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Standing Appointment - Hollow x Praxis
- Thread starter Praxis
- Start date
The Hollow
Dust
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2018
"No, that's me. I'm your five o'clock."
"Anna Fender." The therapist replied. "Your name is Anna Fender."
Her mind was searching for a thread of authenticity here, but everything about the situation was wrong. This was already shaping up to be a problem, which of course new patients always are. Last patient of the day (of course) on Monday (of course fucking of course). He wore a nice navy blue suit with short cropped black hair gelled into a wave, trimmed scruff and otherwise well groomed with an easy smile - somehow, she'd have been more relieved if he'd looked a little more off.
"Get it?" He grinned wider. "Ann afFender?"
He held up his phone for ten long silent seconds and then stepped into her office.
Within the phone she would find a picture of a necklace that meant the world to her: pearl set in silver with a matching chain, a locket at the end with a childhood and adult picture of her sweet long-past grandmother.
"Boyfriend's talkative down the pub." He loved to go to an English pub outside his work on Fridays with friends. "Word was you're the best in the business. Private practice, quiet life, focusing in helping the families of the victims of violent crime start over. Started in criminology? You're very highly respected in those circles to this day you'll be proud to know." He walked from the waiting room through her treatment room to reach behind her desk, opening a drawer to find the bottle of vodka her boyfriend had whispered was there. He poured her a rediculously full glass and sipped from the bottle.
"I bet you pay an arm and a leg for this shit." He made a sour face, and drank again. "They used your name to scare me once, you know. They told me who you were and they said you were coming in for me special. Never made it, though. Personal emergency." There was a glint in his eye. "You dropped out of consultancy, moved here and opened your business."
He tucked his left hand into his pocket, looking very self-satisfied. "Once I knew where you lived it wasn't hard to figure out where you worked, and after a couple weeks I moved on your boy toy. He was all too happy to give me everything I needed."
He drank again, regarding her evenly. "I need your help." He moved over to the client seat and crossed his legs broadly, balancing the bottle on his knee. "I've been thinking. It could be useful to understand myself a little better. I'm kind of hitting a wall lately." His eyes flared when he said wall, swirling his bottle, moving a bit in his seat while he spoke. "My job is kind of high stakes aaaand... it's getting tough to trust my instincts. Kinda feeling like I need an edge, change things up, update my..." He drifted off, looking out the window. "Steez." He blinked, regarding the blue sky, and after another pause sipped from his bottle.
"I figured the necklace was just enough to get you to take my money without feeling so panicked you'd be ineffective. Obviously I'm going to keep it for a while. If this goes well... we can talk." He looked at her evenly maybe for the first time.
"I'm not a bad person, Doctor. I'm just sick. And I'm alone with this. And I need help. And you're the only one I trust to do it right. And I don't think you could name anyone who could do it as well, if you're honest. I obviously need your help." He seemed to repose in the chair without really shifting too much. A hand drifted out in an opening gesture. "Just look at me." He drew from the bottle again with raised, helpless eyebrows.
His cellphone popped out. "The necklace can be pawned with a text. Make the call. Police, now, and I delete everything - including Mee Maw's last offering - and disappear, and there's you with an enemy." His eyes shone, but he seemed more pleased than predatory. "More than one."
Okay, now he looked a little predatory.
"Anna Fender." The therapist replied. "Your name is Anna Fender."
Her mind was searching for a thread of authenticity here, but everything about the situation was wrong. This was already shaping up to be a problem, which of course new patients always are. Last patient of the day (of course) on Monday (of course fucking of course). He wore a nice navy blue suit with short cropped black hair gelled into a wave, trimmed scruff and otherwise well groomed with an easy smile - somehow, she'd have been more relieved if he'd looked a little more off.
"Get it?" He grinned wider. "Ann afFender?"
He held up his phone for ten long silent seconds and then stepped into her office.
Within the phone she would find a picture of a necklace that meant the world to her: pearl set in silver with a matching chain, a locket at the end with a childhood and adult picture of her sweet long-past grandmother.
"Boyfriend's talkative down the pub." He loved to go to an English pub outside his work on Fridays with friends. "Word was you're the best in the business. Private practice, quiet life, focusing in helping the families of the victims of violent crime start over. Started in criminology? You're very highly respected in those circles to this day you'll be proud to know." He walked from the waiting room through her treatment room to reach behind her desk, opening a drawer to find the bottle of vodka her boyfriend had whispered was there. He poured her a rediculously full glass and sipped from the bottle.
"I bet you pay an arm and a leg for this shit." He made a sour face, and drank again. "They used your name to scare me once, you know. They told me who you were and they said you were coming in for me special. Never made it, though. Personal emergency." There was a glint in his eye. "You dropped out of consultancy, moved here and opened your business."
He tucked his left hand into his pocket, looking very self-satisfied. "Once I knew where you lived it wasn't hard to figure out where you worked, and after a couple weeks I moved on your boy toy. He was all too happy to give me everything I needed."
He drank again, regarding her evenly. "I need your help." He moved over to the client seat and crossed his legs broadly, balancing the bottle on his knee. "I've been thinking. It could be useful to understand myself a little better. I'm kind of hitting a wall lately." His eyes flared when he said wall, swirling his bottle, moving a bit in his seat while he spoke. "My job is kind of high stakes aaaand... it's getting tough to trust my instincts. Kinda feeling like I need an edge, change things up, update my..." He drifted off, looking out the window. "Steez." He blinked, regarding the blue sky, and after another pause sipped from his bottle.
"I figured the necklace was just enough to get you to take my money without feeling so panicked you'd be ineffective. Obviously I'm going to keep it for a while. If this goes well... we can talk." He looked at her evenly maybe for the first time.
"I'm not a bad person, Doctor. I'm just sick. And I'm alone with this. And I need help. And you're the only one I trust to do it right. And I don't think you could name anyone who could do it as well, if you're honest. I obviously need your help." He seemed to repose in the chair without really shifting too much. A hand drifted out in an opening gesture. "Just look at me." He drew from the bottle again with raised, helpless eyebrows.
His cellphone popped out. "The necklace can be pawned with a text. Make the call. Police, now, and I delete everything - including Mee Maw's last offering - and disappear, and there's you with an enemy." His eyes shone, but he seemed more pleased than predatory. "More than one."
Okay, now he looked a little predatory.
OP
OP
- Joined
- Apr 13, 2014
Dr. Claire Hannigan had only been able to offer him a blank stare for the first few seconds, squinting through her confusion and trying so suss out exactly what was going on. Her initial reaction had been to think it was a prank. Some well-groomed, handsome friend of Brandon's come up to...what, screw with her? A well-intentioned poke to the ribs that came off more like an unwanted annoyance. Brandon was good at those. And on a Monday, no less.
"That's funny." She replied, though her words held not a shred of even incidental appreciation for the joke. She didn't have a five o'clock. On Monday or any other day during the week. Staying Downtown later than five meant finding herself shoulder to shoulder with what felt like the entire city's population on their trek home. Elbowing her way through crowds to catch the L train which only ran so far as Midtown. Still another two connections until she'd be safe in the Upper West Side. She'd been too lost in her own irritation to notice he'd been holding his phone screen at her for what felt like a very long time.
It didn't click. Not at first. She only stared with that same expression of impatient confusion until he filled in the blanks for her. Brandon had played a part, albeit an unintentional one. She'd figured out the broad strokes of his re-telling before he'd finished. He brushed passed her and made himself at home in her cozy, dimly-lit office. Reaching over and behind her desk he grabbed at the bottle. She'd nearly forgotten about it. Another joke from Brandon on the day she'd switched offices.
In case of Emergency, tip over Glass the note had said. That had been funny. Sort of.
Seeing this strange new character with his crisply pressed suit and immaculate coif of dark hair handle it so familiarly only served to anger her further. She remained calm, exhaling through her nose and joining him, being sure to close the door behind her. She circled around her desk and sat, tenting her fingers and eyeing him mutely while he continued.
"Are you finished?" Claire asked, when his attention seemed to drift largely elsewhere. He gave an expression of boyish desperation while he drank, one so well affected it sent a chill up her spine.
"First, let me start by saying that I appreciate your efforts. Clearly you've been following me for some time. Enough time to realize I'm careless enough. I've never been mugged. Can you believe that? In this city, and I've never been mugged..."
She tilted her head, still regarding him with a snake-like fixation in her eyes. "You've seen where I live. You've even broken into my condo. All without me noticing. It's impressive. An Offender, indeed."
She let her attention drift to the full glass he'd placed in front of her and continued. "And you decided on a family heirloom to take. To...convince me to help you, as you put it. You've either read up on the subject and you're mimicking the behavior of a psychopath," leaning forward then, lids hardly moving "or it's a miracle you've survived this long without being put down."
Clair paused a moment to let her opinion sink in.
"But the fact that you think that you can blackmail me into helping you shows me that you both fail to understand and to have any respect for my field of work. And I'm sure someone who's either read or had read the details of whatever issues you possess, can understand that this -this thing that I do, is a relationship.
I don't have the answers to any given question. I can only put forth as much as my patients are willing to allow. And the same goes in their direction. I truly believe that given a strong enough will -with the right tools, a person truly can heal from what has wounded them."
Exhaling, she tilted her head again, this time favoring him with something like compassion.
"And you do seem wounded. And under the right circumstances...I would help you."
Her pitch dropped and the young woman seemed to snap out of trance she had been in. Pulling a leather binder from a side drawer she opened to the current date and moved as though to notate something.
"Pawn the necklace, if you want. From what I'm told sentimentality retains very little of it's initial value. How would Friday be? Look, you see? That'll be you. Mr. X, Fridays at 4pm. If you don't show or you're being tortured by Cartel members or something, I can still use you for a long weekend. Mutually beneficial, you see?
As for your...steez -whatever that is, there are several free-clinics in this neighborhood that will gladly keep your name off of their books as well." Then, finally, she offered him a humorless smile, smokey eyes glittering at him from behind the width of her desk. With the appointment made she closed the binder and went about gathering her things as she had been before he'd interrupted her. Without looking in his direction she issued one final stipulation;
"Remember. This is a two-way street. I can't help the hopeless." Without hesitation she tossed the contents of the small glass into a desk-side trash bin. Shouldering two leather bags she stood and joined him on the patient's side of the desk. "Friday. Four. We can call it a standing appointment, for now.
"That's funny." She replied, though her words held not a shred of even incidental appreciation for the joke. She didn't have a five o'clock. On Monday or any other day during the week. Staying Downtown later than five meant finding herself shoulder to shoulder with what felt like the entire city's population on their trek home. Elbowing her way through crowds to catch the L train which only ran so far as Midtown. Still another two connections until she'd be safe in the Upper West Side. She'd been too lost in her own irritation to notice he'd been holding his phone screen at her for what felt like a very long time.
It didn't click. Not at first. She only stared with that same expression of impatient confusion until he filled in the blanks for her. Brandon had played a part, albeit an unintentional one. She'd figured out the broad strokes of his re-telling before he'd finished. He brushed passed her and made himself at home in her cozy, dimly-lit office. Reaching over and behind her desk he grabbed at the bottle. She'd nearly forgotten about it. Another joke from Brandon on the day she'd switched offices.
In case of Emergency, tip over Glass the note had said. That had been funny. Sort of.
Seeing this strange new character with his crisply pressed suit and immaculate coif of dark hair handle it so familiarly only served to anger her further. She remained calm, exhaling through her nose and joining him, being sure to close the door behind her. She circled around her desk and sat, tenting her fingers and eyeing him mutely while he continued.
"Are you finished?" Claire asked, when his attention seemed to drift largely elsewhere. He gave an expression of boyish desperation while he drank, one so well affected it sent a chill up her spine.
"First, let me start by saying that I appreciate your efforts. Clearly you've been following me for some time. Enough time to realize I'm careless enough. I've never been mugged. Can you believe that? In this city, and I've never been mugged..."
She tilted her head, still regarding him with a snake-like fixation in her eyes. "You've seen where I live. You've even broken into my condo. All without me noticing. It's impressive. An Offender, indeed."
She let her attention drift to the full glass he'd placed in front of her and continued. "And you decided on a family heirloom to take. To...convince me to help you, as you put it. You've either read up on the subject and you're mimicking the behavior of a psychopath," leaning forward then, lids hardly moving "or it's a miracle you've survived this long without being put down."
Clair paused a moment to let her opinion sink in.
"But the fact that you think that you can blackmail me into helping you shows me that you both fail to understand and to have any respect for my field of work. And I'm sure someone who's either read or had read the details of whatever issues you possess, can understand that this -this thing that I do, is a relationship.
I don't have the answers to any given question. I can only put forth as much as my patients are willing to allow. And the same goes in their direction. I truly believe that given a strong enough will -with the right tools, a person truly can heal from what has wounded them."
Exhaling, she tilted her head again, this time favoring him with something like compassion.
"And you do seem wounded. And under the right circumstances...I would help you."
Her pitch dropped and the young woman seemed to snap out of trance she had been in. Pulling a leather binder from a side drawer she opened to the current date and moved as though to notate something.
"Pawn the necklace, if you want. From what I'm told sentimentality retains very little of it's initial value. How would Friday be? Look, you see? That'll be you. Mr. X, Fridays at 4pm. If you don't show or you're being tortured by Cartel members or something, I can still use you for a long weekend. Mutually beneficial, you see?
As for your...steez -whatever that is, there are several free-clinics in this neighborhood that will gladly keep your name off of their books as well." Then, finally, she offered him a humorless smile, smokey eyes glittering at him from behind the width of her desk. With the appointment made she closed the binder and went about gathering her things as she had been before he'd interrupted her. Without looking in his direction she issued one final stipulation;
"Remember. This is a two-way street. I can't help the hopeless." Without hesitation she tossed the contents of the small glass into a desk-side trash bin. Shouldering two leather bags she stood and joined him on the patient's side of the desk. "Friday. Four. We can call it a standing appointment, for now.
The Hollow
Dust
- Joined
- Mar 8, 2018
Mr. X was livid.
"Sounds like a win to me!" He grinned around the mouth of the bottle one more time, coming hastily to his feet with a pleased expression. "I can't believe this wasn't more of a thing. I feel like an asshole, now." He gestured out with the bottle hand while pocketing the other, shoulders back and chin up for the type of posture a person could respect.
He felt like he had gone blind. Unbelievable. Everything about this was heinous. This was a mistake. He definitely should have taken her cat. Her crass, dismissive attitude demanded correction. He wanted more than anything to punish her and set a clear boundary that she owed him quaking reverie. He wanted to hurt someone she loved. He wanted to trash her office. He wanted to slash her tires and throw bricks through her windows at night, break into her home and hide in the guest room until someone had to go to the bathroom. He wanted to steal her identity and fuck her sister. He wanted to get her boyfriend fired and-
He withdrew his phone from his pocket and sent Brandon a quick text.
Me: Brandoooo
Me: Drinkies?? XD
"There. Your necklace is safe for now. Can I hold onto it for a bit? Like a safety blanket? I hope you won't begrudge me. I have trust issues." Always with this playfulness. He crossed in front of her, but from across the room, and approaching from the outside. What he thought he was doing was concealing his aggression and paying her the respect of a little distance while he executed this little joke, but naturally what he was actually doing was preforming a predatory flank, shoddily, spurred by emotion. In dipping low he clinked the bottle to the outside of her trash bin, moving around her with a look to get back around behind the desk. "Cheers." He took one final pull before setting it on her desk.
"I'll just wait here. Unless you'd like to walk out into the parking lot together. People tend to want space after I've met them. I can, lock up for you." He hurriedly added that last part as though he'd forgotten it might not occur to her while reposing in her swivel chair.
Everything was highlighted with that immediate outlined quality that came when he was on a roller coaster or fighting for his life, that going-through-customs cool that kicks in when the screws get tightened and people are watching. His breathing had evened out. His smile was easy, palms had stopped sweating. He was Present. He was furious. He was elated that he'd won and gripped with the need to secure what felt like a foothold. Stay that impulse... don't take her lightly... if she was someone you could do that with she'd be worthless to you...
Smashing her head into the drywall until you can see the other side. Push her over, this desk, make her remember. Your belt. Your gun. Your knife. Her paperweight. Dictionary. The edge of the desk. Burnt orange wig. Screaming. Smashed plastic faces. Your necktie. Plastic bags for her garbage must be in the desk, maybe half a pack - enough? Patient files - here? Car keys, purse, too far to carry. Fire exit. Four cars in the parking lot. Her cell phone. My cell phone. Force-fed alcohol. Condoms. Bust statuette on the windowsill. Minimal visibility. Now? Tonight?
Right now?
Like right right now?
"If you want." He crossed his legs again, easing back in her chair, adding an impetuous flair to sell it. He was perfect. Keen eyes, air of assurance, fluid affect. Adaptable. Happy. Calm. But she was good, had pegged him before so he went for a touch of honesty (people like that) and added: "I... You kind of threw me." Elbows on the table. Fingers interlaced. Look away, shrug, shake your head. You got me. Touch of intimacy. "You're right, I was... thinking about this as like, I pay you, you do a thing. Like a chef or a... delivery person. It's demeaning. I wasn't respectful. Relationships demand respect. That I do get. I have a lot of respect for you, Doctor Hannigan, that's why I picked you. I want to really thank you for taking me on. Despite my ridiculousness. I can see it now, because I'm not worried you won't help me. In the moment it makes sense." His rolled his forearms forward and upturned his hands while shrugging helplessly, awarding himself bonus points for putting the desk between himself and her. He saw this as himself offering her a defense from him, removing the only obstacle between her and the door rather than just making a different kind of power move.
"I don't think I'm a psychopath, Dr. Hannigan, really I don't. I think I've just picked up some disadvantageous behavior patterns. I know it's not your job to change them for me, but if I could understand why I solve my problems the way I do I think I could avoid a lot of issues - not just for me, but for everyone in my life." He was nodding along with his own rhetoric. Eye contact. Raised eyebrows. Pause...
"I should just shut up now. Thank you for dealing with me. I hope you won't miss the L. I'd drive you, but." He wasn't allowing himself to be fully conscious of how much he wanted her to let him take her space, see her acquiesce to his display. He withdrew a pack of gum and popped out two squares into his palm.
He went silent, smiling, holding up the pack of gum for a few seconds in offering.
"Sounds like a win to me!" He grinned around the mouth of the bottle one more time, coming hastily to his feet with a pleased expression. "I can't believe this wasn't more of a thing. I feel like an asshole, now." He gestured out with the bottle hand while pocketing the other, shoulders back and chin up for the type of posture a person could respect.
He felt like he had gone blind. Unbelievable. Everything about this was heinous. This was a mistake. He definitely should have taken her cat. Her crass, dismissive attitude demanded correction. He wanted more than anything to punish her and set a clear boundary that she owed him quaking reverie. He wanted to hurt someone she loved. He wanted to trash her office. He wanted to slash her tires and throw bricks through her windows at night, break into her home and hide in the guest room until someone had to go to the bathroom. He wanted to steal her identity and fuck her sister. He wanted to get her boyfriend fired and-
He withdrew his phone from his pocket and sent Brandon a quick text.
Me: Brandoooo
Me: Drinkies?? XD
"There. Your necklace is safe for now. Can I hold onto it for a bit? Like a safety blanket? I hope you won't begrudge me. I have trust issues." Always with this playfulness. He crossed in front of her, but from across the room, and approaching from the outside. What he thought he was doing was concealing his aggression and paying her the respect of a little distance while he executed this little joke, but naturally what he was actually doing was preforming a predatory flank, shoddily, spurred by emotion. In dipping low he clinked the bottle to the outside of her trash bin, moving around her with a look to get back around behind the desk. "Cheers." He took one final pull before setting it on her desk.
"I'll just wait here. Unless you'd like to walk out into the parking lot together. People tend to want space after I've met them. I can, lock up for you." He hurriedly added that last part as though he'd forgotten it might not occur to her while reposing in her swivel chair.
Everything was highlighted with that immediate outlined quality that came when he was on a roller coaster or fighting for his life, that going-through-customs cool that kicks in when the screws get tightened and people are watching. His breathing had evened out. His smile was easy, palms had stopped sweating. He was Present. He was furious. He was elated that he'd won and gripped with the need to secure what felt like a foothold. Stay that impulse... don't take her lightly... if she was someone you could do that with she'd be worthless to you...
Smashing her head into the drywall until you can see the other side. Push her over, this desk, make her remember. Your belt. Your gun. Your knife. Her paperweight. Dictionary. The edge of the desk. Burnt orange wig. Screaming. Smashed plastic faces. Your necktie. Plastic bags for her garbage must be in the desk, maybe half a pack - enough? Patient files - here? Car keys, purse, too far to carry. Fire exit. Four cars in the parking lot. Her cell phone. My cell phone. Force-fed alcohol. Condoms. Bust statuette on the windowsill. Minimal visibility. Now? Tonight?
Right now?
Like right right now?
"If you want." He crossed his legs again, easing back in her chair, adding an impetuous flair to sell it. He was perfect. Keen eyes, air of assurance, fluid affect. Adaptable. Happy. Calm. But she was good, had pegged him before so he went for a touch of honesty (people like that) and added: "I... You kind of threw me." Elbows on the table. Fingers interlaced. Look away, shrug, shake your head. You got me. Touch of intimacy. "You're right, I was... thinking about this as like, I pay you, you do a thing. Like a chef or a... delivery person. It's demeaning. I wasn't respectful. Relationships demand respect. That I do get. I have a lot of respect for you, Doctor Hannigan, that's why I picked you. I want to really thank you for taking me on. Despite my ridiculousness. I can see it now, because I'm not worried you won't help me. In the moment it makes sense." His rolled his forearms forward and upturned his hands while shrugging helplessly, awarding himself bonus points for putting the desk between himself and her. He saw this as himself offering her a defense from him, removing the only obstacle between her and the door rather than just making a different kind of power move.
"I don't think I'm a psychopath, Dr. Hannigan, really I don't. I think I've just picked up some disadvantageous behavior patterns. I know it's not your job to change them for me, but if I could understand why I solve my problems the way I do I think I could avoid a lot of issues - not just for me, but for everyone in my life." He was nodding along with his own rhetoric. Eye contact. Raised eyebrows. Pause...
"I should just shut up now. Thank you for dealing with me. I hope you won't miss the L. I'd drive you, but." He wasn't allowing himself to be fully conscious of how much he wanted her to let him take her space, see her acquiesce to his display. He withdrew a pack of gum and popped out two squares into his palm.
He went silent, smiling, holding up the pack of gum for a few seconds in offering.