview. Making a great show of straightening a stack of papers on his desk, he looked back down to Dave, who was staring at the statue again. "Lovely, isn't it?" He noted, turning back to join in perusal.
"It's..different." Dave replied. The statue was a twisting of red wire and black mesh, contorted and bent so that it made the effigy of a profile, lips slightly ajar, as if caught in mid-gasp or scream. It almost made him shudder. He found it difficult to make direct contact with the Doctor, whose own gaze was of the strangest shade he'd even seen...even stranger than Cora's champange colored eyes. Lecter's were more...like wine. The comparison brought a fleeting, inappropriate smile to Dave's lips.
"Well, Mr. Pellerin, it was nice to meet you. My secretary will contact you with the neccesary information." Hannibal broke the moment of silence, his voice even and measured and with little inflection.
"That's it?" Dave asked, one dark brow arching. Damn, that was easy.
"That's it," Hannibal replied, his tone drenched in sacchrine. Dave rose, thanked him, and stalked rather proudly out of the office, never bothering to consider the fact that neither Lecter nor the secretary had asked him for his phone number.
...*...
Cora, on the other hand, was not late for her appoinment. She arrived twenty minutes early, and was perched on a stiff-backed armchair in the waiting room when Doctor Lecter returned from making rounds at the hospital. He paused a moment to speak to the secretary, who nodded toward Cora and said something unintelligible.
After a moment, the little partition slid open, and the blue-haired receptionist leaned out to drawl -
"Dr. Lecter will see you now."
Cora was vaguely repulsed by the smear of lipstick on the woman's large front tooth, and hurried into the office as quickly as propriety would allow.
"Good afternoon." Hannibal greeted the small young woman with more enthusiasm than he had her predecessor, for her arrival signaled both the end of the day and the last of the interviews. He watched her closely, noting the way her eyes never seemed to land on one particular object - the way she stood, hands folded behind her back...almost as if she were at attention, or perhaps a child waiting to be scolded. Interesting. She smelled of lavender...but softly, like a whisper. He felt his forehead furrow without provocation.
"'Afternoon, Doctor. May I sit down?" Cora replied, her gaze travelling from the finely woven silk draperies to the man before her. He nodded, and gestured to the chair. As she approached, he caught a glimpse of a thin line of scars on the inside of her left elbow. Cat scratches, perhaps? She pulled the chair back farther than was neccesary and sat, heels settling in the carpet grooves left by the legs of the chair.
"Thank you for your interest in the class," Lecter began, reminding himself that his duty transcended analyzation. "Would you like to know a little bit about the class itself?"
"Yes, please." Cora answered, her eyes meeting the Doctor's, well-framed by sleek brows. "Intense" would be the only way to describe this man. She knew that right off the bat, and had barely spent half a minute in his presence. She watched him carefully, cautious of his movements as she was with any man. He seemed very collected...almost...too calm. Something throbbed beneath the soft baritone of his voice, something fleeting and forgetful that she could not place.
"No examinations, no quizes, no papers or disertations. Your grade will be based on a weekly meeting with me, where you will discuss what you learned from the week's class. I will grade you on your comprehension of the lectures and any reading I may assign you. If you are chosen, you will be subject to a mental status exam - "
"Why?" Cora asked too quickly, her head canting to one side. Hannibal smiled at her inquiry, relishing the fact that she was the only one of the candidates who had bothered to ask.
"Mostly to judge your stress level. Medical students, particular those who plan to go into psychiatry or psycology, have a tendency to stretch themselves too thin. I only want to teach those that I am certain can handle an extra class, those who will not be wasting my time and their own."
Cora nodded, somewhat satisfied with this answer.
"The class will meet on Tuesdays at five thirty in the evening. Is that compatible with your schedule...Miss...?"
"Fielding. Cora. " She replied, "And yes, that should be feasible. I work as a waitress at a restaurant, so I'll just make sure to ask for Tuesday evenings off."
Somehow, Hannibal could not picture this woman serving other people. It seemed...gauche. He settled back in the chair, his expression unreadable.
"Tell me a bit about yourself, Ms. Fielding. Why do you want to take this class?"
"Well, I know that you're one of the best forensic psychiatrists in the area. And that's the field I am most interested in." She answered, shifting slightly in the chair to cross one leg over the other. As she did this, Hannibal caught sight of another row of scars decorating the top of her thigh, quickly hidden by a clever tug of her fingers to resecure the length of her skirt. She did not know that he noticed.
"Very good. Difficult line of work you've chosen. Do you plan on having a private practice as well?"
"I'd like to. I know it's difficult to build a clientele."
"I wouldn't call them clientele, Ms. Fielding." Hannibal smiled, noticing with some interest that she almost flinched at the amusement in his voice.
"Patient repetiore, then." She corrected herself, glancing at her wristwatch reflexively. She had to be at work in fifteen mintues, and the traffic would be heinous if she didn't get out of here soon. She couldn't place her finger on the other reason she was so eager to leave the office, though it hovered implaccably beneath her skin. She was awash with a sense of vertigo that felt almost unshakeable.
"I won't keep you any longer. Leave your number with my receptionist, and I will have her call you with the details." He recognized her hurry, saw her look at her watch and then the clock. Rising from the desk, he extended a hand to her. "It was lovely to have met you, Ms. Fielding."
Her hesitation to grasp his palm was so scant that he thought he may have imagined it, though his suspicion was confirmed when she trembled ( just a shade above imperceptibly ) at contact. Three more scars, white with age, on the underside of her wrist.
"And you, Doctor Lecter. " She dropped his hand and excused herself from the office.
Long after she was gone, Lecter couldn't quite seem to shake off the spice of lavender.
"I apologize, Dr. Lecter. The traffic was terrible." Dave beseeched as he slid into the large leather chair across from the desk. Hannibal nodded, a thin smile crossing his lips. He could smell the lie, and immediately dissaproved of this potential student.
"It's quite alright, I'm sure. Please, make yourself comfortable. This will only take a few mintues." Hannibal responded, leaning forward to rest his palms on the smooth mahogany of the desk. He glanced at the clock on the wall, a gesture so quick that the boy probably didn't even catch it. Only one more of these dreaded student interviews...if he hadn't owed a favor to the Dean of the Psychology department, he would never have agreed to take on the task of teaching the course. As it were, the class would have to laspe into the next semester, since they were starting so late. That meant teaching through the holidays. Hannibal masked a grimace with a polite smile and turned to face the eager young man.
"First...what is your name? I assume you know mine."
Dave smirked at the quip and cleared his throat. "David Pellerin," He replied, looking past the doctor to a rather interesting sculpture on the windowsil. With his eyes still averted he continued, adding,"But most people just call me Dave."
"Very well, Mr. Pellerin. Most people call me Doctor Lecter. I'm sure you won't mind. Now...shall I tell you a bit about the class?"
"Of course," Dave said, brows knitting ever so slightly. He'd have to warn Cora about this asshole. What a stiff.
"There will be no examinations. Your grade will be based on a weekly meeting we will have, one on one, wherein you will tell me what you believe you have learned in the previous class. You will be subject to a mental status exam, if you are chosen. I assume you are familiar with the format..- "
"Of course. They teach that the first year." Dave interrupted, his tone bordering on acidic. Hannibal felt his skin bristle and his palms start to itch.
"Pardon me, then. " His gaze lifted to the clock again. If he sent this insolent little boy away now, he'd have time to make rounds before the next interview. Making a great show of straightening a stack of papers on his desk, he looked back down to Dave, who was staring at the statue again. "Lovely, isn't it?" He noted, turning back to join in perusal.
"It's..different." Dave replied. The statue was a twisting of red wire and black mesh, contorted and bent so that it made the effigy of a profile, lips slightly ajar, as if caught in mid-gasp or scream. It almost made him shudder. He found it difficult to make direct contact with the Doctor, whose own gaze was of the strangest shade he'd even seen...even stranger than Cora's champange colored eyes. Lecter's were more...like wine. The comparison brought a fleeting, inappropriate smile to Dave's lips.
"Well, Mr. Pellerin, it was nice to meet you. My secretary will contact you with the neccesary information." Hannibal broke the moment of silence, his voice even and measured and with little inflection.
"That's it?" Dave asked, one dark brow arching. Damn, that was easy.
"That's it," Hannibal replied, his tone drenched in sacchrine. Dave rose, thanked him, and stalked rather proudly out of the office, never bothering to consider the fact that neither Lecter nor the secretary had asked him for his phone number.
...*...
Cora, on the other hand, was not late for her appoinment. She arrived twenty minutes early, and was perched on a stiff-backed armchair in the waiting room when Doctor Lecter returned from making rounds at the hospital. He paused a moment to speak to the secretary, who nodded toward Cora and said something unintelligible.
After a moment, the little partition slid open, and the blue-haired receptionist leaned out to drawl -
"Dr. Lecter will see you now."
Cora was vaguely repulsed by the smear of lipstick on the woman's large front tooth, and hurried into the office as quickly as propriety would allow.
"Good afternoon." Hannibal greeted the small young woman with more enthusiasm than he had her predecessor, for her arrival signaled both the end of the day and the last of the interviews. He watched her closely, noting the way her eyes never seemed to land on one particular object - the way she stood, hands folded behind her back...almost as if she were at attention, or perhaps a child waiting to be scolded. Interesting. She smelled of lavender...but softly, like a whisper. He felt his forehead furrow without provocation.
"'Afternoon, Doctor. May I sit down?" Cora replied, her gaze travelling from the finely woven silk draperies to the man before her. He nodded, and gestured to the chair. As she approached, he caught a glimpse of a thin line of scars on the inside of her left elbow. Cat scratches, perhaps? She pulled the chair back farther than was neccesary and sat, heels settling in the carpet grooves left by the legs of the chair.
"Thank you for your interest in the class," Lecter began, reminding himself that his duty transcended analyzation. "Would you like to know a little bit about the class itself?"
"Yes, please." Cora answered, her eyes meeting the Doctor's, well-framed by sleek brows. "Intense" would be the only way to describe this man. She knew that right off the bat, and had barely spent half a minute in his presence. She watched him carefully, cautious of his movements as she was with any man. He seemed very collected...almost...too calm. Something throbbed beneath the soft baritone of his voice, something fleeting and forgetful that she could not place.
"No examinations, no quizes, no papers or disertations. Your grade will be based on a weekly meeting with me, where you will discuss what you learned from the week's class. I will grade you on your comprehension of the lectures and any reading I may assign you. If you are chosen, you will be subject to a mental status exam - "
"Why?" Cora asked too quickly, her head canting to one side. Hannibal smiled at her inquiry, relishing the fact that she was the only one of the candidates who had bothered to ask.
"Mostly to judge your stress level. Medical students, particular those who plan to go into psychiatry or psycology, have a tendency to stretch themselves too thin. I only want to teach those that I am certain can handle an extra class, those who will not be wasting my time and their own."
Cora nodded, somewhat satisfied with this answer.
"The class will meet on Tuesdays at five thirty in the evening. Is that compatible with your schedule...Miss...?"
"Fielding. Cora. " She replied, "And yes, that should be feasible. I work as a waitress at a restaurant, so I'll just make sure to ask for Tuesday evenings off."
Somehow, Hannibal could not picture this woman serving other people. It seemed...gauche. He settled back in the chair, his expression unreadable.
"Tell me a bit about yourself, Ms. Fielding. Why do you want to take this class?"
"Well, I know that you're one of the best forensic psychiatrists in the area. And that's the field I am most interested in." She answered, shifting slightly in the chair to cross one leg over the other. As she did this, Hannibal caught sight of another row of scars decorating the top of her thigh, quickly hidden by a clever tug of her fingers to resecure the length of her skirt. She did not know that he noticed.
"Very good. Difficult line of work you've chosen. Do you plan on having a private practice as well?"
"I'd like to. I know it's difficult to build a clientele."
"I wouldn't call them clientele, Ms. Fielding." Hannibal smiled, noticing with some interest that she almost flinched at the amusement in his voice.
"Patient repetiore, then." She corrected herself, glancing at her wristwatch reflexively. She had to be at work in fifteen mintues, and the traffic would be heinous if she didn't get out of here soon. She couldn't place her finger on the other reason she was so eager to leave the office, though it hovered implaccably beneath her skin. She was awash with a sense of vertigo that felt almost unshakeable.
"I won't keep you any longer. Leave your number with my receptionist, and I will have her call you with the details." He recognized her hurry, saw her look at her watch and then the clock. Rising from the desk, he extended a hand to her. "It was lovely to have met you, Ms. Fielding."
Her hesitation to grasp his palm was so scant that he thought he may have imagined it, though his suspicion was confirmed when she trembled ( just a shade above imperceptibly ) at contact. Three more scars, white with age, on the underside of her wrist.
"And you, Doctor Lecter. " She dropped his hand and excused herself from the office.
Long after she was gone, Lecter couldn't quite seem to shake off the spice of lavender.