Thread: Standing Appointment - Hollow x Praxis

Dr. Claire Hannigan had only been able to offer him a blank stare for the first few seconds, squinting through her confusion and trying so suss out exactly what was going on. Her initial reaction had been to think it was a prank. Some well-groomed, handsome friend of Brandon's come up to...what, screw with her? A well-intentioned poke to the ribs that came off more like an unwanted annoyance. Brandon was good at those. And on a Monday, no less. That's funny. She replied, though her words held not a shred of even incidental appreciation for the joke. She didn't have a five o'clock. On Monday or any other day during the week. Staying Downtown later than five meant finding herself shoulder to shoulder with what felt like the entire city's population on their trek home. Elbowing her way through crowds to catch the L train which only ran so far as Midtown. Still another two connections until she'd be safe in the Upper West Side. She'd been too lost in her own irritation to notice he'd been holding his phone screen at her for what felt like a very long time. It didn't click. Not at first. She only stared with that same expression of impatient confusion until he filled in the blanks for her. Brandon had played a part, albeit an unintentional one. She'd figured out the broad strokes of his re-telling before he'd finished. He brushed passed her and made himself at home in her cozy, dimly-lit office. Reaching over and behind her desk he grabbed at the bottle. She'd nearly forgotten about it. Another joke from Brandon on the day she'd switched offices. In case of Emergency, tip over Glass the note had said. That had been funny. Sort of. Seeing this strange new character with his crisply pressed suit and immaculate coif of dark hair handle it so familiarly only served to anger her further. She remained calm, exhaling through her nose and joining him, being sure to close the door behind her. She circled around her desk and sat, tenting her fingers and eyeing him mutely while he continued. Are you finished? Claire asked, when his attention seemed to drift largely elsewhere. He gave an expression of boyish desperation while he drank, one so well affected it sent a chill up her spine. First, let me start by saying that I appreciate your efforts. Clearly you've been following me for some time. Enough time to realize I'm careless enough. I've never been mugged. Can you believe that? In this city, and I've never been mugged... She tilted her head, still regarding him with a snake-like fixation in her eyes. You've seen where I live. You've even broken into my condo. All without me noticing. It's impressive. An Offender , indeed. She let her attention drift to the full glass he'd placed in front of her and continued. And you decided on a family heirloom to take. To... convince me to help you, as you put it. You've either read up on the subject and you're mimicking the behavior of a psychopath, leaning forward then, lids hardly moving or it's a miracle you've survived this long without being put down. Clair paused a moment to let her opinion sink in. But the fact that you think that you can blackmail me into helping you shows me that you both fail to understand and to have any respect for my field of work. And I'm sure someone who's either read or had read the details of whatever issues you possess, can understand that this -this thing that I do, is a relationship . I don't have the answers to any given question. I can only put forth as much as my patients are willing to allow. And the same goes in their direction. I truly believe that given a strong enough will -with the right tools, a person truly can heal from what has wounded them. Exhaling, she tilted her head again, this time favoring him with something like compassion. And you do seem wounded. And under the right circumstances...I would help you. Her pitch dropped and the young woman seemed to snap out of trance she had been in. Pulling a leather binder from a side drawer she opened to the current date and moved as though to notate something. Pawn the necklace, if you want. From what I'm told sentimentality retains very little of it's initial value. How would Friday be? Look, you see? That'll be you. Mr. X, Fridays at 4pm. If you don't show or you're being tortured by Cartel members or something, I can still use you for a long weekend. Mutually beneficial, you see? As for your... steez -whatever that is, there are several free-clinics in this neighborhood that will gladly keep your name off of their books as well. Then, finally, she offered him a humorless smile, smokey eyes glittering at him from behind the width of her desk. With the appointment made she closed the binder and went about gathering her things as she had been before he'd interrupted her. Without looking in his direction she issued one final stipulation Remember. This is a two-way street. I can't help the hopeless. Without hesitation she tossed the contents of the small glass into a desk-side trash bin. Shouldering two leather bags she stood and joined him on the patient's side of the desk. Friday. Four. We can call it a standing appointment, for now.