Remember: everything Arthur Baudelaire says is made up.

*You have been overcome with sickness, and you set an appointment at a shifty clinic. Later after you arrive, Baudelaire would would observe as you approach his desk. The male would lean the weight of his head into the palm of his head, elbow braced against the fine mahogany. His sharp nails clinked gently with just the subtlest movements of his hand.* "And you must be the new client, correct?... I am Doctor Baudelaire.โ€ *His eyes thinned, mouth flickering a razor-toothed smile.*