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Elise de Listenois (welcometobedlam) wrote in light_of_may,

Behind closed eyelids, Elise felt the world sway. While her free hand trailed patterns over the back of the bench out of sheer force of habit, her mind swam with altogether too much information, barely picking one item out from many. A lot of people sat here on a day-to-day basis. They thought and felt and did. And sometimes it would be nice if they just didn't, so she could take a seat without being assaulted by the occurrences centred around it. She was never going back to wearing gloves. It was boring.

The shrieks, cackling and crying of long dead patients echoed in Elise's ears. Full surround-sound. Followed by inane chattering and the sound of the sheers as they made their rounds, cutting the girls' hair for wigs. Once upon a time, it had been something she'd more than just enjoyed. Now that the inmates weren't actually there it just irritated her. It wasn't exactly something she could recreate. Not here. For a moment, she pushed aside the background noises her mind was adding and contemplated what would happen if everyone came into work tomorrow morning to find all the inmates had been lobotomised overnight. The idea was enough to expel the frown that was threatening to form on her face. That feeling, though... The area had a definite feeling of 'excuse you?' that only one kind of creature had ever been able to deliver. She sincerely hoped she was right. And that it didn't come with some kind of battle-axe. Because she was sure that kind of activity in the workplace would get her fired.

Opening her eyes, Elise looked past the figment of a Bedlam Hospital surgeon looking to jam whatever-that-was into her forehead to the woman stood in front of her. With a smile that suggested she was mildly confused, she straightened up - her hallucination would have to settle for lobotomising her shoulder - and looked the other woman over. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else," she stated, tone perfectly polite. Like someone who gives a damn. And... sorry, but was that her idea of some kind of intervention? Next she would be telling patients that wearing one half of a pigeon on the bottom of each foot would cure... something. Elise couldn't remember which ailment that was supposed to tend to - she suspected it was influenza or pneumonia - but the sentiment remained. With a slow smile, because she knew how sweet she looked, Elise offered her hand. "Dr. de Listenois." Which naturally sounded better with a French accent and horrific in an American accent, but since she was neither she couldn't be bothered complaining.