ArchivedLogs:Misalignment

Misalignment
Dramatis Personae Cornelius, Alice Lambton	2013-06-24 Alice visits the psychiatrist a second time. It looks like this may be their last.
Location Office of Cornelius de Wit
The interior of the wonderfully aged office building is finally past all stages of beautification. The end result still bears that fresh appearance of newness, the painted walls practically gleaming with the calming sky blue so unobtrusive, it's closer to white than blue. The colour palette dims in the office proper, maintaining an elegantly subtle appearance that does not dazzle with bright colours but does not suffocate the visitor with darkness either. There is still no secretary - Cornelius de Wit plays that role in this case, both arranging the meeting with and greeting his patient. Today, this patient is Alice Lambton. Despite her having just arrived, it looks like he has prepared tea just in time, showcasing meticulous punctuality. Two homely looking mugs of steaming hot tea occupy the smallish table that divided the chair of the patient and the chair of the doctor. Cornelius politely gestures to the former chair, while claiming the latter. His fluid and careful movement establishes a regal and firm poise in the chair, elbows on its arms while fingers are weaved together gently. "Thank you for the apology, and indulging me with at least one more meeting," he notes with his raspy voice. "I feel like I owe you an apology, as well. Forgive me if my approach came across as terse." From behind crossed fingers, his thumbs rise up. "I also apologise for this meeting being delayed multiple times. At first, there was the unrest, which I assume consumed a lot of your time. Then the kind monarch of Latveria invited you to his home. My own office closed down because this office /just/ went up, and I was not eager to have it wrecked just because I am willing to treat mutants." Those hands unravel just so that Cornelius can silently motion to the mug of tea closer to Alice. Alice is pleasant, all smiles as she’s greeted and shown to her seat. A small exclamation of both pleasure and gratitude is made over the tea, which she accepts and cradles in both hands after settling. The ritual demands a taste is taken before business begins and so she sips, carefully. Her eyes close briefly; her smile deepens. Then she returns the cup to the table and aims that smile, with its accompanying twinkle of eyes, at the man opposite. “I do feel we got off on the wrong foot. It would have been unwise of me, to base a judgment solely on one uncomfortable meeting.” The matter of timing is waved away as she settles back, one leg crossing over the other. “Peace is such a fleeting thing. I’ve found it important to make time, as the world will rarely oblige...though it’s been uniquely restless of late.” Her head tilts slightly. “Have you received threats, for your willingness to accept certain patients?” Perhaps Cornelius is also in the mood for tea, or perhaps he simply indulges the importance of sharing the ritual together with Miss Lambton. Whatever the initial motivations might be, the psychiatrist enjoys the tea he had prepared. And why wouldn't he? Diligent attention has been granted to this Earl Grey, and the refined taste was granted just enough time to seep into flavoured liquid. There is what could vaguely be described as acknowledgement on de Wit's side when Alice speaks of peace, understanding eyes watching her quietly. It's not until a direct question is given that he purses his lips thoughtfully for a moment, before responding; seems each motion is premeditated and acted out. It's not unlikely that's a side-effect of being awfully aware of what each body gesture translates to. "Yes, I have received letters and e-mails that bear anti-mutant sentiments." The addendum arrives only after a brief pause. "But I have also been contacted by a handful of individuals who mistook my unwillingness to accept mind-reading mutants as prejudice." Another polite pause follows his words, and then Cornelius poses his own question. "How did you find your visit? You can spare me the finer details, if you'd like. Has your opinion of Doctor Doom changed since then?" As she listens, Alice returns the mug to the table. She appears content to converse without needing something to busy the hands; they lace before her, elbows resting lightly on the arms of her chair. “A shame. There seems to be no middle ground allowed in this argument. Too few people recognize shades of grey,” she muses. Then her smile takes on a different dimension. Off-set slightly. “The visit was illuminating. I believe that the people who oversee such things were very, very pleased with the result. My opinion...my opinion of anyone adapts with every subsequent meeting. What of you, Doctor de Wit? Have you heard a difference in opinion, yourself?” In regards to the failure to acknowledge varying shades of gray, Cornelius offers a receptive but measured nod. No further comment is voiced on the matter, but the gesture may as well suggest he agrees with her. The man proves far more interested in the next subject matter. "A difference of opinion?" It's a common tactic, and so it looks like de Wit hardly makes any effort to disguise his effort to buy time, to bridge the gap between the question asked and the answer provided, so as to minimise if not eliminate any unnecessary silence. "I was not contacted. Thankfully, I ask you questions without knowing the answers beforehand. Doctor Doom is a man who lets his..." Cornelius pauses, a momentary narrowing of his eyes. "...allies wander freely. It's not until you hit the limit of the leash that you realise he is there, watching." There is yet another pause, although this one lingers for but a second longer, during which the doctor tilts his head as though a curious bird. "Were /you/ pleased?" An answer for an answer, it seems. Alice lowers her head, though her eyes remain fixed on the psychiatrist. Her expression is thoughtful--as if the wheels turning behind those eyes were weighing the pros and cons of a decision to be made. There is a certain expectancy in the curve of her smile. “I was intrigued by the technology he possesses. With it, there’s a clearer route to what must be done, if the mutant population makes it needful. But...” She pauses. Perhaps for effect. Perhaps just to sort the words for what’s said next. “I cannot say that I was all that pleased with my host’s behavior. If you’re ever treated to a report of the daily minutes of our trip, I’d be curious to see just what was recorded.” There is a weary sigh; one might mistake it as a reaction to Alice's words, but Cornelius soon makes it clear it's more of a reaction to the information she brings to light. "You will either adapt to it or you will grow to hate it. Either way, it is something you will inevitably face on a frequent basis if you choose to cooperate with Victor van Doom." It is only now that de Wit elaborates: "Doctor Doom can offer what no one else can. In fact, I am yet to see him falter to deliver a promise." There is an evident reluctance painting the doctor's facial features, as he seemingly considers whether to say what else is on his mind. But it appears as though he considers not to, in the end. His gaze flicks back to Alice, after it was momentarily averted. "But his presence is powerfully toxic. It would take an impressive immune system to brave through that. Perhaps you develop a resistance for it, or perhaps it will overcome you in the end. All I know is that I did not have the strength to continue resisting him." The stalwart demeanour persists. It is perhaps hard to imagine this rough rock cliff of a man fail to resist Doctor Doom, or perhaps not. His hand extends to grab his own mug, which he then lets sit in his lap, for now. "What fascinates you about him? What part of him intimidates you?" “Intimidates. Such an odd choice of words,” Alice remarks, and now it is she who tilts her head, bird-like. “You and he have some similarities, I’ve noticed. A tendency to...mm, offer up potential insult of the sort that one sees coming from high self-esteem. An inability, perhaps, to recognize that others might be as capable?” The suggestion is lightly spoken, almost a jest, but still her eyes don’t shift away, nor does her smile change. “Victor van Doom does not intimidate me, Doctor. Quite the contrary, this visit convinced me that he and others in my acquaintance are similar enough that I needn’t worry about them at all. They’re valuable. Assets. Until they aren’t.” While Alice speaks, Cornelius de Wit decides to enjoy the tea he has brewed. Multiple sips are taken while his cool eyes rest on his would-be patient. After her last word, the mug clinks back unto the glass surface of the table. "Firstly, Miss Lambton, 'to intimidate' is a verb neutral enough to suggest varying levels and shades of distress. I did not mean to insult, but much like the telepaths and empaths who misconstrue my value of patient-doctor confidentiality, any word I had picked could have been easily misinterpreted as a suggestion that you have a weakness. A weakness that Doctor Doom exploits." Both hands gesture inwardly, towards the doctor himself. "Which is why I have made sure to note that I myself lack the constitution to tolerate him. You have succeeded where I have failed." Both of those hands then softly land on his lap, both with the weight of a feather. "But if you are certain that nothing of the man distresses you to any degree, you are well off to a good start. Anyone who manages to see past the obnoxious mask is well off to a very good start." Again, that very same reluctance taints Niels' visage. This time, however, he is bold enough to say what is on his mind. "He has an obsession with illusions. See through one, and you please him. Unfortunately, that also begets two more illusions to rise in its stead. Your visit in itself might have been a carefully staged act, from beginning to end. As you dispel one illusion after another, you continue to gain respect-- Except you also face increasingly more difficult challenges. Does that not discourage you?" “Then perhaps you might give him a message from me?” Alice is as trained in the art of body language as any psychiatrist; here she leans forward, both confiding in the man seated across from her and imparting to him how important this is. “He should speak to you about this need for illusion. If I choose to ally myself with someone, I will do so because I can trust them to be, in every way, honest with me.” She holds up a hand to forestall the correction that she expects to come. “I’m certain you and he both believe he’s been as honest as he needs to be. However, I have rapidly begun to feel as if I am in the middle of a child’s great game. I do not like that feeling, I do not appreciate that feeling, especially as I am in a position uphill from his, so to speak. If he wants to court my favor, he can do so by removing the mask and behaving as a sane, rational creature worthy of alliance, rather than a megalomaniacal despot invested in a vision of his own supremacy over all others.” With this delivered, the diplomat settles back in her chair and retrieves the mug of tea. “This is excellent, by the way.” The correction does not arrive when Alice expect it to. In fact, it seems as though Cornelius calmly observes Alice's words and body language as though she were a book, a professional detachment of a level that few psychiatrists can show. Before he even chooses to address the harsh words spoken, he offers a polite smile in response to the compliment. "Thank you," he replies. The smile dissipates. "Doctor Doom's actions are deeply rooted in honesty and rationality. He has a startling measure of integrity, a trait few men can boast nowadays. His strength lies not in deceit, but in presenting impossible truths. Men doubt him purely because of that, and in doing so deceive themselves without him needing to so much as lift a finger. The reason I tell you that is so you do not succumb to that same trap, which I fear you are at the risk of doing." Cornelius de Wit remains firmly seated in his chair, his back straight attentively. "Please, indulge my rhetoric. How do you think Doctor Doom conquered an entire country? Superior technology? Perhaps. Or perhaps the Hungarian force did not take a man clad in armour and a green medieval tunic seriously? Miss Lambton, the quickest way to dispelling his illusions is to simply not acknowledge them. Treat him as no more than an honest and rational man, one who wears no mask. Or you can think him a master manipulator, and you will invite a self-fulfilling prophecy right in." “Mm...” Alice’s vocalisation is given to her tea, the mug cradled in both hands and her gaze lowered--finally--to study the pattern of shadows at its bottom. “I think,” she says after some time spent simply contemplating, “we might be speaking at cross purposes, Doctor. You advise me to assume the honesty, while still fresh in my mind is the game of loss of control he played at while I was visiting. A game directed at /me/. What I am saying is that I in no way appreciate that behavior, however much it might have gained him elsewhere. It doesn’t make me underestimate him. It makes me very, very tired. I have so much on my plate already, as you understand. I don’t want to bother with it and I have the luxury of not needing to.” On the psychiatrist's end, there is prolonged silence. It is a silence during which he seemingly both examines Alice and gathers a response. "Any game of loss of control directed at you is only a game if you assume it to be. Assuming his honesty is an identical process, except one that requires more willpower. I can only reiterate what has already been said, Miss Lambton. You wish for an external solution-- Perhaps there is one. The solution I present - based on my past experience with him - is arguably the most reliable." He thins his lips and frees a sigh through his nostrils. "It is akin to letting a dog detect your fear." Is he comparing Doctor Doom to a pet? "You may expect a dog to conform to your views regardless of your position, but ultimately its attitude is based on your actions." Another pause slips in. "If at any point in time Doctor Doom states that he will protect you, you will become the safest woman on the globe. But even then, he will continue using your doubt until you stop showing it. Then the games will unravel on their own." “Then my options are rather limited, don’t you agree? Either I’m to assume honesty, in which case he behaved as an unstable despot incapable of seeing any view other than his own, or he was testing me...and I believe I’ve already made my opinion clear, on the matter of being tested. One supposes this means I’m failing,” Alice says, tone of voice thoughtful. “Because I have no doubt. He is or he isn’t, and I don’t believe I /need/ to decide, to know that behavior of that sort is detrimental to any type of professional relationship we might establish. One goes much further in the realm of politics when abiding by the golden rule, Doctor.” Here she pauses to smile at the psychiatrist. “You said you were incapable of tolerating it. And yet he recommended you quite highly.” There is a brief flash of confusion. Cornelius furrows his brows. "If I may inquire, what happened in Latveria that makes you condemn him so persistently?" Frustration? Doesn't look like it. If his rock-solid face transmits any signal, it's concern, even if it's hard to unearth. But there is only limited time to detect it, because soon his features shift to transmit weariness. "There are only two men who stand equal to Doctor Doom. Nikolai Romanovic - you have no doubt encountered him already - and myself. The difference is, I choose to stand away from the furnace, while the other man basks in the heat of its flames. I suspect you are in line to become the third confidant, if you dismiss his traps. In either case, my /unique/ relation to him is what makes him trust me with you." “His concern should be that I dismiss both the traps /and/ him. You see, Doctor? I’ve no interest in stepping over traps. I don’t /need/ to. He needs me rather more than I need him.” Alice shifts in her chair, lowering her dangling foot and setting the other leg over the opposite knee. With the tea set aside again, she laces her fingers and regards him much as he does her. Weariness. “Whether he cares to consider me an equal or not will do him no good if I’m walking away from our association. Poor Billings might scramble to appease and please him; I choose not to.” Notably, she has yet to answer his /question/. For a moment it seems she might not, until the diplomat sighs and unlaces her fingers long enough to gesture vaguely. “He was provoked into monologuing at me. It was tiresome.” "The trick is that the only traps that are there, are ones you choose to see." There is a decreasing measure of attention that Cornelius grants the issue of how to regard that monstrosity that is the ego of Victor van Doom. "Regardless of our disagreements, I must impart you with one more advice - never assume he needs you more than you need him. Or, at least, don't let him know that. Because even if that may be true, he will make sure to change that." Back to the questions. "What provoked him, and why did it offend you?" Alice’s lips curl in a way that suggests restraint. “I pointed out the possibility of a failure in his technology. He took offense. I did not.” She gestures again and this time there’s no mistaking it: the diplomat is dismissing the debate. “You are giving me a great deal of advice that seems to boil down to, “Never assume,” and yet what am I to do, with the evidence that’s been presented to me? You say he’s honest, and then in the next breath you admit he lays traps. We’re arguing in circles, Doctor. When I work closely with someone, I demand both honesty and trust, as I provide the same. This isn’t to say he can’t be valuable. But perhaps not to the extent that he’d wish to be.” "The opposite was admitted to, actually," comes the quick correction, this time. "I said there are no traps, only the ones you choose to perceive." But the psychiatrist relents in at least one area. "I agree, we have locked ourselves in a circle." His tone is increasingly attaining an almost parental air. "Your stability is genuinely impressive, Miss Lambton, but the flaw of such a trait is that you can find yourself hanging onto the wrong thread and unable to let go. I have repeatedly assured you that honesty and trust is something you can find in the man, but you have rejected that reality on multiple occasions throughout this conversation and persist to see him as a despot. You approach me with the tenacity of your profession, so allow me to appeal to that, instead - has Victor van Doom shown any reason, as a ruler, to be distrusted? Has he in any shape or form manipulated or upset the citizens of his nation?" It is now his turn to lift a hand in defence and in preparation of any protest. "To my knowledge, he has formed a reputable rapport with Sebastian Shaw, continues to indulge Norman Osborn despite his fickle nature, provides this country with support and treats his with an unprecedented level of transparency. His honesty-driven achievements outnumber a single incident of understandably upsetting the ego of a man whose technology is unmatched, a consequence to what is likely too direct an approach to any ruler." That hand slowly lowers. "I do not defend his actions. I have little desire or motivation to do so. But it seems you were personally distraught by his reaction, which is affecting your professional rapport." “Distraught,” Alice echoes, as if tasting the word. Once she has its shape on her tongue, she shakes her head. “That might be too strong a sentiment. Disappointed? I have a great deal of respect for him for what he’s done. However, I have also had to cope with the...vagaries of a wounded ego. It put me in a position of risk and while I had hoped the good Doctor might be above such things, as I prize stability in an ally...” One slim, elegant shoulder is raised and lowered; the gesture says that it isn’t important. “It does determine the course of our professional rapport, provided of course that changes don’t occur and I needn’t adapt,” she goes on with a smile. “You had asked how I found the trip. My answer is and remains that it helped me determine where I should classify the Doctor. I feel no regret for having made that determination.” The parental demeanour Cornelius had acquired gradually retreats from his features, only to be replaced with curiosity and eventually understanding. Whereas Alice might be keen to detach importance from her words, the man disagrees simply by addressing them. "Doctor Doom knows how to remove insolence, Miss Lambton, and it is not through mere words. The reason you faced a monologue and little else may as well allude to a fact that he protects you even from himself." There is a twitch in his lips, a beginning of a grin that's wiped clean immediately afterwards. "If anything, it /proved/ stability, rather than compromised it. This is the same man who had saved your life, the same man who - as I understand it - singles you out to display his unique resources long before anyone else. Finally, you and Mister Shaw are the only individuals on the planet who have been assigned private guardians on his behalf." A soft yet lengthy sigh escapes him. "After all that, it is hard to see instability or dishonesty in his actions. Lastly, Miss Lambton, it would be unfair to lynch him for an overreaction, when you yourself nearly stormed out of my office when we last met. Not that I hold any grudges - even if you hadn't e-mailed me, I would have still welcomed you warmly. That said, may I ask a somewhat unrelated question?" “Again, Doctor, you choose such incendiary language. You and he share some similarities in that way, it would seem.” Alice tilts her head, lifting one hand to gently rest fingertips against her temple with her elbow still resting on the arm of the chair. Her smile lingers long after his threatened grin has been disappeared. “I understand you likely have a certain set of instructions in dealing with me, and that’s fine. However, we shall have to agree to disagree on certain aspects of this conversation.” She lifts her other hand and curls her fingers at him, a gesture meant to invite or beckon. “But please do ask. If only because you make a fair point, in that I was sharper than I intended on our last visit.” Finally, Cornelius de Wit reclines in his chair, lifting his woven together fingers to his chest level. His cool eyes are set firmly upon Alice, while the doctor himself remains largely silent and observant. "I merely present facts, Miss Lambton. If you choose to interpret them as incendiary, it is a statement on how sensitive those matters are to you, which in turn helps me to better understand how I should approach communication with you." As another moment of silence shrouds him, his thumbs tap together lazily. Eventually, his unobtrusively harsh voice rises again. "And our communication will be made much easier if you forgo consistently making wrongful assumptions. You compare me to Doctor Doom, yet you share a far more important trait with him than linguistic habits. You treat me as one would a puzzle. You claim adaptability, yet shut off every channel of communication and attempt to ascertain dominance in this conversation. You treat our meeting as a meeting of lions. You see an agenda where there is none. /That/ is Victor van Doom." Thumbs tap together one more time before the interconnected fingers are lowered to his lap. "There is something else I wish to say on the matter, but first the question-- You mentioned earlier you wanted to see Doctor Doom without his mask. Why? I understand the importance of identity and the unfair advantages of anonymity in this age, but do you have a motivation beyond that? If you were in a room with him and he was without his armour, what would you tell him?" A faint smile shows itself. "I apologise, that is more than one question." Slowly, ever so slowly, Alice shakes her silver-streaked head. New amusement has crept into her smile. “I don’t know if you’re choosing your phrasing deliberately, Doctor, or if you genuinely believe what you’re saying. If you care to believe this is a sensitive topic, you may, but in the future I might avoid use of the word “lynch” when speaking to American clients. It is a word that has certain...incendiary connotations on this side of the pond. When in Rome, mm?” She continues, “And it is you, sir, who continue to accuse me of assumptions while making several of your own. Our communication will improve if you can resist the need to lecture me and attempt to change my opinion through...verbal browbeating. I will allow that your persistence might be a strength in a clinical setting but if your intention is to make me comfortable visiting your office, either as a patient or an acquaintance, you could do with a little less time spent pointing out exactly how I am wrong in my perceptions of the monarch of Latveria. I /hope/ you are not meeting me simply to play a commercial advertisement for him but it’s certainly coming across that way.” With that, the woman rises smoothly to her feet. Her hand extends towards the man, inviting a shake. “As to your question, I much prefer interacting with people rather than masks. I would say, simply, thank you for trusting me. Now, I believe I’ve taken enough of your time, Doctor.” Cornelius de Wit retains the impossibility to read his visage throughout the woman's speech. There is nary a shift in his facial features, save for perhaps the occasional tensing of muscles to signal a momentary increase in concentration. All in all, the doctor remains unmoving in his seat until the diplomat rises from her chair. It is only then that he rises from his seat, looking into the woman's eyes with his own cold irises, two wells of past experiences that seem bottomless. The invitation for a handshake is ignored. Cornelius wanders towards the door, hands burrowed into the pockets of his grey suit trousers. "So, 'lynching' has incendiary connotations here," he persists. "What you're trying to say, then, is that it is indeed a sensitive topic to American clientele? In your effort to deny my words, you support them. Furthermore, Miss Lambton, /you/ are British, which means it's not the word itself you took offence to." Once at the door, he turns to face Alice. It is now that his face can be easily read, a measure of irritation mixed with tired disappointment. "Throughout my long years of practice, I've been insulted in a myriad of ways. I had been both physically assaulted and verbally abused. I am growing old, however, and my patience for kindergarten-level projection has unfortunately spread very thin." A hand rises and falls unto the door knob. "There is a difference between taking my time and wasting it." When he opens the door, he politely steps to the side; despite the sterile harshness of his words, his tone remains level and free from emotion, barring unreadable traces that paint his inflections. "This has clearly been a mistake. I have indulged Doctor Doom in hopes that I may be able to cooperate with him again, but you've reminded me what company he likes to keep. My verdict remains that you two will make stellar allies." A soft gesture with the palm facing upward points to the exit. "I, however, no longer wish to involve myself with either of you, even if I must thank you. You have helped me realise something crucially important today, Miss Lambton. I am not compatible with Doctor Doom /or/ his allies." Already standing, it becomes a simple matter to follow the man to the door. Alice is listening throughout, saying nothing. Her smile, notably, has faded but the look on her face is neither chastened nor angry. More than anything else, raised eyebrows and a slight purse to thin lips transmit an air of thoughtfulness--an impression that only grows stronger when she stops in the doorway to turn and face him. He is studied in a way probably not unlike those subjects who’ve given themselves up to laboratories halfway across the world. The craggy face, the tired eyes, even the hand he raises with its time-worn palm and elegant fingers. Then she nods, once. “Thank you, Doctor.” The diplomat turns to go, but pauses again. Just long enough to share a last remark of, “You’ll find, in public record, that I am in fact American. My father dedicated his life to military service.” And then her silvering head turns, followed a second later by shoulder and torso, directing her out into the hallway and from there, the world at large.