Dr. Russell Holden (doctor_feelgood) wrote in marvel_mashup, @ 2017-07-23 18:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | @dark shadows, holden: dr. russ, macrae: will |
Figure your shit out
CHARACTERS: March Hare, Mad Hatter, and the Dormouse.
TOPIC: A day in the life...
DATE & TIME: July 24th, 2017 @ 3:45pm.
LOCATION: Urge's Office.
RATING: NBP for No Beat Poetry.
"You're not going to get anymore acquainted with anyone if you spend so much of your time in here." Russ explained the younger woman, his nose and attention buried in older session notes. Notes he was careful not to let her see. His desk chair creaked when the absent-minded therapist swiveled side-to-side, while he re-read his own terrible handwriting. "You should go." Dr. Holden instructed, then moments later, decided that statement should've probably had a coda.
"You throwin' me out, doc?" She asked from the over-stuffed chair, upon which the brunette had manged to recline in a manner Russ had only witnessed Troy accomplish before. Russ sighed, of course she commented before he'd been able to clarify. "No. Part of your therapy is to integrate yourself with the people here. Literally, the friendliest place for... us."
"Muties?" Her lips curled into something wicked, just before her head landed on the armrest - a silent protest of his suggestion.
"Yes. Mutants." He corrected her, "You don't have anything to be ashamed of." Russ explained, then over-explained. "You haven't done anything to warrant being a pariah."
She chuckled, lightly but none-the-less full of sarcasm. "You think I'm afraid to go play with the other kiddies? Oh, sweetheart." Her tone turned to a shade of faux-concern Russ didn't appreciate, but he held his tongue. "Everyone here is so fucking boring." He watched the back of her head bounce on the chair - protest in each movement. Urge's mouth twisted into a grimace - but she cut him off.
"Should I go hang out with the super cool A/V club in the basement? The one that will either start world war three or The Walking Dead. Or in the disgruntled teachers' lounge that reeks of menthol cigarettes and disappointment? You know, the one you avoid like the plague. Maybe I could just crash the avant garde, repressed, yet still-oversexed artists clique that roams the halls and still manages to feel superior to everyone else... But then, there's still the garage; where teachers that should be in the disgruntled teachers' lounge go to hide under cars they secretly wish would just fall on them and end it all. Or the burnouts in the greenhouse you buy your pot from... or better yet - that delightful clan of Euro white trash everyone seems to have accepted... Was I talking about the Irish or the Russians? The fact that you have to ask tells you something."
"That's enough." Urge spoke up and finally paid her all of his attention. "Now, I am throwing you out." He pointed toward his office door, "unless you want to talk about where all of that misplaced hostility is coming from." He threatened her with more therapy. Her one weakness, he thought.
"Nah. I'm good." She rolled off the chair and onto her feet. "I'm out. Besides, your 3 o'clock is here." She informed him, already halfway to the door. But Russ had already turned away from situation.
"Go out and talk to someone else, please. And be nice." He added, when he heard the door swing open. Apparently, she'd been telling the truth about his '3 o'clock'. Except it was nearly four. Because not ten seconds after he'd been left alone, a friendlier voice said hi.
"Hi. Russ?" Will asked, after he'd taken several steps into Urge's office. "You got a second?" Omen felt conflicted about being in the therapist's office, at best.
"Of course, Will." Urge smiled at the younger man - happy to have better company for the foreseeable future. "What's on your mind?" He opened the drawer just to his right and dumped his notebook into it. "Come on, have a seat."
Will nodded, then quietly closed the office door behind him. He did what Russ suggested, but took a second to inspect the leather chair. He pointed at the depressed armrests before he sat. "Was Troy here?" Omen inquired with a smile.
"No. But I couldn't tell you if he was. But no." Urge shared, a playful tone in his voice. "So, what's on your mind?"
"Not much... I mean. Some stuff." Will sighed, then drew in a long breath for courage. "Okay, no bullshit. It's about Gwen." He started, then shifted from the uncomfortable feeling that had appeared in his stomach.
"Gwen, Brian's niece? Go on." Russ expression transformed from curious to bothered. Gwen was a doll - Urge hoped whatever Will had to say was an exaggeration.
"Yeah, Gwen." Russ, keep up. "Listen... she's literally my favorite." Will confided the horribly kept secret. "But I think... I think she should talk to someone. We... we just don't know everything she went through before she got to us... and, well, I've been around a lot of kids." He sighed, looked away from Russ and let his eyes cross. "I must sound... terrible."
"No," Russ reassured him, "What does Brian think?"
"I know; he's my second favorite... but I think he thinks whatever it is, we can handle. Which we totally can, but I'd feel better if we all talked to you." Will confided.
"Okay, yeah. But, I can't talk to anyone unless Brian says it's okay." Russ added, then stood from his desk. "But I have a of couple books you could probably get started with." Urge moved closer to the bookshelf, but craned his neck to address Will again. "Don't worry, Will. I can feel it." He smiled.
"Yeah, I know. You okay, Russ? Air was kinda thick when I got here." Will shared with him.
"Yeah, just a less pleasant patient." He tried to reassure Omen.
"So, Troy. Did he sell you anything?" He joked, smile cracked even before the words landed.