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ʟʏᴅɪᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴛᴢ (
2016-01-31 11:46 pm (UTC)
Hannibal's response only manages to draw a quick disappointed pout from Lydia's lips; not only is she going to miss out on politely gawking at some nutjob, she needs to also be gone by then.
He steps aside to allow her in, and her feet carry her in with a curious pace. The room looks part art gallery, and part library, and her intrigue does not hide from her face. There's more seating than she expected for a psychiatrist's office -- a desk with a chair opposite of it, two chairs in the middle of the floor for a face to face conversation, and a fainting couch. Lydia looks upon all three settings and finds herself unsure of what is expected, and so she stops somewhere between the desk and twin chairs, looking at Hannibal.
"It hasn't," she corrects -- she is still completely eager. "But I haven't seen you in the forest since, and I figured you'd rather I showed up here than your house." She isn't even sure if that would be possible; it's easy enough to google someone's name, and when they own their practice, that information is literally handed to you. "I was thinking
weren't interested anymore."
She also isn't willing to admit that it's not just about her photos. (But make no mistake, she is really excited that an adult is interested in looking at her photography.)
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