CIAN
the eye
Cian hardly glances up. Despite the urgency with which Falke made this appointment, the Eye seems utterly engrossed with the newspaper before him. Absently he scratches just below his nose, puffing out a breath of air as if having just found something he read amusing.
"Have a seat, doctor." His voice is dusty and dry, and though he hasn't looked up once, there's no mistaking the fact hat nothing slips by his attention. "Take a load of that hip of yours." It's almost a kind tone of tone.
Almost.
Folding the paper deliberately, Cian eyes the man before him with a piercing denim gaze before speaking. "You're here to tell me that Finn has lost himself in ... all of this." The Eye vaguely gestures with a hand. "And that I ought to pull him back. Then I ask how you know, and you tell me what Finn told Doctor Hart, and then you start asking the real questions." This is all said in one unhurried breath.
"Is that about the measure of it?"
"Have a seat, doctor." His voice is dusty and dry, and though he hasn't looked up once, there's no mistaking the fact hat nothing slips by his attention. "Take a load of that hip of yours." It's almost a kind tone of tone.
Almost.
Folding the paper deliberately, Cian eyes the man before him with a piercing denim gaze before speaking. "You're here to tell me that Finn has lost himself in ... all of this." The Eye vaguely gestures with a hand. "And that I ought to pull him back. Then I ask how you know, and you tell me what Finn told Doctor Hart, and then you start asking the real questions." This is all said in one unhurried breath.
"Is that about the measure of it?"
