Dr de Witte . the white witch (hibernal) wrote in spindlesend, @ 2009-07-18 19:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | jadis de witte, july, samuel winchester |
Who: Dr Jadis de Witte & Sam Winchester
What: First session
When: 18 July
Status: Incomplete, threaded
Rating: PG, to start.
Morning rolled through the windows of the hospital with intense warmth as Dr de Witte made her usual rounds. She called them usual, but anything with a memory longer than that of a fruit fly was well aware she had not been at Cheshire Crossing long enough to call any of her peculiar activities usual. Perhaps it was usual in the sense that she strolled, vulture-like, through the halls of every institution unfortunate enough to have given her employment, or perhaps it was usual because no matter what her morning pursuits were, they could never be called innocent of intent. Jadis de Witte did not wander aimlessly, today, but imperiously, severely, eyes flashing hard across the open-doored rooms she passed in search of her brand of prey. She sought out the vulnerable and confused, those who knew no better than to trust her (and here that was everyone) and could be manipulated. 'For their own good' was a hollow war-cry, and even Jadis did not try to convince herself that her motives were magnanimous or even pure these days. There was a certain prudence in honesty with one's self, and she was, in all things, prudent. Two floors checked, she ultimately made her way back to her office, content that its redecoration had ultimately been a success. Once warm and inviting walls were now bare and clean -- a vision of monochromatic sterility that pleased her and could, if argued correctly, be construed as a sacrifice on her part for the health of the patients. Reducing distractions was essential for proper therapy, she claimed. Ergonomic chairs were ultimately better than large comfortable cushions.
Her life was a cacophony of excuses.
In her office, the doctor blended into the stark landscape, an imposing amalgam of black and white that stretched over six feet in narrow heels as it carefully straightened the plaques upon the wall dedicated to her excellence in the psychiatric field. These always brought a smile to her face, usually the first genuine expression of the day that melted rather than carved into her icy features. When she'd satisfied herself that every edge was straight, she finally sat at her desk, moving aside the pristine, barely touched keyboard of her computer and placing three items upon her desk: a thick file with the name winchester, samuel j in neatly typed letters across the tab, a handwritten day planner, and an ominously large auto-injector loaded with lorazepam. She patted this thoughtfully and opened up to today's date, following her lush handwriting to the date.
Seven am was Dr de Witte's favourite time to schedule appointments for many reason, not the least of which was that while she was very much a morning person, her patients rarely were. It put her at an advantage -- and she liked having an upper hand.
Now all she had to do was wait, and she did so with a white cup in her hand, filled to the brim with bitter, black coffee.