thecapitol | So help me, please doctor, I'm damaged

Sigma had not made a formal appointment with a medical doctor in decades. A handful lived on the Moon to support the survivors, but Sigma's rhizome purposefully did not connect with the rest, and leaving one moonbase for another via external airlocks was no easy task. He had allowed Akane, with her millions of years of knowledge and experience, to examine him after Diana was gone. In the event of his death, he had a contingency plan, an heir to his Game: so as far as he was concerned, meeting with a Doctor would have been a waste of his precious time.

Now Sigma could no longer avoid one, and he was noticeably nervous as he entered Justine's office. The Tribute surveyed the room, hands joined in front of him stiffly, until his eyes fell on what appeared to be a genomic map. Sigma flinched in surprise, realizing he was literate to their markings: these were the telltale diagrams of a genetic blueprint, and some sort of splice plan, at that... rebuilding an organism's set of DNA, recreating life, making oneself the master of their existence. He had made one to give life to his son and it shocked him to find something similar here. His gaze does not linger long on them, but it was enough to glean that this woman was no ordinary medical Doctor. Sigma would do well to play nice with her.

He takes a seat calmly, as if he were completely oblivious, and smiles pleasantly at the Doctor. "Good morning," Dr. Klim greets nervously. "I hope I have not kept you waiting."

Edited 2014-09-15 17:43 (UTC)

"Oh, not at all, not at all. You're right on time."

Immediately, Justine perks, picking up one of the files from her desk and laying it on her lap before rolling her seat around her desk so they can be sitting without anything between them. She doesn't acknowledge the loose diagrams and blueprints. She doesn't really expect many people to either look at or understand them.

"It's good to meet you in person, Dr. Klim. Do you mind if I call you Sigma?"

Without waiting for an answer, she flips open her file, plucking a pen from the desk behind her. "Now, this shouldn't take too much of your time. Is there anything you think I should know before we start trying to establish your history? Anything you want me to note, or something in particular you would like me to check on?"

Sigma nods. "That is fine. A pleasure to meet you as well, Doctor." It is interesting how many people were willing to address him by his first name, here; the instant his companions at home had discovered he was a Gamemaker, they refused to use his first name, as if he had lost the privilege of owning one for doing his job. As if being a doctor in his field dehumanized him.

He doesn't know what she might already have in that file of hers or how much attention she pays to each Tribute in the Arena, but Sigma decides to start with the most obvious. "I suppose I should say that my age is beginning to catch up with me. As time goes on, I find it more difficult to support the weight of my cybernetic arms. They were never intended to be used on Earth's gravity, you see..." He shrugs as if it is an obvious thing to note. "My shoulders and back hurt almost constantly. If you could prescribe me something to take the edge off, I would very much appreciate that."

"So, back pain, shoulder strain, difficulties with prosthetics..." She glances down at the file, writing down his complaints in neat, elegant print. The kind of handwriting that comes with a certain amount of practice perfecting penmanship.

"Well, it's likely that a lot of those problems would go away if we replaced your arms with ones more suited to our current planet. A typical human body isn't built to drag around that much metal. You, of course, could have a say in any adjustments we made." She absently taps her pen against the file, looking up to smile at him. "I would recommend it over painkillers, since regular usage carries significant risk of addiction, but you don't have to make any decisions right now if you would like to think on it or ask me questions about the process."

She keeps smiling; it's a sort of easy smile that makes it seem like she's genuinely interested in everything he might have to say. "I'll be sure to pay close attention to your backs and shoulders during the examination, though, just in case it's not the weight. Is there anything else you'd like me to know before we get started?"

The suggestion makes the Doctor feel ill; Sigma takes a deep breath to calm himself. Allowing the Capitol to modify his body would certainly look good, but he isn't certain he could handle it, mentally or physically. Surgery terrified him. The idea of any sort of knife touching his skin terrified him. At the very least, it would mean another week at least of helplessness while he recovered... he could feel revulsion in his bones.

"...That might be a better plan. I will think on it," he lies.

It may have been wise to voice his concerns or to bring up the terror another touching his cybernetics gave him, but foolishly, Sigma stays quiet. He is supposed to maintain the illusion of strength, even in private. "I believe that's everything," he decides.

"Take your time. It would be a completely voluntary procedure, but if you choose to do it, I would suggest doing it sooner rather than later." The Capitol wouldn't excuse him from games just because he was recovering from surgery, after all.

She flips to a sheet of questions. "Now, I'll just need you to answer some questions, and then we'll get to the actual examination. Would you please confirm your full name, your age, and your date of birth?"

Assured that he was not being forced into anything, Sigma began to relax again. "Very well," Sigma begins, sitting up straight. "My name is Sigma Klim, or Zero, as some Tributes call me." That probably didn't matter, and he mentions it with a dismissive wave of the hand. He had already told the Doctor that 'Sigma' was fine. "I am 69 years old, and I was born on July 18th, 2006." He wonders if that would mean anything to her, or if it would be a date from the distant past.

"July... 2006..."

She murmured softly to herself as she wrote down the information, then looked up to give him yet another smile.

"Would you say you're sexually active?"

She could just be getting the uncomfortable questions out of the way. In reality, she just enjoyed seeing people react to that one and liked getting right to it.

He should have expected the question, but having forgotten the structure of a typical check-up, it completely blindsides him. In spite of his near 70 years of wisdom, the cyborg begins to blush and fidget awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. Were he 45 years younger, it would be an easy question. He clears his throat.

"Ah... That is a vague question, isn't it? I mean, if one's partner has been gone for some time, one wouldn't be sexually active, in a manner of speaking..." He's being evasive, not wanting to admit he had been with a woman barely older than his son. All of Panem had seen them together, and it was no secret they were dating, but... Sigma hated being able to travel through time more than he could put to words. He wished they could be an ordinary couple with matching ages and a future ahead of them.

"Oh, don't be so embarrassed. I'm a professional. I've seen it all before."

She gives him a wink before settling in her chair, resting her pen on the edge of the page. "Just tell me how many sexual partners you've had in the past year. I'm afraid this is the kind of thing I have to know, since it will affect your health."

Sigma isn't entirely convinced, and the wink does not help matters. He fidgets in his seat for a little while like a worm on a hook before answering her.

"...One."

Next question, please.

"One. Very well." She writes down his answer. "And do you take any medications? Any major diseases, injuries, or operations in the past?"

He's embarrassed by his sexual history. Some people are, but him in particular. Usually, people are ready to tell her most of what she wants without much trouble in a medical setting.

That could potentially be useful. She'd need to go over footage of the Games again and see who he sleeps with.

As thankful as he was to have moved on, Sigma wasn't entirely certain where to start. "Ah... No medications presently, but before I arrived here, I was recovering from a viral infection. I had taken an antitoxin. It seems I made a full recovery and it has not bothered me since." It would have been immediately obvious, both to himself and others, if he was still infected. He knows she is bound to ask, but he does not disclose the virus' name. "It was a virus unique to my world. Allow me to leave it at that." It had also caused a mass extinction, and Sigma was reluctant to bring it up in the presence of a Capitol citizen.

He catches himself rubbing his wrist. "As for my arms and eye, I lost them when I was a young man. You could say it was the result of a 'Game' not unlike our own. They were replaced with cybernetics soon after."

He thinks for a moment before shrugging. "...Right. I was treated for a stab wound a couple of months ago. I also caught a case of influenza about a year ago, and when I took it into the Arena, I died." Let's forget both of those at once.

Edited 2014-10-01 03:22 (UTC)

This is the last thing Dave wants to do. He'd intended to avoid it the entire time, but he'd begun to realise that when a Capitolite tells you to do something and you don't do it? Things go badly. He has a cuff that proves that fastened on his wrist. There's a strong motivation to prove that he's well behaved and obedient by showing up, particularly before most of the tributes have managed to. It means that he doesn't have to explain his willingness to go to anyone, he can get it out of the way without it becoming embarrassing.

Or so he thinks, anyway. Doctors and sixteen year old boys rarely make for anything but shame. He hasn't been to one in year, well over three years, he could have all sorts of diseases and he'd never know. More fun for her, he guesses.

When he slinks in, it's hard to tell if he's visibly tired simply because of the dark sunglasses fixed on his face despite being indoors. He needs to will himself toward her, slouching into a chair unceremoniously. "What's up, doc?" A beat. "Sorry, I've just been waiting for a chance to use that reference."

"I can't say I have any idea what that reference is from, but I don't seem to understand most of your references anyway."

Justine looks up from her desk immediately, rolling her chair around so they could face each other without anything in between them. She grabs one file, flipping it open and tapping a pen against it.

"Now, we're going to start off with some questions to establish a medical history, then we'll get to an examination. But first, are there any complaints or something in particular you would like me to check on or know about?"

"Most people don't." It's said curtly, almost bitterly even if he's trying to look flippant about it. Establishing rapport would probably make this easier, but he's of the impression that he can yes, no and maybe at a few questions and leave.

He tries to peer at the file through his shades as discreetly as he can before falling back into his chair. He considers being genuine, asking for something that can help him sleep or stop the headache he gets just thinking about sirens, but when he opens his mouth all he can manage to say is "Nah. I mean. Beyond the standard complaint of being here at all, which I'm sure you get a lot." He's so understanding and kind to your doctorly needs. "I'm ready for the mandatory health shaming quiz. Fire away."

"If you say so." She looks down at the page, making a note in the corner. He didn't ask her for anything. People, especially people in the Hunger Games, always want something. Just not necessarily things that they're willing to ask for.

So it's worth noting that he didn't ask. "Would you tell me your full name, age, and date of birth?"

There's plenty Dave wants, but there's not a lot he's willing to ask for. Not from someone he doesn't know well enough to trust, anyway. Bitten once twice shy and all of that jazz, who knows what it might get him into if he isn't careful.

"Dave Trouble Strider." He sounds that off with absolutely no hesitation. It's a lie, of course, but his middle name is a source of speculation for many. "Sixteen. December third, Nineteen ninety-five." Probably ancient history for her.

Edited 2014-09-20 07:54 (UTC)

"Dave Strider." She doesn't respond to the middle name. She knows he's screwing with her. She's had far worse.

"Sixteen." She murmurs softly to herself as she writs down his answers, then looks up at him with a small smile. "Are you sexually active, Dave?"

She is perfectly happy to screw with him in kind.

There's a tiny little flicker of annoyance at himself for pulling that, but he hasn't had the impression that she'll smite him for trying to joke around.

"And I don't look a day over thirty." He adds, only to make himself more comfortable. This of course means nothing when she throws him a question like that and his face heats a little for it. "I wish." Is the answer he blurts out, and he's never been more glad for his sunglasses. "No. Nada. Nothing. Just a string of disappointments." Stop talking, mouth.

If there was one thing about the Capitol that Wesker truly loathed, it was this. The exams, the tests, the experimentation, as if he were nothing more than a lab rat. As if he were Project Alice - a tool to be broken down, the sum of his parts greater than his whole.

(He was different. He was better. He was chosen.)

And to not know what they were doing with those samples, but to be able to guess, to not believe for a second that they were competent enough to handle something like T....

It was an unforgivable sin. An insult. Salt in the wound they'd tore when they'd brought him here through power the likes of which he'd never witnessed.

But he didn't fight. Didn't resist.

Coolly and calmly, a pale monolith, he arrived promptly for his physical.

Justine gave him a moment to greet her. When he didn't, she glanced up at him and gave a bright smile, though inside, she had already cooled towards him. Greet your superiors properly, vermin.

"Good day. Please, take a seat."

She opened up his file, taking out a pen and settling it against the page. "Before we get started, is there anything you would like me to take note of or pay special attention to?"

Did he roll his eyes? Blink long-sufferingly?

It was impossible to tell, the strange serpentine eyes shuttered away behind the dark lenses of his glasses. The only clue was the small flare of his nose as he inhaled.

"I trust your superiors have informed you of the proper safety protocols."

(Mind the blood. Mind the teeth - especially the ones you can't see.

~~Avoid the eyes.~~)

"Yes, of course. We'll both be quite safe."

Both. If he hurt her, there would be severe consequences.

"But we don't have to worry about that just yet. I need to ask you a few questions before we get started, so go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

"Ask away," his head dipped, an amused deferment as he moved to the exam table.

The pieces are set to make it an uncomfortable experience. To leave the patients feel small and uncertain, their feet dangling off the floor as the doctor stands tall and firm. Wielding the power of the dynamic.

But Wesker... Wesker has played this game before, with far more dangerous players.

He sits, and gestures expectantly. (Obligingly.)

"I will do my very best to answer."

She stands, cradling her clipboard in the crook of her arm as she writes. Paper and a pen: her weapons of choice.

"Full name, age, and date of birth, if you would be so kind."

"Albert Wesker," he replied easily. "March 7th, 1960. As for my age..."

The pale head tipped, lights reflecting off the dark lenses of his glasses.

"That's all rather slippery isn't it? Between the arenas and... my condition."

The math said he should have been nearing his sixties, but there he sat, looking no older than a man in his thirties. Handsome and strong. Youthful and vital.

T could be such a kind mistress when she wished to be.

[OOC: Wesker's age and birthdate has never been discussed in the movie canon. I used his date of death in the videogame canon for his birthday, but age is very strange. In the game he was nearing his sixties in his final appearance, and in the movie he was originally played by an older actor, but post-infection the actor was replaced by a man in his mid-twenties. So. :/ Handwaving. Handwaving everywhere.]

The idea of actually seeing a doctor is something that Iskierka has not only never heard of but doesn't see much of a point in. In fact, she pretty much considers it to just be one of the strange things the people of the Capitol do, and so puts it out of her mind. It's only after more than one person has told her in no uncertain terms that she really must go that she bothers at all, and even then she comes slowly at best.

Once she does arrive, however, there's no mistaking her. There aren't too many visibly nonhuman tributes, and there are none at all that look anything like her. It's clear she's not happy either, by the general stance she takes, once she gets into the room proper and what can be read in her expression is displeasure plan and simple.

The chair she ignores. She's not at all built to sit in anything like human furniture and even if she had been she wouldn't. Instead, she waits and watches to see what's being asked of her this time.

Edited 2014-09-18 07:46 (UTC)

Justine waits for a moment, giving the dragon a chance to greet her properly. When she doesn't, she looks up with a bright smile, but inside, she has already labeled the tribute. Disrespectful. Most of the tributes have been here long enough to know who their betters are.

"Good day. I'm glad you finally decided to meet me." She picks up one file and opens it up, clicking her pen. "Before we get started, is there anything you'd like me to know? Any complaints that I should look into?"

Iskierka doesn't return the smile. In fact, nothing at all of her stance suggests even the slightest indication that she's willing to bow her head (even metaphorically) to who the Capitol might suggest she owe politeness to; if that makes her disrespectful in the eyes of some, she doesn't much care.

(She should, maybe, but it never quite occurs to her that there are possibly worse things that could come of it than what she's already had to endure.)

"I am only here because I was told to be," she answers. Whether that's a complaint or something she'd like to share she doesn't make clear. "I cannot see any point in it."

"Well, there's plenty of point. I need to know what makes you tick if I'm going to help you in the case of injury."

Iskierka is already on Justine's black list. She's taking up her valuable time trying to keep these worms healthy, and yet she's so often met with hostility and disrespect. She has half a mind to just install bombs in all of them and watch them explode like meaty pumpkins.

She keeps smiling, though. Wouldn't do to actually give the Tributes a reason to be hostile.

"If you don't have any questions for me, why don't we just get started? Full name, age, and date of birth, please."

"No one has told me what day I hatched," Iskierka answers. "They were all too busy trying to escape for it to matter to anyone at the time. But it was three years ago, and it would be--" a pause, as she reaches for the numbers that have only briefly come up "--1809, I think? And you may call me Iskierka."

The idea of helping keep her in good shape makes sense, at least. She isn't likely to admit to the fact, but she supposes it makes sense. Even if she doesn't see the reason of having to go see someone before she's been injured. After all, everyone at home knows what she's supposed to be like, so why should it be any different here?

Doctors make Tom nervous, and with good reason. He's been a plaything for the less savory of their ilk in the past. He's had a high-stakes career for long enough that he can keep from looking anxious, but he knows the truth of his heart slamming away inside his chest. He knows that his palm sweats against the pommel of his cane as he heads into her examining office. He knows that he'll be counting the seconds until this silly charade is done, this shadow play that the Capitol is actually concerned with his health.

He's sure they're just wanting to keep tabs on his DNA, to unlock the mutation that gives him his superpowers. It would be nice of them to give those back, he thinks.

He's more than a little pleasantly surprised to see not a skulking portrait of a mad scientist, but a quite attractive woman significantly younger than he is.

"No one warned me that my doctor's visage could heal on its own. Enchanté, Dr. Florbelle."

Justine looks up, immediately giving him a warm smile. See, here? This is a proper greeting.

"It's the secret to my success. Don't tell anyone." She gives him a wink as she stands to greet him, offering her hand to shake. "Enchanté, Mr. Cassidy. Why don't you take a seat?"

He takes her hand and gives it a gentlemanly kiss, using all the charisma that he's shored up from years of good breeding, manner school, self-confidence, handsomeness and success with the ladies. It's considerable.

"Gladly." He settles down, cane across his lap (and always right there in hand, even though now it's scarcely more than a stick to hit things with, rather than a totem of the raw firepower of his mutation). "This is just for a physical?"

Yes, she very much likes this one. He'll be fun.

She gives a big smile at the kiss, feeling vaguely reminded of many men she's dated in the past, and sits down across from him, putting a file in her lap. "It should be, unless you want me to check anything in particular. Any complaints, or something I should know about?"

"I feel quite fine, lately. I suffered some unfortunate health scares in the past, but I'm sure you have them documented. They were a bit...arboreal."

She better not look at him funny for that. He taps his knee. "And this is an old wound, so shan't be getting any better."

Venus is used to being poked and prodded by doctors; it's been a fixture in her life since she was eleven. She doesn't object when she's told to come see Justine for her physical. She's packed a rolled-up magazine in her purse in case she has to linger in the waiting room, but she finds that the opposite is the case. Apparently, she's kept Justine waiting.

"Sorry. I hope I didn't hold you up." She takes a seat, leaving the purse by the leg of her chair. She looks weary, but more than that, she looks human. Typically, she covers up for tiredness and irritability and all those mundane human emotions with the poise that suggests that she knows she's always on camera. Now there are still the shadows of that self-awareness, pieces of grace stuck in her body language out of habit, but she doesn't seem to care what the audience thinks of her anymore.

She doesn't have the luxury of sympathetic viewers. She has the ugly brand burned into her face, that she woke up with after the Arena. And she cried and cried then, her hopes of being made whole again dashed upon her mutilated cheeks.

She holds her hand out to shake Justine's. "I'm Venus. And you're in for a long story if you're going to be my general practitioner."

"Excellent. I'm a fan of stories."

Justine rolls her chair around so it's in front of her desk. She stands up and clasps Venus's hand in a warm shake before gesturing for her to take a seat. There are no barriers here. We're all equals.

Except they aren't.

"Make yourself comfortable. Would you like tea or coffee? I would like this to be as pleasant an experience as possible."

Venus' shake is one of those that feels sincere but could easily turn into a throw. There's something calculated and disingenuous about it.

"Um. Coffee, please. You have sugar, right? Ever since you guys gave me a human body I been a really big fan of sugar. And cream, please."

She takes a seat, crossing her legs.

"Absolutely." Justine goes to her desk, clearing some papers so she can see the screen on it. She presses a button and leans in. "We would like some coffee. Don't forget the sugar and cream."

She releases the button and goes to sit across from Venus, giving her a warm smile. "Well, you said it would be a long story. We can start wherever you like. How are you readjusting to being human?"

"I'm doing alright, I think?" No one's asked her that since she got here. Venus is surprised that for someone who usually is ready to field any sort of interview-like question, she doesn't have an answer. "I like hot showers now. And um. Socks."

She would ask about things like touch, like human contact, but there's no point anymore. She's been dumped. No need to pretend she'll be getting another boyfriend anytime soon.

"Do you want to start with physical health or mental, first? Well, I guess mental makes more sense, right? Since the physical body belongs to you guys."

Venus killed herself on television last week.

"Socks are wonderful, aren't they? Especially fresh from the dryer."

Justine cocks her head, smiling mildly at Venus. "We start where you want to start. You can make that decision here."

She doesn't say that Venus has full control. That would be a lie, and intelligent people don't generally appreciate blatant lies.

"I just want to make sure you're okay, physically and mentally. You caused a stir when you killed yourself."

"That's my favorite thing. When the Avox brings in the laundry I take it and dump it on the bed and lie under it before it loses all the heat."

She doesn't return that mild smile. Instead she lowers her eyes, side of her mouth twisting in a way that's almost amused but is actually just sad. "I didn't think anyone would pay it much attention, since I'm a traitor now. I kind of lost a lot of my street cred."

She exhales deeply. "I have bipolar disorder. The Avoxes bring me medicine when I'm in the Capitol to shave off the highs and lows, and before each Arena I get a booster shot of it to stop me from going through withdrawals for the first week or so. I been on meds since I was 16 for it."

She doesn't mention Azula smuggling her medication into the Arenas because she doesn't want her Mentor to get into trouble, even though she knows it's likely relevant to Justine's inquiries.

"I'm mostly okay, though. I think that's all that happened in the Arena. It's been a rough few months."

She doesn't know Justine well enough to say what's really on her mind yet, but the safe-feeling environment set up here is eroding her defenses.

Kankri's death is surprisingly fast and relatively painless, this time, and so when he wakes up this time it hardly bothers him or weighs on his mind. He has other things to be worried about.

Like the aftermath of those three hours, just days ago now, and the consequences he's sure will come down hardest on his fellow Tributes. Like the disappearance of his kismesis, just when they had finally admitted to being that to each other. Like Venus, back in the Arena, likely distraught over what he knows she'll view as her failure to get him to the end.

But Justine had been perfectly kind and pleasant, and he's sure the Capitol wants to see him worrying, sad, even distraught. He's not going to give them the pleasure this time. Surely Karkat would yell at him for giving them what they want, if he were still here. So when he walks into her office he appears calm and collected. He smiles at her warmly, taking a seat and folding his hands in his lap demurely.

"It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Doctor. I hope you haven't been waiting long?" He's made sure he's right on time, but getting Kankri to not be obnoxiously polite would be like pulling teeth.

"Of course not, Kankri. You are right on time." She looks up from her files, giving him a warm smile to match what she gave him on the network. Then she rolls her chair around her desk, picking up one of the files and placing it on her lap.

"And may I say, you're that much more handsome in person." Still smiling, she offers him a hand to shake. "Welcome back to the Capitol. The pleasure is all mine."

"I- ah?" A crimson flush rises into his cheeks at the compliment. He's not used to people hitting on him, and it flusters him easily. After a moment, he remembers himself and reaches out to shake her hand. The custom isn't familiar to trolls, but he's learned plenty of human niceties in his time here. "Th, thank you, ma'am. It's kind of you to say so." There, that sounds appropriately noncommittal and not like he's totally off guard.

He realizes he's held her hand a moment or two too long and hastily drops it, knitting his fingers together in his lap again. Why is it that he always feels like an idiot when romantic or sexual situations come up? "Well, in any case. I'm sure you have far too much on your plate already, and I heard about how you were attacked during those awful blackouts. I'm so sorry you were hurt in the course of such indiscriminate violence. I'll never understand the need some people have to express themselves through destruction." It was very easy to determine that it's best to express disapproval of Eva Salazar's hijacking of the Capitol's security, however valuable those precious moments of privacy were. Despite his obvious sentiments of resistance towards what his captors would like him to do, he knows his reputation is inclined enough towards being fussy and trivial that those who watch the Tributes wouldn't think it unusual for him to be displeased at such a dangerous upheaval. "So I don't wish to take up more of your valuable time than I should. Shall we begin the evaluation, Doctor? You'll have to guide me through some of it, of course."

The word Doctor isn't something that Gannicus recognises. He thinks he can guess, by the context of being told to see one and his current state, but Gannicus isn't exactly fond of thinking too hard at the moment. Not with the headache, the black fire of pain that constantly consumes his every thoughts. With that going on, Gannicus really doesn't like to do much thinking at all.

Still, he draws his arrogant facade around him like a protective cloak and strolls in to Justine's office as if his head wasn't about to explode at all. He stops in front of Justine's desk and clasps his hands in front of him, smirking a little as he boldly lifts his chin and announces:

"I present myself."

It takes a couple weeks after his arena death for him to finally get dragged to his physical. He's not fond of doctors, but he's used to the routine of them. More for his time as a super soldier, honestly. Most might find that surprising, but when he was young and weak, hospitals were a sentence, the euginics laws at the time would only condemn him, so his mother did everything in her power to keep him out of the hospitals and away from doctors.

No, as a super soldier Steve was used to being tested and retested. After waking up from the ice it was ten fold, every legal test imaginable, even ones that were questionable if they were legal or not. Didn't mean he enjoyed it in the slightest, but it did mean he knew the drill.

So, he entered the room, giving her a very polite nod and a neutral, bordering on pleasant expression. He didn't come here of his free will, but he's not about to take that out on her. "Good afternoon, doctor."

So help me, please doctor, I'm damaged

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set a few days from now barring any major event?

Sounds good!

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[cw: suicide discussion]

This is so late it's embarrassing. I'm sorry

No worries at all! It's not like it's time-sensitive. <3

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finally doing this as promised