Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 21, 2009 2:48:18 GMT -5
Ya know, there was this guy, long time back, who said 'Great Minds Think Alike' which is ya know a pretty cool concept overall. Maybe not Quite on the same level as the Bread an Butter Wars, but still an interesting little tidbit to mull over in the hours before dawn.
Of course, that was Mortals who thought it up. Sane mortals no less. I don't think I've even ever met two Malks who thought even Close to each other.
Side effect of being batshit probably.
So, if we don't think alike, does that mean we aren't great minds? That kinda skews the whole thing where it sounds like the only way to be smart is to conform...not really my thing. Still a fun thing to consider while you're sittin on the John, spendin four hours to see if you can drop anything, only to remember that vampires don't actually Do that. Get it? Do? Hehehe. I crack myself up sometimes.
Anyways, its Tuesday. You know what that means right? Well of course you do, it means that its the day after the day after the day after the the most awesome night of the week. Well that, an time for my head shrinkin session.
Accordin to the Doughboy, us Malks like hanging out in Asylums. Aparently theres just something about Avocado colored walls that draws crazy vampires like gadflies...well that, and its fun to hand out with other crazy people. Specially people you can eat if you get bored. Tuesdays though, Tuesdays are when the great state of Washington gives its mental patients their heart to hearts with their doctors. Really awesome of them really.
So, naturally, I gotta come crash the party. After all, I'm a mental patient myself. Had some of my favorite meals offa headshrinkers. Always good for a laugh. Well except for the ones that don't get the joke an just go home to shoot themselves...and their dogs. Not sure why they shoot their dogs, but they do. Can't really blame ehm though.
Who wants to leave your pet in the hands of Neighbors? Some kinda sick freak is who.
I ever die, I got instructions in my will to release Gigi back into the wild if I get ashed myself. All they gotta do is get past her to read it!
Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, head shrinkin time.
Now, around these here parts, Ravencroft works as the primary nuthouse for the city, and surrounding counties. Which means a pretty high number of almonds...err...patients. So, gettin a session with a doc is fairly simple.
Step one involves bouncing my way over the wall, and slippin into the holding ares. Step two involves picking my favorite supposed catatonic and stuffin him in an AC vent for a few hours. Step three involves changing into his duds and wrapping up with some cotton to cover the scars and such. Good thing he was a burn victom too actually...Easy Squeazy Lemon Peasy. An remember, you can save loads of money by switching to Geico!
After a time, the numbnut guards come in, an 'help' me into a wheelchair, moving me through the halls and into the main rooms, where the last cases of the night are wrappin up, leavin me an my current plaything alone for the night. Little name plate thingy on desk says his name is Thomas...something. Not gonna bother pronouncing it. Guess I'll just call him Tommy Boy. I miss Chris Farley.
I make a good show o' stayin slumped in the chair while I take in the office, the neatly dressed guy sitting across from me. Guy looks kinda familar. Like maybe if he was wearin tights he'd remind me o' someone else...weird.
I give him a goofy 'patient is a Rainman' smile, an speak out, making my voice vacant, but not disguisin the roughness of it.
"Didja Mommy name you after the Tank Engine? Tank Engines go WhooWhoo."
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 21, 2009 3:15:02 GMT -5
The asylum is always bustling on Tuesday nights. Well, not so much bustling as barely living. It’s a pity really. So many people living in one giant home, and yet the vast majority of the time, it feels dead. But that’s what I’m here for, right? A proper education, a knowledge of my surroundings and its inhabitants. It’s my job to make the living feel less dead. Rewarding, but I wouldn’t say I’m in it so much for the personal satisfaction. Well, I hope that’s not the reason.
I glance through the file on my desk, familiarizing myself with the new case of the night. Samuel Vickers, male, Caucasian, burn victim, slips in and out of near-catatonic state. I nod to myself as though affirming I took in the information. Of course I took it in. That’s what I’m paid to do. I take out my little yellow notepad and black ballpoint pen, ready for various notes and side notes that I will scrawl throughout the conversation no doubt.
When the guard enters my office, I offer him and the slouched man in the wheelchair a nod and a polite smile. “Thank you, Douglas.” I motion my hand towards the door, signaling the guard to leave. If he were marked as a sure threat, other arrangements would have been made for my visit with Samuel. But as he was constantly visiting the popular state of Catatonia, things look fairly tame for the night. When he seems to perk up and ask about my name, I offer the sort of smile one would humor a child or very elderly person with. Nothing condescending, only gentle enough to keep his calm demeanor.
“Well, Samuel- may I call you Samuel? Or do you prefer Sam? I was actually named for my grandfather. How about you? Were you named for anyone in particular?” Small talk is always good with new patients, especially when they start off the conversation. It’s much more pleasant than other ways of conversing. I slide my hand slowly over the yellow notepad, carefully recording Samuel’s posture, behavior, and little noticeable reactions.
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 21, 2009 3:38:43 GMT -5
Wow, I like this one. Smoother N' Lindsey Lohan's Nomansland. Betcha he uses some kinda hairgel to keep that hair slicked back. Like Whale blubber of somethin. Do they even still use whale blubber? I'm not really sure. Pretty much went out with Cap Ahab huntin Wilson Fisk to extinction.
Anyway, very smooth. Course, Samuel ain't my name, so offerin to call me that is just funny as hell. Well at least for me. He probably doesn't know Why I chuckle at the question. I ponder it over for a sec, an then grin, decidin that honesty is the best policy...well aside from that whole 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' thing. Made shower time like a game of Whose Who. Of course, just for the sake of maintainin my cover, I keep my words nice an slow. easy to note down.
"I got....I got my name from this guy...guy that got stuffed in an AC vent by some psycho lunatic. Guess Mommy was just a sentimental ole hag, eh?"
I sort of ease up a bit, straightenin in the chair as I give him a bit of a show of 'coming out of it'. Enjoyin the ego strokin this is probably doin for him. Thinkin he's makin 'progress' hehe.
"Sides...you can call me Wade. Sammy ain't here right now...He has to leave after nightfall. Thats when They come out..." I gotta admit, I do kinda love the effect my voice has on people. What the Doughboy refers to as 'enchantment' basicly like people Really like hearin me talk...which is cool, cause I like hearin me talk too. Loads a fun. Weird enough, when people hear me talk, they actually listen.
Bad idea there.
REALLY Bad Idea.
"You know...you know who they are, don't you?"
I let my eyes focus on his now, for just a moment. Starin into his with an intensity that most mortals find uncomfortable. An effect I enjoy doing to people...just somethin to soften ehm up for my later funs.
An trust me, we're JUST gettin started here.
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 21, 2009 3:56:59 GMT -5
What he says does not concern me so much as how he acts and reacts. Asking about his name earns a chuckle. Perhaps he has problems with the figure he was named for, such as an abusive father, maybe an inappropriate uncle. After the chuckle, however, my focus indeed shifts just the most minute amount to his words. Stuffed in an AC vent. That’s quite specific. Almost too specific. I flip through the pages of his file once more, glancing for any sign of a traumatic incident involving cold or confined spaces. Of course, there’s nothing-
Wade. I look up from my desk, eyeing the patient in front of me asking to be called Wade. His posture has righted at an immeasurable pace. While near-catatonics were capable of movement, such sudden changes in demeanor were not common. Stuffed in an AC vent. Such a mundane, yet unusual situation to pull from some warped reality. Though his words send flags waving in my stomach, I maintain my cordial smile and professional posture. After all, I am a doctor. That’s what we do.
They. Paranoia. Only after dark. A phobia. What does any of that have to do with arson? Nothing. Stuffed in an AC vent. Too specific and casually mentioned to be a half-nightmarish childhood trauma. Stuffed. My pen scrawls across the paper. In an. He seems to focus his attention on me. While uncomfortable, I do my best to maintain my composure. First sessions could severely damage relationships if handled improperly. There’s nothing to gain by giving in to- AC vent. Stuffed. In. An. AC. Vent.
“Wade.” Though I pay him full attention, my mind is grasping for words to write. I can’t support his paranoid idea, yet I can’t shoot it down as nonsense. “Why don’t you tell me what you think of them? Why can’t Samuel be out after dark?” While no signs pointed to a split personality, there are plenty of other diagnoses that indicate the creation of another self.
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 21, 2009 4:27:51 GMT -5
Hehehe. Oh, I do think I like this one. So calm, so collected. Every neat little thing in his neat little world laid out with a perfect little pattern. So....dull its funny.
And of course, like any good headshrinker he knows the keywords to look out for, the right breadcrumbs to chase down to get to the end of the rainbow. Never realizin that all he's going to find there are a couple of mugged Leprechauns.
You see, what the headshrinkers never figure out, is that jus because they ARE lookin for keywords, that means all you gotta do to them is feed ehm the right ones. Show ehm what they want to see, and they'll make up their own story that fits to it.
Thats where Pranking comes in.
Pranking for a Malkavian is the highlight of our fun. Taking a mortal or Kindred thats too set in their ways, an shakin ehm till something comes lose. Really, its a favor. Not like they Want to have a dull, boring, uninteresting life.
When it comes right down to it, we'd all rather be crazy than bored.
Still, since this one is followin the breadcrumbs, I might as well lay some more down for him. Let the pigeons come home to roost.
"I think they're jerks. Most of ehm anyway. So caught up in games and lies that they forget how awesome it can be sometimes. The feel of the night on your skin, the warm gush of blood, the sound of a heartbeat fadin...its like F. W. Murnau put it, Eine Symphonie des Grauens, A Symphony of Horror. Sammy can't come out at night, because he's afraid of them. Afraid of the dark spot in the pit of his stomach. That place where the monster under the bed crawls out of. The Boogy Man's door. Thats what I am, Sammy's Boogy Man."
I smile again, straining the fabric that wraps my head as I give him a good glimpse at my jagged teeth, the monsterous combination of vampirism and high heat. One of my favorite features actually. Most vamps go in for sexy...I just like the shapes the teeth make sinking into prey. Like a Rorschach test. Different every time. Sometimes I see a cloud, other times a spatula....all sorts of fun shit.
"Tell me Doc, you seem like you've met the Boogy Man. Am I right? You've seen how fucked up life can get, hot the blackness in between the lights in the sky can swallow you up...Would you like to know what the Dark fears? What really fucks us up?"
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 21, 2009 4:45:50 GMT -5
My lungs are fully functional. I can feel, even hear, air entering and exiting my body in it’s usual waves of life-giving patterns. Yet somehow, I feel like I’m suffocating. I have no words to write. I’ve seen some miserable cases in my life; rapists, serial killers, bombers, radicals, devil-worshippers. I could breathe when I sat down with them. There was no detail they gave me that could send a single shiver down my spine. But Wade’s vagueness brought out a primal terror I had only ever studied in fight versus flight scenarios. He hasn’t laid a hand on me, but I can feel his fingers around my throat.
I have no words to write. I set my pen down, eyes remaining on Wade. I have to keep what air of confidence I have remaining about me like a child’s pillow fort. He monologues, and every word he says stabs me. Till I feel a sharp pain spike in my left wrist, I’ve had no idea that I was pinching at the sides of my wrists. Four times on one. Four times on the other. How long have I been doing that? I rest my palms flat on my desk, hoping the wood will ground me in reality.
The Boogey Man. A universal fear. I have to think about it. If I don’t think about anything then I’ll only think about Wade. Wade and AC vents. AC vents. Why was a body in an AC vent? My jaw clenches. I can’t scream. I can’t call for the guard. Damn, I’m pinching my wrists again. One two three four. One two three four. The pain is distracting, but not at all helping my image I’m sure. That bastard. He knows he’s winning. The Boogey Man. What can I possibly say to him? Those teeth. Those. Teeth.
“I suppose,” I eek out with exceeding hesitation. “You’ll tell me…no matter what my answer is.” I want to look away from him, look away from his fucking eyes. No. I want to remain calm. I want to take control of myself. I want to curl up into a ball and cry in a corner. I have a feeling that he won’t let me stay in my comfort zone by sparing me some other twisted bit of psychological rhetoric straight from the devil’s volumes of Gonzo journalism. I can feel my left wrist starting to dribble the tiniest bit of blood after I pinch it just slightly too much with my nails. It’s enough to give me a bit of pain. Enough to bring me back to reality. I am a doctor damn it. That pain gives me a small surge of adrenaline. It’s enough to let me lean forward onto the desk. I still can’t avert my eyes from him, but I can take looking at him with a bit of new-found false security. “Would you like to tell me, Wade?”
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 21, 2009 16:37:01 GMT -5
One, two, three, four...One, two, three, four. Pinching your wrist, now theres a nervous twitch you don't see every day. Most of the dudes I've seen tend to go in more for the nail biting or, hand wringin kinda thing. Like Wyrm for instance. This just seems kinda boring compared to how he freaks out...but then mortals can never go Quite far enough. Always a bit shy of the gold ring when it goes to goin truelly batshit.
This ones pretty much on his way though.
I can tell I'm getting to him though, the nervous way he looks at me, the twitchy sorta way he tries to get back in control of the situation, the scent of fear comin off him like old blood. Even the way his heart going a jackhammer in his chest. I can tell that all lookin at him, and it just makes my smile that much bigger. This dudes is going to be the most fun prankin I've done in Weeks. Hell, I might even let him live afterward...
Still, a question is a question, so I give his a bit of thought, debatin how much of the rabbit hole to show him. Tryin to see if he's ready for the full Wonderland experience yet. I'd hate to crack open an egg before I've got the insides nice an boiled yet. Hate runny eggs....and pigeons. I hate pigeons.
Like to run ehm down with my car, club ehm to death with my baseball bat, shoot ehm, stab ehm, poison ehm on Cocaine...all sorts of fun to kill.
What was I thinkin bout?
Oh yeah, Headshrinker.
Subtly, I adjust myself in the seat, leanin back to eye him better as I speak, tryin to keep the words strung together in the right order, keep the pigeons out of it.
"Dark fears light Doc. You should know that one. Thats why roaches scurry under the fridge. Cause they live in dark, an light scares ehm. All the dark things are like that. Hidin from the light. But ya know, things in light ain't that lucky. Dark has gotta be lit by light, but all lights cast shadow. A penny can hide you from a spotlight if you put it in the right spot, if ya put it in the right place. You can't hide from the dark either, cause we all dark inside."
Now I lean forward, placing my palms on the desk, lettin the doc eye my uneven claws for the first time, dark with dried blood an death. Lettin him smell me for the first time. The burnt scent of my flesh, the dried blood that saturates my clothing beneath the bandages and the scrubs. The foul scent of old blood on my breath.
"Ya know Doc, I think I'm ready to talk about before...this if ya don't mind. I really feel like openin up to you. You seem like a standup guy. Really got that head on straight."
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 21, 2009 17:58:19 GMT -5
As droplets of blood slowly creep from my wrist onto my desk, I finally avert my eyes from Wade. I take note of the mess, but I can’t move to do anything about it. I’d hate to think of myself as a coward, but some things were…horrific. Even if he were a character in a movie, some farce of a villain on the big screen, he would paralyze me like he does now. This is not Samuel. Not at all. I can only guess where Samuel was. Unless, of course, Wade had already told me exactly where he could be found. Found stuffed.
I force myself to look at him again, finding it quite difficult to mask my discomfort and, well, fear. There’s really no point in trying. He speaks of dark and light like he’s done research papers on them; an absolute authority. No. I can’t give him credit. I can’t empower him any more than he already is. Empowering the insane yielded disastrous consequences.
Though I can’t see any other route for our conversation to take.
His tone drops just as his subject matter becomes deeper. He- those nails. I’ve been in the office too long. I tied my tie too tightly this morning. I haven’t had enough to eat. I must have dosed off after my last patient, and now I’m stuck in a nightmare. I must be dreaming or hallucinating. Why else would this be happening to me? My mind must be punishing me for not getting enough rest.
And yet, it feels too real. He looks to real. My God. He smells too real.
He offers to open up to me. Every fiber of my mind is telling me to refuse him, shun him, run, grab some guards. I just need to get the hell out of here. He complements me, but that doesn’t mean shit coming from him. It sounds like the worst, most searing insult in the world out of his mouth. I have to keep it together. One two three four…I know that I’ll have bruised wrists tomorrow. If of course, I get to see tomorrow. No. Hold it together.
“Well then, Wade…by all means,” I clench my jar, struggling to get the words out. “Feel free to speak.”
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 21, 2009 21:00:16 GMT -5
Well, it looks like I got the 'scare the living hell out of' part of this done right so far. Doc is so scared that he's actually gone an injured his wrist, sending out the scent of blood into the room strong enough that it almost makes me drool.
Guy should really know better n' to go baiting a vampire with blood. Its like chummin the waters before you go swimming. Not really the best thing to ensure a lengthy stay with the living.
Not that it matters a great deal, not any more. Docs been a juice since the second I laid eyes on him...though, I am startin to see potential beyond just suckin him dry and leavin for the maid service...Dita always did say I'd know when I found the one for me, a childe of my very own...
Anyway, Story time comes first. I can tell I got him on the edge of his seat now. Definitely paying attention as I strum my talon across the wood of his desk, markin it with the imprint of my claws. Scratching the finish a bit more with every stroke. Love how easy wood wears down to the right touch. Like writin your name in sand, if ya know how to do it. I play with that now, just strokin my finger along the desk, drawin little doodles with the edge as I speak, my eyes still on him.
"Ya see, like I said, we all got dark inside us. Something, or someone usually does that to ya. In my case it was my dad. Beefy bastard. Tall as me, and a good 50 pounds heavier. All muscle though. Loved the Core more n he loved me Mom. Used ta come in on furloughs an roughhouse round the place a bit. Smack me or Mom round a bit when he got in a fightin mood. Hit like a fuckin freight train. Well, one night he got off beatin on Mom more than usual, and didn't stop when he shoulda. Told him he needed to stop, but he didn't listen. Just backhanded me into a wall. First time I broke my nose...oh to be young again. Daddy got himself a manslaughter rap, and well then I had to go an stay with my Grandma. Mean ole bat. Name was Allison, but everyone called her Blind Al. Cataracts in both eyes. Made her fuckin creepy. She did less beatin an more talkin. Stayed with her till I turned 18, an then she drove me to the Recruitment center. Said I wasn't any better than my Dad. Probably right. I joined up, like a good little boy. Psyche guys said I had the type of personality to be good at one of two things. Cookin, or blowin shit up. I picked the latter. Got real good at it, learnin to set bombs, take ehm apart. Came in handy when Saddam went for a fieldtrip to Kuwait. We got sent in, advanced force to try an stop some of the oil field fires for Saddy could start ehm. Bad idea all around."
I grin at the last, as I remember the hot desert sun, and what we did out there. Remember the charge on the oil rig, the time about to go. Remember divin on it as it goes off. tryin to save my budds as best I can...I can even remember the explosion....
I stare off into space, thinkin bout that for a moment. Tryin to frame it as a joke. Not quite sure how. Some shit ain't really funny, you get down to it.
"Needless to say, it didn't work out quite right. Ended up with burns to 90 percent of my body, an more metal in me than a damn ball bearing factory...Not a fun way to die, an one hella way to live. I don't remember most of that. From what I understand, the nerve damage fried out my brain. Left me a catatonic for almos ten years...till she came round."
I grin now, gettin back into the heat of the story, drawin out her name on the desk with my finger as I keep speakin.
"Dita...She wanted to know what it felt like to be burned to a crisp. To get that close to meetin the reaper and fall off the ladder. So she asked me, an when I didn't answer, she made it so I could again. Brought me back from death...or maybe all the way. Still not sure which. She unlocked my mind, set me free again, even healed most o' my body...just keepin the parts she liked about it. Don't much mind really....lookin like overdone bacon ain't nothing against not bein anything at all, least the way I see it...an thats how I came to be here today...now, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to have a bite ta eat before we continue...you mind callin for a guard for me?...Unless o'course you'd like to volunteer yourself that is..."
I grin then, sadisticly as I can, lookin forward to how things are gonna go. To showin my new friend just how Deep this world can go.
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 21, 2009 22:02:41 GMT -5
I have to stop. My wrist hurts too much. It’s just as well. No point in showing off how scared I am any more than I already have. I dig through my drawer quickly, pulling out a small package of Kleenex. I’m not about to sit here with my blood on display for Wade to ogle. After I wipe up the small pool on my desk, I toss the tissue into the nearby garbage can. Okay. That was easy enough. And he’s still there. No closer but…digging into my desk. I fold another tissue a few times and place it against my wrist, holding it gently against the injury.
Even though he begins telling me his story, it doesn’t matter that I don’t write anything down. After all, I have no file to put him under. No manila folder to stash away his name and information. And so I’m sitting here, watching him, listening to him and hating every moment of it. It’s gotten to that point. I have no move other than to try and avoid checkmate. I focus on slowing my breathing, offering him nods and eye contact but not taking in every word he says. Abusive father, dead mother, grandmother, military service.
Kuwait.
At that point, I shift back away from my breathing and back to the conversation. Some words just catch me still, make me queasy. His story sounds so genuine. But after what he must have done to get into my office, after putting on his little act in the beginning of our “session,” how can I really feel what he’s saying is genuine? Often veterans, even those in more recent wars-
Ten years? Another few words that catch my attention. I hardly notice my small jerk back. I had fallen for every word he threw my way, taking it in with a bit of sympathy. I thought he could be a poor soldier who went off the deep end and made a few physical changes. Ten years. Catatonic for ten years. I have no way of knowing what my facial expression is, but I’m sure it’s something less than flattering. Dita. She opened his mind? Drugs. It has to be drugs. Wade is some homeless, most likely homicidal, drug user. He is having a very powerful trip, and damn it I let him get under my skin. While I still have that sickening fear, it’s accompanied by anger now. Who knows how much time I’ve wasted talking to him. He-
Bring in a guard? Volunteer myself?
I stare at Wade, mulling over what he said. A snack. He believes he-
Drugs. It’s drugs.
“Why would a guard need to come in here, Wade?” I tilt my head slightly. “Do you intend to harm me or yourself?” Stay calm. I have to reclaim my station. “If so, I will ask a guard to come in, and arrangements will be made in your best interest, as well as mine.” I can’t scream. It would hurt the situation more than help it. I can’t just abandon what I’ve earned like that. If anything happens, yes, there is a guard right outside that could hear a shout.
Kuwait.
“If not, then I believe you and I will be able to continue this session without force.”
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 23, 2009 22:24:03 GMT -5
Ya know, its really sorta interesting how you can spot that exact Moment when someone stops thinkin. Ever noticed that? They're goin along, they're goin along, and then SMACK right into a wall. Shut down all thinkin, and just fall back on what they know allready. Not trying to go beyond that wall, just plantin their ass on one side, happy to not know whats on the other side.
Granted, I ain't exactly got the most subtle of minds, but I can spot when this happens. When it happens to the doc. When fear of something he can't even understand crumples down to the more basic 'scared of psycho nutjob that might kill me' bit. Granted, its a pretty subtle different, but one I got no problems spotting a Mile off. Mostly cause I've cracked enough eggheads to know what their yolk looks like.
I couldn't tell ya exactly what the doc is thinkin, but I can tell the change as it overtakes him, terror replaced with a rational need to deny what he's afraid of. To deny me.
That right there is the point where I'm most tempted to lunge across the table, and beat his egghead on the desk till its drippin yolk on his day planner. Tempted, but not gonna. Prankin is all about applyin heat until the egg is nice an hard boiled. Then you can sprinkle on some salt and that red junk some people enjoy puttin on them. Maybe even dice it up and make some yummy egg salad...Mmmm, I want an egg salad sammich right now...yum yum yum...
Where was I?
Oh yeah, boilin your egg.
Now, the key to pranking someone effectively, is seein when they start to freeze up, an knowing what it is that'll break ehm back down to a....receptive state of mind. Somethin at which I happen to be pretty damn good at.
Pushing my hands down onto the desk, I raise myself up, facing him. Considerin the best way to go next.The next move that needs doing. I step slowly around the desk as I speak, keeping my movements and words nice and slow. Just slow enough not to spook the chicken.
"Ya know Doc, you're not the first member of staff I've had my fun with. I don't know if knew this or not, but this place has a Big turnover in headshrinkers. Most of ehm are pretty dull. Usual hypocratic hypocrites. Mouthin sentiments on how I shouldn't be doin this or that. Tryin to talk me out of my favorite hobbies. Real downers mostly. One guy I dealt with, I thought was pretty swell though. Actually worked mostly with terminal patients. They don't house those in this wing. Aparently bein about to die'll send alot juicebags crackers. Anyway, he explained to me that there are like stages to dying. Not the physical act itself, but emotionally. Pretty interestin stuff, if a bit highbrow in some ways. Tell ya, that guy had some of the tastiest blood I've ever nommed on though. Pickled with a very nice brandy. Very yummy..." At this last part, I lean over the desk, now just inches from the doctor, my hand almost casually moving past his leg and down into the can itself. Extracting his tissue before I move away, holding the tissue up to my nose. Sniffing it, and then giving it a speculative lick.
"Mmmm...tasty. Should cut down on the meds though. Shit'll kill your liver, you keep dosin up like this...anyway, back to your colleague...I think in your case, you might be at the 'Not Just a River in Egypt' part, if ya know what I mean. Still, I'm a kind soul. Suppose I can help ya past that."
I discard the tissue to one side, callin out in a voice not unlike the Doc's callin out for help, just before I move beside the door. Into the shadow.
The orderly/guard charges in right past me, nightstick at the ready. Jelly donut stains on the front of his white shirt. Must be 50 pounds overweight, gaspin just from the quick jaunt into the Doc's office. Easy pickings, but I don't mind.This is all about proving a point. I close the door behind the guard with a slam, movin up quick as he spins about, faster than I'd have bet on. Still Way too slow.
Nightsticks aren't my favorite toys, but I don't mind in this case, as I block an overhead swipe one handed, simply pullin the tool from his hand. Wrenching it from his grasp, and then turning it around with a vicious strike direct to his face. Breaking his cheek bone, and sending him sprawling, blood going everywhere. Knocking him out like a light, probably with a concussion. Thats good for now.
I drop the nightstick on the floor, turning back for a second to the door, to lock it, and pocket the old fashioned key. Not that I'm working about interuptions. This time of night, its usually down to a single guard on each wing, and one in the center. And its not like these guys aren't used to screamin.
I move over to the guard, reachin down and effortlessly pulling him up to eye height, danglin almost 6 inches above the ground. Limp as a bag of potatoes, even with my hand around his neck. I turn my head to the doc, smilin through my bandages as I speak.
"Tell ya, they don't mind guards like they used to...Shoulda seen some of the bastards they had at the VA Hospice..."
My hand twists at the guys throat, levering the vertebrae against one another so quickly that they snap like tinder, with a dull wet snap. I always kinda wish it made a celery sound, like on TV. Damn Foley Artists an their movie magicks....
I toss the body into the wheelchair, spinning around an armless straightback next to it, and seating myself reverse style on it. Considerin the doc now, with a not so figurative body in the room. Probably not the Best trick a vamp can do for street cred, but most of my stuff would leave the Doc too crazy to really appreciate it.
Instead, I reach up, and begin to unwind the bandages from my head, revealing the heavily scarred an burned flesh beneath a bit at a time, as I keep talkin.
"Ya see Doc, I didn't Have to kill this guy. I coulda just picked up your desk with one hand, or put a voice in your head...I can do both of those pretty good...but killin usually gets the point across faster. Give up tryin Deny that there are dark things in the world. Give up thinkin that theres some imaginary friend up on a cloud, lookin down and keepin things nice an pretty. Life ain't pretty. In fact, it looks a hell of a lot like me. I'm not really interested in killin you at the moment, but if you piss me off, I might forget we're havin a session here today...an it'd suck for me, if my doc hadta die in a tragic accident. Fall on a nightstick a few dozen times, and some bad stuff can happen...."
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 23, 2009 23:49:38 GMT -5
It’s not drugs. It’s not drugs. Why couldn’t it be drugs? I do so well when it’s drugs. No. No this is something new. Something terrifying. And that something terrifying is getting closer to me with every move it makes. I try to keep myself from having some sort of attack as he inches towards my desk, talking about my employment. Is he threatening me or giving me a career evaluation? Even when he pauses, I don’t try to speak. It’s obvious we’re past gentle talk and negotiations. My eyes stay locked on him, but I’m not sure where to look. The fangs? The eyes? His hand reaching into my bin and-
There’s something about the act that builds a lump in my stomach. Not because he pulled it out of the trash, though that is a bit disgusting in my opinion. He’s…sampling me? Critiquing me? Till now I would be willing to make grand leaps of logic to keep him a simple madman, but the medicine comment is what gets me. I’m not pinching my wrists at this point. I don’t think I’m even moving. I’d be surprised if I were still breathing.
Was that my voice? No. No he screamed. Why did he scream?
The guard rushing in is enough to shake me back to reality. I slide back in my rolling chair, surprised by the grand entrance. As the scene unfolds in front of me, the lump in my stomach becomes heavier. I feel like a lead blanket is being draped over my shoulders. I can’t help him. Andrew. Is that his name? Yeah. “Andrew….” is all I murmur as the limp corpse flops into the chair, head at a skewed angle.
He unwraps the bandages, showing some very serious damage. Of course, I’m a bit distracted by what was Andrew.
So, as of now he isn’t interested in killing me. Even though he’s…a monster. No other word can cross my mind right now. A monster. If I hadn’t seen him lift a grown man with one hand and kill him like it was nothing, I would probably still be harping on my drug theory. He didn’t have to kill him. He didn’t even have to call him in. He could have just as easily killed me. But, apparently, I’m safe for now. After he finishes speaking, I look at him, not sure what to think or feel.
“No…you didn’t have to. But, you did.” It’s a strain to get the words out clearly. I have to force myself to unclench my jaw. I try to choose my words carefully. What does one say to a monster?
“The body.” Those are the only two words I manage to shove out of my mouth. If I talk anymore, I might run the risk of screaming or vomiting. I have to be careful. Prodding monsters isn’t a very enticing game, and it’s not one I’m looking to play. The body. What am I supposed to do with it? Was he planning on anything? Or is that one of those unfortunate incidences I get to explain?
I pulled myself closer to my desk, my fingers gripping onto it for some sort of emotional support. The piece of tissue falls off my wrist, and I don’t really care. Bloody tissue. Dead bodies. What are the priorities one follows in this situation? My eyes, once completely stuck on Wade, are in the same state, only on the corpse. What does one do with a corpse they aren’t responsible for? That they can’t explain. “The body,” I weakly say again. My words aren’t punctuated. They’re stale. Like a child reading out a vocabulary word. Does Andrew get to go visit an AC vent?
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 26, 2009 21:36:35 GMT -5
Ya know...I really think I managed to get through to the doc this time. As I finish up my little chat with him, he says barely a word, not movin, even tryin not to breathe. Sorta demonstratin just the sort of behavior that generally implies someone is listenin Real good...or stoned out of their mind.
I'd say based on the blood sample that it probably wasn't the latter...Probably. Pot blood tastes Really nice...kinda like it has some Oregano mixed in or something. Tasty. Unlike say Meth, where the guy tastes like cough syrup an mothballs. Guess all natural Really Is the way to go. Wonder what shroom blood tastes like...
I consider askin the doc if he has any shrooms handy, but I really kinda doubt it. He seems like the 'better livin through chemisty' type. Probably wouldn't know Deadly Nightshade if it bit him in the ass...Not that deadly nightshade bites people...not even in Tim Burton films...
"this is halloween...this is halloween....in this town we call home, everybody hail to the....Oh, am I singin outloud again? Sorry bout that. I tend to get easily distracted by my inner monologue. You should try it sometime."
Okay, I guess I broke him outta the whole reality thing...at least a little. I guess I could munch down on him now...but I feel like havin some fun instead. Been ages since I got to do a good haunting...
Hopping to my feet, I point at the doc, buggin out my eyes all Vince Price style, an then speak. Usin those three little words...
"DEMENTATION LEVEL TWO! Fury of Insane Wackiness!!! I choose you, Haunting! Use Vision!"
(I'm using Haunting, with an emphasis on visions. It costs me one blood point, and I need to roll two die.) [dice=10][dice=10] [rand=750505482078349221462012342121345817670003418494525076583657301854]
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Dr. Mulcahy
Malkavian
{S=4}
I'm sorry, our time is up.
Posts: 23
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Post by Dr. Mulcahy on Jul 28, 2009 0:01:43 GMT -5
(Willpower)
[dice=10][rand=734205259688477649887565375194654216924985552574562552705074338836]
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Wade
Malkavian
{S=4}The Scourge
Little sunburn never hurt anybody...
Posts: 51
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Post by Wade on Jul 28, 2009 3:35:38 GMT -5
OOC: ALRIGHT! I win! I win! Eat that Alex Trebeck! I Totatly rule!....Anyway, this is basicly a short finisher for my previous post. It should finish up this section of the story arch. Which'll put the ball in your court for their next 'session'.
And its just That easy. Little flash of madness from my eyes, and now the doc'll be relivin our little piece of quality time for the next week or so. Which serves the nice dual purpose of keepin the masquerade, an making sure that he doesn't go forgettin bout me.
Any wonder why Dita keeps me around? Brains like this are hard to come by in a lunatic. Might even say I'm sort of a savant when it comes to mind fuckin people. Natural talent if you will.
Of course, that just leaves the matter of my grand exit, cause obviously I can't just hang out all night. Pretty easy matter to deal with though. I just mozy on over to the light switch, flickin it to the off position as I give my new bosom buddy a winning smile with my choppers.
"Sorry doc, but I'm afraid thats all the time we got for tonight. Never fret though, I'll see ya here next week. Same bat time, same bat channel."
With that, the lights go off, filling the room with pitch blackness and absolute silence. When the doc works up the nerve to find the light switch, he'll find the room completely empty of dead bodies or psycho vamps. Though I did leave a nightstick on his desk...just as something to remember me by. Heres hopin the juicepack doesn't get freaked out by the visions I gave him to try usin it on himself.
Nothin major really, just a friendly reminder of our little chat. Little something to remember me by...when he's alone or in the dark. Some people like post-it notes, but I think this works Much better...course I'll be curious to see what He thinks of the method.
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