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Encaitare · 02-01-2006, 10:32 PM

Wilhelmina had never held with psychologists.

She had never wanted anything to do with anyone who tried to decipher her as if she were some kind of code to be broken. And she was pretty sure that psychologists were all a bit touched in the head themselves, and, well, the blind leading the blind and all that.

So it was with some reluctance that she entered the office of one Doctor... what was it, Frood? He certainly didn't look like a very together guy. In fact, he really wasn't together at all -- bits and pieces of him were scattered in every corner of the room. Currently, a hand was slapping a pair of lips back on a skull which was half-covered in flesh and tissue.

"Should I come back later?" she asked.

The lips tutted as the hand lit a cigar. "Ah, I see you have very little confidence in yourself. Tell me, did you get enough attention as a child?" the skull said in between puffs.

"It sufficed," said Wilhelmina, who hadn't thought of her childhood in years.

"Please, lie down on the couch, Ms. Brochenbach, and tell me of your dreams of late," said the doctor, whose skull now had both eyes and an ear. Off in the far corner of the room, a shin was reacquainting itself with a thigh.

Wilhelmina refused to lie down, as five tobacco-stained fingers were doing a sort of dance on the couch in an attempt to establish in which order they belonged, although she was pleased that he had pronounced her name correctly.

"Hmm, let's see," she said. "I had a dream about werewolves trying to eat me, but that's only because Anakron told us there were werewolves who were trying to eat us."

"Cannot... distinguish... fiction... from... reality," he muttered as the newly assembled hand scribbled on his notepad. "Go on."

"And... I had a dream about Mr. Swanky, but that's really nothing special."

"Who?" asked the doctor, raising his brows in interest.

"That's my pet ferret," she informed him.

"Ah, yes. Ferret... as... phallic... symbol..." he said to himself.

That was when Wilhelmina left.

Outside the door, she was apprehended by a nurse with silky blonde hair and a bosom so ample it was quite unfair to all other women. She incidentally had an IQ of 154, but you wouldn't know it to look at her -- the great tragedy of her life.

Wilhelmina did not care very much about any of this. She did, however, care about the message the nurse was giving her.

"Ma'am?" she said with a concernedly friendly tone that people seemed to reserve for the elderly. "The people at registration asked me to take this up to you so you could avoid the complications down there. This is your course list."

A piece of paper was thrusted into Wilhelmina's hands. It contained only one course title in large print: Old Timers Dizeaze and How to Cope.

Silently she cursed the stupid switching of S's and Z's, and the decided lack of apostrophe. She also cursed the fact that when a person got older, other people thought your brain had gone to town.

She sweetly thanked the nurse (for anything but the gentlest treatment would surely break her like a delicate piece of crystal, the poor dear that she was, doubtless with a dark past and troubled thoughts behind that pretty face) and marched off to find her class.

02-01-2006, 10:32 PM	#242
Encaitare Bittersweet Symphony Join Date: Jul 2004 Location: On the jolly starship Enterprise Posts: 1,814	Wilhelmina had never held with psychologists. She had never wanted anything to do with anyone who tried to decipher her as if she were some kind of code to be broken. And she was pretty sure that psychologists were all a bit touched in the head themselves, and, well, the blind leading the blind and all that. So it was with some reluctance that she entered the office of one Doctor... what was it, Frood? He certainly didn't look like a very together guy. In fact, he really wasn't together at all -- bits and pieces of him were scattered in every corner of the room. Currently, a hand was slapping a pair of lips back on a skull which was half-covered in flesh and tissue. "Should I come back later?" she asked. The lips tutted as the hand lit a cigar. "Ah, I see you have very little confidence in yourself. Tell me, did you get enough attention as a child?" the skull said in between puffs. "It sufficed," said Wilhelmina, who hadn't thought of her childhood in years. "Please, lie down on the couch, Ms. Brochenbach, and tell me of your dreams of late," said the doctor, whose skull now had both eyes and an ear. Off in the far corner of the room, a shin was reacquainting itself with a thigh. Wilhelmina refused to lie down, as five tobacco-stained fingers were doing a sort of dance on the couch in an attempt to establish in which order they belonged, although she was pleased that he had pronounced her name correctly. "Hmm, let's see," she said. "I had a dream about werewolves trying to eat me, but that's only because Anakron told us there were werewolves who were trying to eat us." "Cannot... distinguish... fiction... from... reality," he muttered as the newly assembled hand scribbled on his notepad. "Go on." "And... I had a dream about Mr. Swanky, but that's really nothing special." "Who?" asked the doctor, raising his brows in interest. "That's my pet ferret," she informed him. "Ah, yes. Ferret... as... phallic... symbol..." he said to himself. That was when Wilhelmina left. Outside the door, she was apprehended by a nurse with silky blonde hair and a bosom so ample it was quite unfair to all other women. She incidentally had an IQ of 154, but you wouldn't know it to look at her -- the great tragedy of her life. Wilhelmina did not care very much about any of this. She did, however, care about the message the nurse was giving her. "Ma'am?" she said with a concernedly friendly tone that people seemed to reserve for the elderly. "The people at registration asked me to take this up to you so you could avoid the complications down there. This is your course list." A piece of paper was thrusted into Wilhelmina's hands. It contained only one course title in large print: Old Timers Dizeaze and How to Cope. Silently she cursed the stupid switching of S's and Z's, and the decided lack of apostrophe. She also cursed the fact that when a person got older, other people thought your brain had gone to town. She sweetly thanked the nurse (for anything but the gentlest treatment would surely break her like a delicate piece of crystal, the poor dear that she was, doubtless with a dark past and troubled thoughts behind that pretty face) and marched off to find her class.