Post by The Doctor on Sept 16, 2011 8:55:12 GMT -5
"Now, then, Mister Smith, how are we feeling?"
The Chief Psychiatrist of the Cardiff Wellness Center, one Doctor Krennim, needed a particularly deep reserve of patience today, as he was dealing with a thoroughly enigmatic, and often infuriating subject. The man in question, a young looking chap who was even now sprawled in one of the easy chairs, his eyes glittering with scarsely focused goodwill towards all around and messy brown hair hanging across his brow, had been brought in kicking and screaming about two months ago. No identification, and no matches on fingerprints, dental... they had even tried finding a genetic match in a last-ditch attempt to identify him. All attempts to drag a name, or some clue of the bloke's identity, had met with utter and abject failure, and finally they had come to realize that this young man simply didn't know it... some form of amnesia, clearly. Lacking any alternative, they slapped the most appropriate monicker to suit the situation; John Smith. Fortunately, the patient had seemed strangely pleased wtih the choice, almost leading his caregivers to wonder whether that might indeed be his real name.
Neurological had been scheduled for a week from now, and at this point Krennim could not wait; the bizzare young man's erratic behavior and frequent mood swings had been punctuated by constant and determined attempts to escape the institution.
And so the psychiatrist was trying to make this newest patient of his feel more at home, thinking that if he created a more positive environment, the chap would stop trying to flee through the ventilation shafts. Though Krennim had plans for the evening- he was even now dressed in his best suit for the occasion- he had decided one last visit couldn't hurt.
"Oh, just fine," the patient chirped, peering up at the curiously dressed man with raised brows; "...um, who're you again?"
"Now, now, boy," the psychiatrist replied, trying to smile in a benevolent manner. This was a topic they covered often. "We have covered this on many an occasion; I am your psychiatrist, Doctor Charles Frennim... you are my patient, remember?"
"Really. You're... the doctor?" Smith frowned a little, eyes flickering back and forth. "No, that doesn't seem right at all..."
This had also been a common topic, but Frennim kept his voice patient, polite, the same small smile on his face; "I assure you, Mister Smith, it is the absolute truth."
"Right!" The patient's initial suspicion was gone in a flash, replaced by a wide, friendly smile; Smith even extended a hand, offering a shake. "You're the doctor, and I'm the patient! Pleased to meet you, Doctor, put 'er there!" Rather than wait and see if the Psychiatrist would respond, he took the elder-looking man's hand and gave it a vigorous shake, clasping it at the wrist in a brotherly fashion. "Really, just want to say what a wonderous thing it is you're doing here, subjugating and seperating the abnormal aspects of society and subjecting them to a regiment of drugs that radically alter basic brain chemistry over prolonged exposure with little or no effort to properly study the long term effects, absolutely marvelous!
The psychiatrist's smile vanished as if by magic; this was a new topic. "Um... well, I wouldn't exactly put it like that..."
"Oh, come on now, doctor, surely you must see the sheer brilliance of utilizing a series of simply chemical modifications as opposed to the more complicated and, let's face it, tedious process of direct psychological reconditioning!" The young man's hands began to move back and forth, his voice adopting a sing-song quality as he yammered on cheerfully; "They speak too loud, give them drugs. They move too much, give them drugs. They cry, give them drugs, they rage, give them drugs... tell me, d'you get a group discount from the pharmecutical companies, or d'you just buy it in such bulk because it's always fun to have spares?"
Forcefully yanking his arm from the other man's enthusiastic grip, the psychiatrist's good humor had all but vanished now, a slight scowl on his face as he eyed the patient. He seemed to be trying to decide whether he was being mocked, or if Smith genuinely meant his praise in some deluded way. The younger man's wide, earnest eyes and sunny smile certainly were suggesting the latter, and though Frennim opened his mouth to utter a reply several times, he finally had to give up, muttering under his breath and giving the patient a curt nod before scuttling towards the safety and comfort of the outside world.
For his part, Smith's hand remained clutched in a tight fist as he sat back, smile still firmly in place right up until the Psychiatrist had vanished from sight; then his deliberately distant, hazy expression was gone, replaced with a brief roll of his eyes and grimace of concentration. Turning his dark eyes downwards, Smith curled up into a ball and hid his fist from the rest of the room, clearing his throat and trying to calm his pounding heart as he slowly opened his fingers to reveal... a cufflink. normally they were more careful about bringing such things in here, but apparently Frennim's desire for fashion trumped his caution. Licking his lips and glancing about again to ensure he wasn't being watched, Smith took the cufflink between his teeth and began to tug and twist, slowly bending the thin metal spire...
A few minutes later, he was bent over one of the exits to the high security wing, occasionally dropping to one knee as he shifted and twisted the little cufflink all about the broad, old lock that kept the door sealed shut. He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been standing here for... and quite frankly, he didn't care, as he was growing increasingly frustrated with the door's refusal to yield to his magnificence... he was certain he was good at this... pretty certain, anyway...
"Come on... stupid... insipid little... rusty lock..."
"Trying to check out again, Mister Smith?"
Whirling around, a deer-in-the-headlights look plastered all over his face, the young-looking man winced at the sight before him; three of the hospital's orderlies. All very large; all very solid; all looking rather displeased. The one in the center, the absolute giant who had first spoken, was staring patiently at the caught fugitive, arms folded across his barrel of a chest, shaved head gleaming in the florescent lighting. Smith and this particularly orderly, Poleski, had already clashed at least four times this week- the last incident being when Poleski had literally hauled the patient, by the back of his collar, back inside through the fifth-story window Smith had been trying to climb out of. That little incident was the reason he'd been moved to the 'Bars On Every Surface' section of the building.
"Right, um..." Clearing his throat, Smith rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, holding up the cufflink with his other hand as if admitting guilt. "I know this probably looks bad, me standing here, apparent tool of escape clutched in my hands, but I promise, this isn't what it appears to be, and I have a most excellent reason for all of this, really brilliant, wraps this whole thing up in a neat little bow and mails it home." Hands clasped in front of him, every inch the scolded schoolboy, Smith's eyes were firmly set on the ground, not meeting the gazes of the beefy asylum staff who were eyeing him carefully. "Now, you see, I was planning to come straight to you with the cufflink, but I was waylaid when I saw a bit of dirt stuck in the lock, and-"
In a sudden flurry of movement, Smith whirled back around and attacked the lock with renewed desperation; so sudden was his movement, and so audacious his straightforward attempt, the orderlies were actually caught off guard for a few seconds. In that time, the lock clicked and the bolt unlatched; a hard yank swung open the door, and John was sprinting down the security hall, arms and legs pumping furiously as he panted and gasped like a man unaccustomed to his own lungs... which was surprisingly accurate. Behind him, shouts of alarm and warning filled the air as he heard the hard slap of shoes on the tiled floor echoing through the corridor, spurring him faster, faster... and then, his momentum was broken as another pair of orderlies appeared, this time from side doors towards the far end of the corridor... right in Smith's path. Teeth gritting, the desperate patient only sprinted faster, tucking in his arms and thinking perhaps to slam right past them. He could remember faintly having done dashing things like that before, letting nothing stop him, never allowing obstacles, threats, peril to slow his course, and he would not allow that to change, not for a pair of overgrown gorillas with fancy white tunics... he was mighty... he was a hero... he was the unstoppable force, the oncoming storm...
He kept telling himself this right until he collided with the pair of orderlies... and bounced right off them.
Gasping for breath, the solid impact more than enough to knock him half senseless, Smith collapsed and just lay there for a long moment, rolling onto his side and curling up. The headache was back tenfold, pounding at his temples with enough force to leave him whimpering, and his bloodshot eyes squeezed shut as if trying to banish the pain. It proved to be the least of his problems, though, and as he felt strong hands close around his wrists and chest, shoving him flat on his back, he realized he had let himself be distracted for far too long. Already the orderlies were calling for a sedative, and their pleas were only accentuated as their pinned prisoner suddenly burst into explosive motion, spittle flying from his lips as he screamed towards the ceiling.
"No!"[/i] he bellowed, rage and pleas mingling in his voice as he thrashed and squirmed on the ground, pinned beneath three frustrated, extremely irritated orderlies, his face flushed and eyes narrowed to slits. "Please! I don't belong here! I have to get out! Have to get out!"[/i] The pinprick of the needle only made him bellow all the louder, at first, almost throwing one of the orderlies off his arm as his struggles reached new heights... but then the heavy sedative began to kick in, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, muscles slowly relaxing, body slumping back to the ground.
"I... I don't... no..." Even as his mind began to drift and his vision darkened, Smith's last thoughts filtered through his subconscious, a single image bringing him comfort... the same, mysterious blue box that had haunted his dreams for these long, lonely nights.
The Chief Psychiatrist of the Cardiff Wellness Center, one Doctor Krennim, needed a particularly deep reserve of patience today, as he was dealing with a thoroughly enigmatic, and often infuriating subject. The man in question, a young looking chap who was even now sprawled in one of the easy chairs, his eyes glittering with scarsely focused goodwill towards all around and messy brown hair hanging across his brow, had been brought in kicking and screaming about two months ago. No identification, and no matches on fingerprints, dental... they had even tried finding a genetic match in a last-ditch attempt to identify him. All attempts to drag a name, or some clue of the bloke's identity, had met with utter and abject failure, and finally they had come to realize that this young man simply didn't know it... some form of amnesia, clearly. Lacking any alternative, they slapped the most appropriate monicker to suit the situation; John Smith. Fortunately, the patient had seemed strangely pleased wtih the choice, almost leading his caregivers to wonder whether that might indeed be his real name.
Neurological had been scheduled for a week from now, and at this point Krennim could not wait; the bizzare young man's erratic behavior and frequent mood swings had been punctuated by constant and determined attempts to escape the institution.
And so the psychiatrist was trying to make this newest patient of his feel more at home, thinking that if he created a more positive environment, the chap would stop trying to flee through the ventilation shafts. Though Krennim had plans for the evening- he was even now dressed in his best suit for the occasion- he had decided one last visit couldn't hurt.
"Oh, just fine," the patient chirped, peering up at the curiously dressed man with raised brows; "...um, who're you again?"
"Now, now, boy," the psychiatrist replied, trying to smile in a benevolent manner. This was a topic they covered often. "We have covered this on many an occasion; I am your psychiatrist, Doctor Charles Frennim... you are my patient, remember?"
"Really. You're... the doctor?" Smith frowned a little, eyes flickering back and forth. "No, that doesn't seem right at all..."
This had also been a common topic, but Frennim kept his voice patient, polite, the same small smile on his face; "I assure you, Mister Smith, it is the absolute truth."
"Right!" The patient's initial suspicion was gone in a flash, replaced by a wide, friendly smile; Smith even extended a hand, offering a shake. "You're the doctor, and I'm the patient! Pleased to meet you, Doctor, put 'er there!" Rather than wait and see if the Psychiatrist would respond, he took the elder-looking man's hand and gave it a vigorous shake, clasping it at the wrist in a brotherly fashion. "Really, just want to say what a wonderous thing it is you're doing here, subjugating and seperating the abnormal aspects of society and subjecting them to a regiment of drugs that radically alter basic brain chemistry over prolonged exposure with little or no effort to properly study the long term effects, absolutely marvelous!
The psychiatrist's smile vanished as if by magic; this was a new topic. "Um... well, I wouldn't exactly put it like that..."
"Oh, come on now, doctor, surely you must see the sheer brilliance of utilizing a series of simply chemical modifications as opposed to the more complicated and, let's face it, tedious process of direct psychological reconditioning!" The young man's hands began to move back and forth, his voice adopting a sing-song quality as he yammered on cheerfully; "They speak too loud, give them drugs. They move too much, give them drugs. They cry, give them drugs, they rage, give them drugs... tell me, d'you get a group discount from the pharmecutical companies, or d'you just buy it in such bulk because it's always fun to have spares?"
Forcefully yanking his arm from the other man's enthusiastic grip, the psychiatrist's good humor had all but vanished now, a slight scowl on his face as he eyed the patient. He seemed to be trying to decide whether he was being mocked, or if Smith genuinely meant his praise in some deluded way. The younger man's wide, earnest eyes and sunny smile certainly were suggesting the latter, and though Frennim opened his mouth to utter a reply several times, he finally had to give up, muttering under his breath and giving the patient a curt nod before scuttling towards the safety and comfort of the outside world.
For his part, Smith's hand remained clutched in a tight fist as he sat back, smile still firmly in place right up until the Psychiatrist had vanished from sight; then his deliberately distant, hazy expression was gone, replaced with a brief roll of his eyes and grimace of concentration. Turning his dark eyes downwards, Smith curled up into a ball and hid his fist from the rest of the room, clearing his throat and trying to calm his pounding heart as he slowly opened his fingers to reveal... a cufflink. normally they were more careful about bringing such things in here, but apparently Frennim's desire for fashion trumped his caution. Licking his lips and glancing about again to ensure he wasn't being watched, Smith took the cufflink between his teeth and began to tug and twist, slowly bending the thin metal spire...
A few minutes later, he was bent over one of the exits to the high security wing, occasionally dropping to one knee as he shifted and twisted the little cufflink all about the broad, old lock that kept the door sealed shut. He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been standing here for... and quite frankly, he didn't care, as he was growing increasingly frustrated with the door's refusal to yield to his magnificence... he was certain he was good at this... pretty certain, anyway...
"Come on... stupid... insipid little... rusty lock..."
"Trying to check out again, Mister Smith?"
Whirling around, a deer-in-the-headlights look plastered all over his face, the young-looking man winced at the sight before him; three of the hospital's orderlies. All very large; all very solid; all looking rather displeased. The one in the center, the absolute giant who had first spoken, was staring patiently at the caught fugitive, arms folded across his barrel of a chest, shaved head gleaming in the florescent lighting. Smith and this particularly orderly, Poleski, had already clashed at least four times this week- the last incident being when Poleski had literally hauled the patient, by the back of his collar, back inside through the fifth-story window Smith had been trying to climb out of. That little incident was the reason he'd been moved to the 'Bars On Every Surface' section of the building.
"Right, um..." Clearing his throat, Smith rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, holding up the cufflink with his other hand as if admitting guilt. "I know this probably looks bad, me standing here, apparent tool of escape clutched in my hands, but I promise, this isn't what it appears to be, and I have a most excellent reason for all of this, really brilliant, wraps this whole thing up in a neat little bow and mails it home." Hands clasped in front of him, every inch the scolded schoolboy, Smith's eyes were firmly set on the ground, not meeting the gazes of the beefy asylum staff who were eyeing him carefully. "Now, you see, I was planning to come straight to you with the cufflink, but I was waylaid when I saw a bit of dirt stuck in the lock, and-"
In a sudden flurry of movement, Smith whirled back around and attacked the lock with renewed desperation; so sudden was his movement, and so audacious his straightforward attempt, the orderlies were actually caught off guard for a few seconds. In that time, the lock clicked and the bolt unlatched; a hard yank swung open the door, and John was sprinting down the security hall, arms and legs pumping furiously as he panted and gasped like a man unaccustomed to his own lungs... which was surprisingly accurate. Behind him, shouts of alarm and warning filled the air as he heard the hard slap of shoes on the tiled floor echoing through the corridor, spurring him faster, faster... and then, his momentum was broken as another pair of orderlies appeared, this time from side doors towards the far end of the corridor... right in Smith's path. Teeth gritting, the desperate patient only sprinted faster, tucking in his arms and thinking perhaps to slam right past them. He could remember faintly having done dashing things like that before, letting nothing stop him, never allowing obstacles, threats, peril to slow his course, and he would not allow that to change, not for a pair of overgrown gorillas with fancy white tunics... he was mighty... he was a hero... he was the unstoppable force, the oncoming storm...
He kept telling himself this right until he collided with the pair of orderlies... and bounced right off them.
Gasping for breath, the solid impact more than enough to knock him half senseless, Smith collapsed and just lay there for a long moment, rolling onto his side and curling up. The headache was back tenfold, pounding at his temples with enough force to leave him whimpering, and his bloodshot eyes squeezed shut as if trying to banish the pain. It proved to be the least of his problems, though, and as he felt strong hands close around his wrists and chest, shoving him flat on his back, he realized he had let himself be distracted for far too long. Already the orderlies were calling for a sedative, and their pleas were only accentuated as their pinned prisoner suddenly burst into explosive motion, spittle flying from his lips as he screamed towards the ceiling.
"No!"[/i] he bellowed, rage and pleas mingling in his voice as he thrashed and squirmed on the ground, pinned beneath three frustrated, extremely irritated orderlies, his face flushed and eyes narrowed to slits. "Please! I don't belong here! I have to get out! Have to get out!"[/i] The pinprick of the needle only made him bellow all the louder, at first, almost throwing one of the orderlies off his arm as his struggles reached new heights... but then the heavy sedative began to kick in, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, muscles slowly relaxing, body slumping back to the ground.
"I... I don't... no..." Even as his mind began to drift and his vision darkened, Smith's last thoughts filtered through his subconscious, a single image bringing him comfort... the same, mysterious blue box that had haunted his dreams for these long, lonely nights.