Sebastian Handsel (thedoctorisodd) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-06-25 10:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2018 [06] june, sebastian handsel |
Who: Dr. Handsel and Bryant O'Neill Jr.
Where: Sebastian's office in the Capitol
What: Seabass gets a visitor! And before that, some internal hand-wringing.
When: June 24th, around 4pm
One of the rules that governed mankind seemed to be its inherent love of contradictions. Stringent security measures had been put in place to keep the Capitol safe, and Sebastian Handsel was quite supportive of those rules. They worked entirely in his favor... except, of course, when they did not. Background checks were all well and good until they prevented him from seeing someone he wanted to see. He wasn't entirely oblivious to the complications that his beloved secure system had set up. Luckily, his position did afford him certain perks. Ways to bypass complications and undermine that very system he loved so much.
Most of the supply runners on his visitor's list were genuine supply runners. However, a number of them -- which did include one Bryant O'Neill -- were not. Whatever was going on at Foxgrove High was a legal gray area at best, and at worst a series of grievous felonies, so it seemed easier not to draw attention to where Bryant was residing. Because the boy did have valid identification and a clean record, he wasn't looked at too closely. Being on Handsel's list just encouraged that lack of attention. That Bryant was large enough to pass as a convincing runner helped immensely, but there were still certain snickers and rumors about regarding the doctor's preferences. His list wasn't exclusively strapping teenage boys, but it did instruct allowance for direct access straight to his quarters. That was where his office was located, and therefore was the most logical place to find him... but it still seemed a bit questionable in terms of security breaches and personal conduct. That hadn't occurred to him yet, of course. For better or for worse, Handsel was trusted, and his list was honored without question.
He didn't intend to let anything happen to put that trust at jeopardy, but Sebastian suffered some amount of hubris. Not only was his judgment trusted by the Capitol officials, but it was also trusted by him, leaving him a bit quick to vouch for people. A little too willing to bend rules for someone he liked. And he liked Bryant. The boy was a charming combination of clever and kind. There was something refreshing about finding an eagerness to please among the growing tide of people intent on outdoing each other with apathy, if not outright cruelty. He'd been fielding "why" for days since putting up his last support group post. Why feel? Why care? Why bother? Why try? Why, why, why. And yes, he could peel back the surface of aggressive deflection and snarky defensiveness and see the underlying pleas for hope that were there to be found, but it was tiring when it was everywhere.
Especially when he wasn't medicated, himself. Apocalyptic apathy wouldn't swallow him whole. He wouldn't allow that. Couldn't. But little could be done about his diet, and so little could be done about his treacherous brain. He'd stopped taking calls after talking through a woman's suicidal ideation led to advising her to tap into her field mice. His sister's name was also popping up wherever it could. The Mayor was consistently being referred to as the Miranda. For the most part, those who knew him were being gracious about ignoring it, just as they always had. From an outside perspective, he'd always been strange, and if his quirks went through more pronounced periods, then that was just an amusing side effect of stress. Everyone was stressed, so it made sense. He didn't blame them for not seeing the rings in his eyes (who really ever stood that close to someone, anyway), or the muscle spasms that made it difficult to button his shirt (dress codes were hardly enforced, and who cared if a psychiatrist chose not to wear a pullover shirt during the day), or that his handwriting had devolved to illegibility (he was really the only one who had to decipher his own notes).
He canceled an afternoon appointment so that could stare at the (Miranda) mirror in the bathroom, trying to decide if his skin actually looked more sallow than it had the day prior or if that was fear filtering his vision. There wasn't any pain or swelling, and he hadn't been vomiting, but a part of him was waiting for it. Knowing what was coming didn't always help. This was why he needed the anti-anxiety medication. Pills to flush the excess copper from his system and keep his liver from failing, pills to calm his mind down while the other pills took effect. That shouldn't have been asking for too much. But apocalyptic apathy had seeped into his medical colleagues, as well. Why care? Why bother? Why risk perfectly good lives for you? It was just prolonging the inevitable, and it had been made perfectly clear to him that other lives were to be valued above his, at least as far as UMC was concerned.
It irritated him that he hadn't had a better response to that woman's lecture. He still didn't have one. Eventually, he'd go to Graham, perhaps. Graham was more highly valued by the populace at large, and managed to get lots of strange things from them whenever he posted his lists. Sebastian hated to bother his friend for even more favors, but if it got worse, and none of his own leads bore fruit... maybe the trespass would be forgivable.
In the meantime, he had to dig himself out of this depressive spiral. Company -- earnest and eager to please company -- would help with that. He'd make tea, show the boy Joanna's eggs, and avoid the damn mir(anda)ror for a while. That would be good. That would be pleasant.