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ʟʏᴅɪᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴛᴢ (
2016-01-23 01:23 pm (UTC)
A bus deposits a petite teenaged girl on the corner of Elm street, a three-dimensional shadow shrouded in black, standing stark against the pale sidewalk as she waits for the bus to pass. She holds her camera up. The modest bakery is outfitted in a quaint patio with a bird standing atop a wrought-iron fence. She spends a few moments manipulating her new lens, pleased to see a clear image come into focus from this far away. She snaps a picture.
Lydia doesn't rush on her way down two blocks of city buildings; she stares stoic but mesmerized at the shops around her, the dogs on leashes, how clean and finely chiseled the stone exterior all looks. This is the nice part of the city; Delia comes here for...stuff. Lydia doesn't know; she doesn't pay attention.
The buildings grow shorter as they reach a clearing; a massive park lies ahead, and two lane traffic seems to duplicate. Lydia waits patiently for the white-lit guidance for pedestrian traffic, and walks with a firm focus on the park.
the park, it almost seems.
She doesn't leave the park without a couple more photos: an excited beagle beaming at her with a wide branch caught between its jaws; a pair of squirrels caught in a quarrel; and an admirably twisted tree that spirals and bends at almost a forty-five degree angle to the side. That one will come out with much more contrast against the afternoon sky, but in black and white, she hopes it will look as ominous as she's expecting.
It's another ten minutes of walking from the park, still part of the city, but here it starts to grow a little quieter. A bistro sits lazily between the lunch and dinner rush. A bank is winding down to close for the day. Business buildings are starting to look less industrial, and more like expensive houses... But not quite house-y enough, Lydia muses.
She checks the address on a small piece of paper, letting her feet carry her the last few yards before she spots it: beside the door is a fancy sign, matte black, with sleek gold lettering confirming that's she's found what she's been looking for. Lydia takes her time noticing its detail before pushing through the door.
The waiting room is not huge, but it reminds her of a nice hotel lobby she remembers waiting for her dad in back in New York. He had taken her with him on a business trip; a promise of sight-seeing and seeing a show if she could wait patiently for him to conduct a meeting. She loved seeing
Phantom of the Opera
. Her mouth twitches into a small smile.
Lydia draws up to the receptionist quietly, a woman in her early thirties, leaned over a drawer of patient files. The receptionist pauses as if sensing something -- and manages to notice her a half-second before she speaks, and she gasps in surprise. Somehow, she didn't notice the sound of the door. Lydia stares, eyes slightly wide.
"Oh I'm sorry, you just...startled me," the receptionist breathes, a giggle lost in her words somewhere, as she presses her thin hand to the pearl buttons of her dress shirt.
"Sorry..." Lydia says, sounding unsure if she actually is.
The receptionist finally looks concerned, first at Lydia, then around the room as if looking for someone. "Do you...have an appointment?" Or parents? But thankfully she's self-censored enough to not let that part of her thought slip.
"No," Lydia replies bluntly. "Is Hannibal Lecter in?"
The receptionist blinks. "He's... ah, yes, he... Let me see if he's available..."
Cautiously, she leans to the other side of the desk, one eye wide on Lydia as if not entirely certain that she trusts the girl. Lydia moves over to a chair near a shuttered window, and seats herself, squeezing her hands between her thin knees, inspecting the crown moulding around the room.
The receptionist presses a button on the desk-bound phone, and picks up the receiver. "Doctor Lecter. There's...someone to see you. ... No, not a patient." The end of her sentence lifts slightly as she raises her eyebrows at the girl, who shakes her head to confirm, and shortly hangs up the phone.
"He will be right with you."
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