ArchivedLogs:Adaptability and Compromise

Adaptability and Compromise
Dramatis Personae Cornelius, Alice Lambton
In Absentia	2013-06-03 Alice visits a psychiatrist, discovers she does not like them.
Location Office of Cornelius de Wit
The interior of the office building is currently in a ramshackle state. There are hired workers painting the walls, filling the corridors with an invasive scent of paint. It looks like the work is about halfway done, but the building still looks at least a week away from completion. The main office is probably the most put together, even if it still has a few boxes here and there, some of them still closed, some of them open and some of them empty. All three categories are neatly organised. The main office is immaculate, in spite of its unfinished state. There's nary a book placed at an odd angle. Perfectionism is clearly the dominant theme here – the room looks like a stage in a theatre, with a blood red armchair and a muddy green one, both with ornate wooden feet and worn leather seats. Dark colours tightly grip the environment, although they are not strictly speaking ominous; rather the colours are hushed and calm. The occasional bright colours brighten the palette, such as the white bookshelves. There is, of course, no secretary. Cornelius de Wit greets his first patient personally, holding the door open to the elaborately decorated room for the woman. "Excuse me for the chaos," he states. The man's voice is an oxymoron, a grinding of rusty gears with an intonation as soft as cat's paws, the sort of voice fit for narrating anything from a child's fable to the End of Days. The tone is a level and measured purr. It is marred by two accents - a predominantly thick Dutch accent and a meticulous British pronunciation. "I have barely had the time to set up. Miss Alice Lambton, I presume?" An appointment of this sort required that Alice take some time from work--never a pleasant proposition for a Type A personality. Fortunately she was intrigued enough by the recommendation to be willing. The characteristic sound of her high heels strike loud against the polished floor as she winds her way through hallways to discover the main office. Dressed severely, black jacket and black pencil skirt, with only a hint of silky floral showing at her throat, she looks every bit the stern businesswoman come to discuss a merger.. Which might make the smile she gives Doctor de Wit that much more startling. Her green eyes are sparkling as she steps through the doorway and offers him her hand. “Doctor de Wit. Thank you for seeing me, you come highly recommended.” The psychiatrist himself is fashionably and formally dressed, clad in a light grey suit, a crimson dress shirt and a black tie. Perfectionism is reflected in his choice of attire as well, considering every centimetre is respected when it comes to a formal dress code. The strength of his presence is comparable to a bastion, even if nonchalance is expertly weaved into the equation. Alice's hand is carefully claimed by an aged hand, subtly turning it and lifting it. Such a gesture in itself is sufficient, albeit the doctor leans forward to test the waters - should the diplomat allow it, he will bow more deeply still and place a formal kiss on the back of her palm before releasing her hand. "It is not every day that statement rings true," he remarks offhandedly, the twitch of his lips' corners barely noticeable. Cornelius de Wit gestures to the rest of the office, namely the green leather chair. The man waits for the would-be patient to step further inside before he would close the door behind them. "Especially considering the recommendation comes from a ruler of a country." There is a minute hesitation on her part, just before her hand is taken. Surely Alice is accustomed to European formality--she accepts the kiss brushed against her hand gracefully enough. But grace cannot entirely hide the fresh interest that shows in her expression as he straightens and she’s able to study the doctor’s face. While that study is conducted, the diplomat moves to take the offered chair. She settles easily, legs crossed, small purse resting in her lap beneath folded hands. “Ah, but I should warn you, Doctor, it’s a dangerous thing to speak of truth in the company of a diplomat. But surely Victor warned you.” Her smile deepens, lending brighter highlights to her eyes. “He did speak highly of you. How long have you known him?” The doctor is by no means in a rush. Cornelius follows after Alice with deliberate steps, his fashionable dark moccasins landing gracefully atop the dark blue carpet. When he arrives to the dried blood red armchair, his fingers immaculately grip his suit trousers to pull up slightly before he claims his seat in front of Alice Lambton. When he does, he sits mostly straight, although ever so subtly leaning forward towards the other person. His forearms rest on his legs just above the knees, and his fine yet inarguably old fingers lock together. His crystal clear eyes clearly fit his profession - ever keen, ever observant. Worse yet, his neutral expression hides his judgement. There is very little that is not measured in this room. "Miss Lambton, I would be deeply wounded if anything but the truth was spoken within the confines of these walls," he finally offers, the polite remark lacking an encouraging smile. His eyebrows momentarily shoot up as the monarch is mentioned. A small breath is inhaled to form an appropriately small sigh. "I feel like the less successful twin - everyone wants to know about the fearsome Doctor Doom." De Wit remains thoughtful for a moment, before he can offer a more elaborate and indulgent response. "I have known him before he donned that garish armour," he admits, the faintest of hints of a smile finally showing up. "We were both lecturers at the Hassenburg University. We exchanged many ideas. We disagreed on a lot of them." He tilts his head curiously, seemingly expecting Alice to respond. The probing has begun. Alice possesses a fine and delicate hand but make no mistake--it is probing nonetheless. “Are you twins?” A fair question if he meant what was said about honesty. The arch of her eyebrows suggests as much, as does the more subtle curve of a new smile. “Though I’m not certain I would describe him as fearsome.” Then she quiets to hear the more substantial response. Notably, it does not cause her eyebrows to lower. “Did you, now? Interesting. Was he more tolerant of disagreements then?” If Cornelius de Wit disapproves or even notices this delicate probing, he doesn't show it. "Twins?" The elevation of his intonation might indicate surprise, but it's a mild and theatrical burst of activity in his voice. His smile widens into a grin, and there is a soft yet guttural roll of a chuckle as he replies, "I almost feel as though I should take offence." The comment arrives softly, without so much as an undertone of disapproval. The grin diminishes gradually as that weathered visage returns to its neutral state. "You have to understand something, Miss Lambton. I have dedicated my entire life to the study of behaviour. What makes us make the choices we take. Why we become upset with the things that we do." His hands leave each other to spread, accompanying a shrug. "What is the definition of an identity." The veiny hands interlock again. "For all my success, there is one mind I have never managed to understand." Cornelius makes no effort to voice the name of who that mind belongs to, deeming it all too clear to require confirmation. "When his colleagues disagreed with him, he would fall quiet. Then he would return the next day carrying five thick books - all bookmarked - and shame their knowledge. I have never seen him enraged. That is not normal. Rage is /healthy/, Miss Lambton. I cannot fathom how he vents it. Fearsome? Not by action alone. It's an inability to understand him that makes him that." The silence that follows this answer draws out, nearly as long as it took to frame the response itself. Alice lets her head tilt slightly to one side. Her smile has grown impossibly soft. “So he is in some ways a case study for you? Or...could it be hero worship? Of the unhealthy kind? I confess to being an informal student of human behaviour, Doctor. Do please pardon my curiosity.” Alice adjusts her posture, lowering her heel to the floor and shifting the other leg across her knee. Comfortably again, she resumes gazing at him. She blinks somewhat less than might be considered average. “In truth, I’m not entirely certain why I was told to meet you. Only that I should.” A slight chortle accompanies a small and short-lasting smile. "Apotheosis would first require me to speak of Doctor Doom in a positive light. As for him being my case study-- I have attempted that, yes, and I strongly advise against it." No further elaboration is given, instead Cornelius shifts to the other topic, tilting his head to the other side. "I was told you suffer from work-related stress. I am woefully ill-prepared for accepting patients, at the moment. The office will not be open until next week." A cursory glance surveys his room, as if to make a point of what was said. His crystalline eyes regard Alice again shortly after. "Forty six percent of work-related stress in the United States comes from a heavy workload. Reportedly, one third of the nation's employees are chronically overworked." "It is sadly a very common phenomenon," he admits, his tone failing to convey the gravitas of the statement. "Usually, I do not concern myself with 'common', but as I understand you are in a very unique position due to the nature of the work you do." A diminutive smile of encouragement tugs at his lips. "Physician-patient privilege is much looser in this country, so I cannot promise absolute privacy under all circumstances. In the case of abuse by your superiors, I will be forced to take action." The explanation continues as the psychiatrist outlines the conditions: "Stress might lead you to harsh words about your colleagues or employers, or you might feel slighted when given a particularly difficult assignment. You might even hatefully wish death upon your perceived enemies. All of that stays in this room. If you give me reason to believe your words might become actions, however, for your safety and the safety of others, my hand will also be forced." The doctor reins in the speech, the no doubt oft-spoken disclaimer set aside so that the spotlight may rest on the diplomat once more. Consider Alice nonplussed. She was referred as a /patient/? One can almost see that incredulous thought flicker through her eyes before her natural aptitude for disguise conceals it behind the most bemused of smiles. She listens politely through the recitation, as one does. Then she caps it for him by slowly and deliberately shaking her head. “I did not come here due to overwork, Doctor, nor am I here because I consider myself in need of a psychiatrist. I am sure you are excellent at what you do but I have neither the need nor the desire to become a case study. If that was your intention, and /his/, then I’m afraid this interview is already at an end.” And so saying, Alice Lambton rises smoothly to her feet. As she stands, she slides the strap of her purse over her shoulder and then extends her hand towards Cornelius for the traditional parting shake. “It was a pleasure meeting you, of course. I wish you the best with your practice.” Cornelius resumes his firm poise showing very little in the way of a response, beyond a moment of interest designed to encourage Alice. This stance should come as no surprise from a man of his profession. The doctor even does not consider the woman's departure until she pauses to offer her hand in parting. Etiquette demands him to stand before he can address Miss Lambton. The prestigiously dressed psychiatrist lifts himself off the chair and then takes a single step closer to Alice. "Typical of Victor van Doom's games," he informs her, flicking a brief disinterested glance in the direction of her hand. "I sincerely apologise. I thought he had told you." A short pause decorates that rhetoric, and Cornelius seizes that moment to check for any signs of recognition of what she might have been told. Of course, he goes on to explain regardless. "He sees this as a safe environment for you two to exchange information. Everyone will question a US diplomat taking frequent visits to the Latverian embassy, but visiting a psychiatrist to alleviate stress is far less suspicious." His jawline tenses momentarily. "I am sure neither of us had the intention to make you a 'case study', Miss Lambton. Any help I would offer would only come at request and free of charge." "I understand if you still feel the need to leave, of course." De Wit inclines his head, awaiting a confirmation. “Perhaps, when you see him again, you can tell him I dislike games of this sort,” Alice says, with a pristine smile. Her hand does gradually lower to her side but she neglects to take her seat again. For now. “And perhaps then he will tell you that I am as of yet undecided as to whether or not to accept the proposal he made on our last encounter.” Here she leans minutely towards Cornelius, to make her next statement truly a confidence. “I have a great deal of love for my work. One could say it is my life. And I much prefer continuing on with it. So to speak. Any stress I experience is a result of being kept from doing so. Do you understand, Doctor?” Those icy eyes track any movement Alice exhibits, however subtle. Ultimately, Cornelius offers a miniature bow in acknowledgement. "I will pass it on, even though our relationship is presently strenuous." As for her decision, he delays his reply until after further words from the diplomat. Her leaning towards him causes him to mirror the motion, as though the two are in on some grand secret. "As someone who has risked his life multiple times for his work, I understand you perfectly well, Miss Lambton," his voice purrs deeply. "However, stress does not necessarily mean a dislike of your profession, much like 'patient' does not necessarily imply an illness. I do not /treat/ patients. I /talk/ to them. I devise questions and encourage them to do the same." His voice attains further firmness, stopping short of being imposing. All the same, his tone remains level. "May I ask how you intend to arrive to a decision if you do not wish to talk about it?" Alice folds her arms loosely across her stomach, her posture relaxed. As she studies the man before her, her head tilts--just a little, just enough to let him know that she is analyzing what she sees. Her lips purse. It is not an expression of pleasure. “If it is questions you would like to hear, Doctor, I will pose you one: what would you do if someone dangled the dream of personal benefit before you. Not the reality but the dream. And in return, you need only compromise those principles that you have abided by your entire life. Principles, I should add, which prevent you from being condemned both literally and figuratively in the field in which you enjoy great prestige.” She lifts one hand and turns it towards him. The gesture is plain: you may answer now. The doctor lazily lifts a brow as he considers the extended hand. His expression grows neutral once more in the coming moments, and his eyes return to Alice. "Reality begins with a dream, Miss Lambton. We invest our personal riches - be they material or otherwise - to make our dreams a reality. Today, my secure position as a prestigious psychiatrist is a reality. Yesterday, it was a dream." "Sometimes, we might even have to change who we are in order to achieve what we want. It does not necessarily prevent you from doing what you have been doing all your life, it merely enables you to do /more/. A book I have recently published covers exactly that - adaptability." His hands move behind him, clasping together neatly. "At the risk of sounding like a cheap psychiatrist, allow me to note that you sound conflicted. Doctor Doom has put you in a very complicated position, Miss Lambton." "Hear out this proposition - we meet again, hopefully when I am better prepared and the building doesn't reek of paint." There is another flash of a polite smile, except the twitch ultimately forms a full-fledged smirk this time. "You only provide me with information you feel comfortable with parting. We talk, if you allow us to. Seems like a fair start, does it not?" He inclines his head to the side curiously. “Adaptability is one thing, Doctor. Compromising one’s self another thing entirely. But...” And here Ms. Lambton opts to offer a thread, a /crumb/. Her smile deepens and her hand extends again, this time for a shake that lacks the chill of the earlier offer. “I would not be here if I were not curious of what might be possible. /Within/ the bounds of what I consider acceptable, of course. Your Doctor Doom might be a monarch in his own country...but this is mine, mm?” So that was more crumb /and/ warning, but still it is offered with apparent warmth. “I will consider a second meeting. But do please keep in mind...or perhaps advise your friend. When one wants something while on foreign territory, it is best to maneuver to one’s goal in a more...diplomatic fashion. And when one wants to lure an ally into the fold, it is better to avoid game playing. Lest said ally take offense to having their concerns treated so...lightly.” The hand that is offered is accepted this time around, that same light touch as before wrapping around Lambton's palm. The man's other hand remains behind him while he gently shakes her hand in agreement. "I would be more than happy to find your barrier that separates adaptability and compromise," he offers. As his hand slips away, he considers the warning with apparent detachment, even if it seems he acknowledges her words. He seems to give the chain plenty of freedom, freely allowing Alice to indulge. "You are absolutely right," he agrees. "I suspect Doctor Doom arrogantly assumed my approach would not offend you. He has a habit of expecting too much of people." The trap is laid down ever so gently, his voice growing as soft as silk without rendering it too saccharine. "How does next Monday sound? By then, I might be able to procure drinks to go with our conversation. Do you like tea, Miss Lambton?" Alice’s lips press together, creating a thinning of her smile. The trap is seen. She does not approve. “I’m sure your approach is welcomed by your patients, Doctor. Unfortunately, I cannot be counted among them.” Cannot or will not. She is nothing if not a stubborn woman. Alice curls her hand around the strap of her purse once it’s released; she’s poised to depart. “Tea would be lovely, yes. I look forward to seeing you again...and wish you congratulations, on your new office.” A brief glance is spared their surroundings. “I’m sure it will be most impressive when you’ve finished arranging it to your satisfaction,” she says. Then, with a tilt of her head to serve as polite parting, she turns towards the door to leave. Alice may have spotted the trap, but her reaction to it only spurs amusement on the doctor's part. It is a small and shy creature, peering from its safety at the woman. "I will have you know it is appreciated by very few, even among my patients," he tells her with a surprisingly joyous tone. Cornelius de Wit does not argue further, instead moving ahead of her in a gentlemanly fashion to secure the path to the door. "Thank you. I consider myself a bit of an enthusiast in interior design," he admits, standing by the exit. He reaches for the door handle and clears the way for Alice Lambton. He offers an old-fashioned nod in the way of a farewell. "Until we hopefully meet again, Miss Lambton."