Point the finger, slow to understand... [Closed]

[unsoundmind]

Characters: Hojo and Szayel.
Content: The new doctor meets the grumpier of the old ones.
Setting: The Amestris' infirmary.
Time: At the end of the Antrim thing, or in the air before the Art show.
Warnings: Hojo. And Szayel. =|

Comments

[luminanomnom]

In many ways, Szayel had been glad of the empty infirmary when he'd arrived. For one thing, it would have been harder to make an entrance with that tasteless buffoon in tow. First impressions mattered. Szayel would have to work with people in the infirmary, so it was important he made the right ones.

Which was why he looked his very best today, dressed in his usual white.

He was almost disappointed, when he entered, to find an elderly man hunched over paperwork. Someone young and fit was too much to ask, apparently.

"Well, this is disappointing."

[unsoundmind]

Professor Hojo didn't look up quickly when the Infimary was entered and instead took his sweet time. His social graces were at least as fine as his bedside manner and, where possible, he preferred to look like he was in charge, not rushed and definitely unhurried.

The drawl of a voice made him raise his eyebrow before he raised his head, and when he did, it stayed there. He dearly hoped that this was a visitor from one of the other ships and not a patient.

"Yes?" He said tersely, entirely ignoring the comment.

He didn't care what the stranger considered a disappointment.

[luminanomnom]

Szayel looked, slowly, around the infirmary. Clearly the old man worked here, so there was no point in asking that question. Unless he was some demented old man who had wandered in for some quiet time to do his paperwork.

He got the impression he was going to miss the facilities back home.

"I shall require a desk," he said, addressing the grumpy looking old man. Still, at least he was looking at Szayel now.

[unsoundmind]

Hojo looked hard at him and his expression very much suggested that he thought he was an idiot. Well, to Hojo, most everybody could be considered an idiot in the shadow of his exceptional intellect and even more terrifying ego.

"This Infimary is designed to employ four doctors," he said, scrutinising what was apparently a new recruit. "There are currently two."

He indicated the empty desk to the far side of the room. It was smaller than the workspace that had been allocated to either himself or Ari, but it really was a case of first come, first nabs-the-space.

"That desk is free," he told him. "That one is Doctor Emory's. I advise against encroaching on our space, but given that Doctor Chase and Doctor Willow no longer work here, I'm sure you can find an adequate portion of your own."

And, to be frank, he didn't care too much if he didn't.