Who: Mick and Kali/Jane Doe What: First session Where: Kali's room When: Morning Rating: PG-13ish
Mick was settled in, he’d gotten everything unpacked and moved around and settled in. It was his first day of actual work with patients and he was ready to tackle that work head on. First order was to meet and talk to his patients. Granted he only seemed to have two patients, he wouldn’t let that discourage him from doing his job to the fullest extent, and probably then some knowing him. Picking up a patient file he started down the halls towards the elevators. A Jane Doe only giving the name Kali. He’d worked with enough Jane Does to know he’d have his work cut out for him. Of course most of them were dead. With his current being alive, it would make it much easier to figure out who she is and how to help her.
There’d already been some ruffled feathers apparently and he was reading over it in the notes and charts in the file, making mental notes of everything. Dressed for the part of a doctor today for once, nice black slacks, midnight blue button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows tucked in nicely showing off a shiny black leather belt and brass buckle, and his ID tag dangling from a breast pockets he made his way to room A214. Knocking on the door he looked in, but wouldn’t com in till he was invited. “Ms. Kali, my name’s Mick St. John and I’m your doctor, may I come in?”
Kali had not been a disasterously dangerous example of patient, but she certainly tended to make the lucid people around nervous (ie, those responsible for her and others health). Over the course of a few days, she'd managed to get herself barred from a few luxuries, like music in her room and game night (the fight that errupted last time would be legendary). So, she was currently making due with the one thing that hadn't been taken from her yet. Paper and charcoal (Kali refused to touch crayons, besides the red ones). She was currently at the little desk, hunched over a drawing of monotone gray and black when she caught the knocking, and the smooth placating voice of what could only be a doctor. Vibrant red hair, coiled as it had naturally dried shifted when she turned over her shoulder. The woman couldn't be older than twenty-three... and in many ways, looked even younger than that. Her skin was fair, and etched on shoulders arms, chest and throat and back with tattoos of all different designs. All war-like in nature (warrior prayers, bloody scenes, a Red Horseman, ect)... She was wearing a simple pair of sleeper pants and a ribbed tank top that hugged her close. She had eyes like neophite. Sweet as a cloudless summer day or as poisonous as a chemical toilet. When they locked on the Doctor, they were simply.. blue.
"Sure." She smiled bright and friendly, though the corruption of her name with a prefix twisted a flare of anger like barbed wire under her skin.
Stepping in after he pushed the door open further and just pushed it too so no one could hear them by just walking by, doctor-patient confidentiality and all, Mick gave the younger woman a soft friendly smile. It was better to go at this with a good attitude and root through whatever he was given, dividing it up into truth and lies. For all he knew this was just an innocent girl that needed help or it could be come manipulative woman that liked to play with other people’s lives. It was never clear right off the bat and he didn’t want to judge a book by it’s cover, so he planned on talking to her, taking notes and going from there. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said holding out his hand to her, his own dwarfing hers. “I’ve come by to just talk for a bit, see how you’re doing and introduce myself. I want to know if you have any questions or thoughts or concerns and I’ll try my best to help you however I can,” he said. “May I have a seat?” He asked nodding to the empty bed as she wasn’t exactly allowed to have a roommate at the time.
She shook his hand with all the placidity that wasn't in her eyes or smile, even if it was exceedingly well practiced. Sweet and demure. Poor little thing who's parents gave her more than bad genes. This was the angle Kali usually presented for the doctors. It made things easier. Unless... they did something she disapproved of. That's what happened at Cherry Grove. Of course, no one knew that but her. "Feel free." She gestured quietly to the other bed, then turned attention back to her drawing. It was a very, VERY good representation of a man, with cold pits of black for eyes and a scarred visage. The cropped hair and solid stone physique of a weathered Soldier. He was in the uniform of a WWII GI. In the picture beneath it, he was in the modern ACU's and desert camo. Beneath that... a Spartan solider. A gladiator. A member of the SS.
Mick wasn’t able to see very much of the picture, but he also didn’t want to intrude. He’d let her share and open up, all he would do was open the door. She was the one that had to step through. Whether it was to get better or create some sort of thorn in his side, it was yet to be seen. “How are you doing today? I understand there’s been some conflict going on around you. A fight was incited I heard,” he said sounding pleasant and even tone, something akin to sympathy and understanding in his voice. “Do you want to talk about that?” He asked as he set her folder beside him and crossed his long legs, resting a yellow pad of lined paper in his lap, pen idly doodling circles and shapes as he looked at her, watching her reactions to gauge the conversation more accurately.
Kali laughed. It was a mirthful, gleeful expression that clearly indicated she was both amused and delighted with what the doctor had said, though she didn't take her eyes off her work. A fingertip drew softly along the line of the Soldier's lip, shading and molding the dark, frowning shape. "Human nature, Doc." She said, sweetly.. scribbling again with her sharpened coal pencil. Spears of her hair twitched as she moved, dangling around her eyes, her cheeks, chin and collarbone. "Not my fault people are edgy in a mental hospital."
So, no real remorse that he could tell, maybe even a hint of amusement. Oh she was going to be fun to work with. Making a few notes, Mick looked up at her, his expression calm and as neutral as possible. “So you don’t feel bad about the fight? The fact that someone could have gotten seriously hurt or worse doesn’t bother you?” He asked. There was always a way to approach someone. It was different with each person though. You couldn’t go at everything with righteousness or anger. Sometimes even pretending to be curious instead of disappointed worked as well.
And it did work with Kali... at least, on some small level.. because she stopped her drawing and looked his way. Her expression was suddenly blank with a hint of curiosity and interest. Like he'd just said something in a language she didn't understand. She simply looked at him for a minute of studious silence, watching his eyes... staring, even.. unblinking and unmoving... though it was clearly not a sign of aggression or dominance. It was just the way she looked at people (though those expressions did come into play on a fairly regular basis).
"Should I?" She asked this genuinely... her voice displaying her age more than any words to that subject she had said yet. Youthful and almost niave sounding.
To work as a therapist you have to know how to read people and get to know them in ways they don’t realize they’re slipping you bits of themselves they might not want you to see. Mick was good at that. It was a daily skill when one worked with less than savory people and threatening violence didn’t work all the time. “Don’t you feel any empathy for the people that were in the fight or does it amuse you?” He asked, that curious lilt to his voice a bit more pronounced. “Did you find it entertaining to see them fight? Kind of like watching a boxing match or one of those caged fights only anything goes?” He asked. His questions were subtly probing and generally sounded like he didn’t really care that she might have gotten the fight started or that he wanted to punish her. Mick actually sounded like he wanted to know how she did it, like he might use the same technique himself.
For whatever the reason, Kali didn't put much effort into the conversion. That is, she wasn't manipulative. She wasn't false or acting, but neither was she offering up any of that crucial information that every nurse and orderly had been after her for since she was brought to Cheshire. One corner of her lips twitched into her cheek--a partially open smirk that hinted of sharp, bone white teeth in the shadow... then a rather cynical snicker went turned back down to her drawing, where an already blackened fingertip continued to shade the skin beneath the Soldier's jaw. "Sure. Why not?" She paused, glancing over at him from behind the blood spears of overgrown bangs. The hint of a smile was still there. "Deny it all you want..." Back to her artwork. "...even doctors know we're wired to kill each other. Even over stupid things."
So now whenever a fight broke out, Mick would have to look into it and see if Kali was talking to either participant before hand. Great. He was already getting a hint that she would enjoy making his job hard, running him around in circles. Behind that small, innocent looking face he was pretty sure there was probably some morbid love for violence. Of course he had yet to figure out what exactly she was capable of. If she could incite a fight, one he’d have to look into and talk to the orderlies and patients doctors about just to get a grasp on the situation, as easily as he had a feeling she did then things were going to get rough and tumbling. Jotting a few notes down he glanced back up at her, his face a mask of calmness while his brain frantically ran about planning out his next moves. “You’re right, we are wired to kill each other. We’re wired to also hunt and plan attacks as well as show mercy,” he said, letting that small bit slip out, kind of baiting her into talking more.
"Yeah, I get that." The tattooed redhead replied casually--oddly enough, the agreement with him in tone and words still didn't seem to match up very well. She wasn't trying to placate him in any way... Kali was just dismissing that last bit of human nature as irrelevant. She was still looking down at the Soldier, admiring the image itself even as it slowly manifested from her own imagination. Perfect detail: burned into her brain from so long ago it was practically in her wiring. "What's your point?" Half-interested, at best. She wasn't bored with him: that much was obvious to the fact that she was still talking to him.
“I’m just curious why you’re only focusing on one thing that humans are made to do,” he said simply. “Why not hope or sadness or even indecisiveness? What’s so fascinating about fighting or violence?” Mick asked taking a few more notes, though his eyes never let Kali. He’d taken in her appearance. He’d known some of the most disgusting looking people and they were the most kind and gentle he’d ever met. He’d also known the most beautiful and angelic look creatures that would sooner stab you in the back, figuratively and literally, than offer you a hand to get up. Appearances weren’t weighted much with Mick. They only told you so much. The tattoos though, he’d written a quick description of each in his notes as well, they were like black soot on the girl’s skin, making her look a little less innocent and lost in the world.
She didn't look at him when she replied. "No reason." That was a lie, even if it was expertly directed. Dismissive and thoughtless, Kali continued to watch the progress of the Soldier on her piece of paper. Sure, she had reasons that pertained to her behavior and fascination, but she'd grown quite sick of relaying them all to child services employees, police, and doctors. She'd stopped cooperating entirely when the injections started at Cherry Grove. No one seemed to really understand her reasons either. May as well just chalk the notion up to her being crazy. Kali understood that notion, and it always seemed to work in her favor.
Jotting down more notes, Mick was finding himself to have a lot of reading to do and recording when he got done just from that one meeting. “There has to be a reason,” he said trying to coax something out of her. “You said humans were wired to kill over little things, then what little things have you fascinated with violence?” He asked as he shifted a bit, his rather large frame was getting stiff sitting there so he pushed himself further onto the bed to lean against the wall. It was like they were just hanging out and talking with their postures and tones of voices. A deep conversation between two people.
Now Kali looked at him. Her lips twitched and held in that slightly feral, lopsided smile, still and watching the doctor with a stare that many found to be unsettling. Studious and dissecting as his subtle probing questions. She looked from his calm, lucid (handsome) face to her fingertips, blackened by the dust off her artwork. She rubbed the scarred pads together as she spoke. "...always looking for a logical path..." The singsongy voice betrayed her age again... In reality, Amber Markey was twenty-two years old, but even she didn't know that. Birthdays weren't exactly celebrated in her childhood home. She looked up again, this time rising with a gentle fluidity--a dancer or housecat--from her chair, and settled harmlessly next to him on the bed (still staring). Smoothly, her charcoaled fingertips lifted toward his face, making plenty sure to indicate her intent was not to attack or hurt him. Kali spoke again, watching the path of her own two fingertips trace dark war-paint lines on the each cheekbone of the poor sod assigned to her. "There are only two things in life that make perfect logic, Doc." A line crossed his brow... Kali watched it's formation with a pleased smile. "Sex and Violence."
Something told Mick this was going to be one of his top cases that he was going to spend nights awake obsessing over, as he generally tended to do without even knowing. She was a pretty girl that, given the right location, she could probably get whatever she wanted. Money, sex, power. It was all in attitude and how you held yourself. He stayed seated, his back against the wall to prevent him from slouching while his legs laid across the bed crossed at the ankles. When she stood up he merely watched her. Even if she did make an inappropriate move, sexually or violently, he could easily over power her if necessary. He doubted he’d have to. She seemed to be very much in control and knew what she was saying and doing. His own mash of hazel blue eyes watched her as she lifted a hand slowly and deliberately marking his face with the coal that covered her fingers as he listened to her. He made no move to stop her either, it seemed better to let her do that than stop her. Reveal more of herself and her intentions. Mick was a patient man, he could wait.
“Logic is always up for debate I’m afraid. Ask anyone in here,” he said softly, his pen laid on his yellow pad of paper that rested in his lap with his hands. It was moves like that that had Mick being questioned about his ethics in his old hospital, how he’d let the patients get close to him physically. They weren’t allowed to touch each other and he figured it wouldn’t hurt as long as he kept it from going somewhere else entirely. Cutting off contact like that would hurt them more in the long run than anything, that’s how he saw it anyways.
"Hm. Guess so." Kali smiled aloof and dismissive as ever, clearly not hung up on the subject. Contrary to popular belief, she did not like to argue. She liked to watch others argue (and had a tendency to help that scenario along more than not). Either way, she regarded his new more primitive look, and was clearly pleased with herself.
"Tell me, Doc. You like to bite?" She asked this question as if she were asking him if he liked football or sunny days. It was that casual. Of course, automatically anticipating the inquiry that followed, Kali explained. "You like to feel a woman stiffen under you when she cums...'cause you got her shoulder or neck in your teeth?" There was no blush in her cheeks, no outward sign of amusement or goading. Just a perfectly normal conversation for the young redhead. "Its a perfectly natural thing.. Marking a mate. Holding them still..." Oddly enough, she added subtle hand gestures to her words, though they weren't pantamimes of the actual actions she was refering to. "All hard wired from when we were still considered animals. Perfect mix of what we're truly built for." She added one more bit of charcoal to his face. Two lines from below his bottom lip to his chin...in the guise of fangs. The markings suited him remarkably well, and her face showed it.
It really wasn’t hard to see the scar on his neck. The only way to hide it would be to wear a scarf or a very high turtle neck. Coralline had made sure to release as much blood as she possibly could from him when she bit him, tearing at his neck as her sickness fed on his life. So when Kali asked if he liked to bite, he stiffened, just ever slightly. The charcoal was being smeared in more places like she was using him for a matte now. “I think that’s a personal question,” he said after she added the marks on his chin, his demeanor never changing from his stoic calm mask even though he was itching to get up and wash his face. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but it seems humans have evolved out of the animal faze,” he said blinking as he picked up his pen again, jotting down notes in barely legible hand writing.
“Mates don’t seem to stick around as much and they usually don’t take kindly to being marked as belong to someone else. Besides who’s to say we were truly built for violence and sex? What about the monks that don’t fight and sit meditating all day or priests that take a vow of celibacy? Are they just denying what they really are or are they something completely different?”
Kali simply laughed. A gleeful, lighthearted sound that was about as menacing as a six-year old with cotton candy. Unfortunately, even with the little knowledge the Cheshire staff had on her, that cotton candy might as well have been hinding a metal shiv. "Self denial is its own form of mental disease." She said, still laughing lightly with her words and dismissing the examples he gave with a flick of her darkened fingers. "Ask them... they'll even tell you they deny themselves to transcend humanity." She leaned in close, and rested the proud point of her chin on his shoulder, grinning as she went on. "They will be the first to tell you how we're still very much animals."
Well. . . That was a bit unsettling to say the least. Mick even quirked an eyebrow to show how odd the sound was. Sure he’d worked with children before, but they were nothing like this girl that had painted war onto his face. “As is delighting in violence,” he said not turning his head too much, looking at her from the corner of his eye. Just keeping her within eye sight so she didn’t pull anything. He’d already learned not to let a patient get too close, but he was always stretching boundaries and rules so it didn’t matter much to him. “You’re only an animal if you let those feelings control you though,” he said softly. “You can choose to act on your violent thoughts and sexual urges or you can choose not to. Choose to act like an animal you are one, choose not to act like an animal you’re a man.”
She watched him for a beat or two, simply staring...nonthreatening and lucid, with that tilted smile on her face. Only something betrayed her slight shift in focus: a flicker of pale nephrite eyes to an unoccupied corner of the room. Nothing there, of course... and her eyes were back on him. One corner of her lips twitched just a tad more into her cheek as she eased away from him, as casually as she would have if he was her best friend. "Whatever you say, Doc."
The mattress dipped a little when she scooted to the edge, then stood, hooking a knuckles worth of fingertip under her tank top hem in order to readjust it along the narrow dip of her waist. A slim strip of flesh between it and her pants displayed taut muscle and the hint of famine--a creature that had never truly gotten enough to eat her entire life. She wasn't malnourished.. just small. Wirey. And according to the orderlies that were fortunate enough to handle her in the courtyard...much stronger than she looks.
His statement seemed to deter her from furthering her philosophy as she seemed to dismiss it and move on. Watching her carefully, he noted her eye movement but wouldn’t look himself. After all if he did look and suddenly there was an issue. . . No he wouldn’t give her an opening even though she seemed to be of the subtle persuasion. Always watching, he took her in from this new angle, he watched her adjust her top, noting the thinness of her body and how she held herself standing. Of course this could come off as him staring at her quite rudely, even perversely, but he kept that same calm expression on his coal lined face.
He’d have to wash it off before he left, which he thought he might do then in the lull of things. Closing his note pad, an empty page on top, he slid his pen into his breast pocket and stood to his full height, easily dwarfing her small frame. “May I use your bathroom? I’m afraid if I go to my next patient meeting they might think I belong here more than they do if they see my wonderful war paint you’ve given me,” he asked as he turned to look at her.
Kali eased herself back down at her desk and plucked her coal stick from the drawing. She wasn't looking (or concerned) with him when he spoke, of course, her attention focused on the artwork and the darkening press of charcoal in the Soldier's black hair. She did speak to him, though...watching the movement of her hands from behind the twitching spears of overgrown bangs. "Do what you want."
Walking over to the bathroom Mick slid in and set his note pad of paper on the back of the toilet before he turned the water on in the sink. It wouldn’t take much really. It was just charcoal that he was washing off. Getting the water warm he started to wash his face, smearing more before he was able to get it off. Though the lines on his chin were still there faintly, looking more like darkness leaking and running from his mouth. Staring at them in the mirror he washed a bit more before they were gone. Finding some paper towels he dried his hands and face off before grabbing his pad and was back in the room. “Do you have any questions or concerns you’d like to discuss with me?” He asked, leaning against the bathroom door frame non-chalant. Ankles crossed as well as his arms folded over his chest.
Through the various noises of the bathroom (hissing water, crumpled, startched paper, ect), Kali simply continued her drawing--the fourth of it's kind, with a few more sheets of paper waiting for more depictions. When she felt his presence again in the room--or rather, felt his eyes on the back of her-- the redhead turned over a tattooed shoulder. That hint of a feral smile still on her lips, even if it was subdued.
She was silent for a moment, only watching him in that now familiar, unwavering way before she turned.. shoulders, head and eyes, back toward the paper on her desk. The scratch of charcoal accompanied singsongy words that may or may not have been addressed to him: a quote that bounced around Kali's chaotic mind along with countless others.
"The nose of the mob is Imagination. By this, at any time, it can quietly be led."
It seemed to be her way of dismissing him easily through quotes that made since to few and confused so many others. Quickly grabbing his pen and scribbling it down for later, he pocketed the silver object and pushed off from the doorway. “Ms. Kali, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he said as if they’d done nothing but sit and chat pleasantly for the past half hour. “I’ll be doing my own research as into your identity so don’t worry about that,” he said. Baiting her again, he waited for a reaction. There were so very very few people in the world that had true amnesia or didn’t remember anything at all about themselves after a certain point. Most that claimed to have it were lying trying to find an out from something or someone. Mick intended to find out what she was hiding and whether or not she really didn’t remember.
She heard the scratch of the pen on the paper and smiled, even if she didn't look at him. His promise to 'look into her identity' tilted the expression: making it crooked, but no less amused, like she had just sent him on a Snipe Hunt.
Kali knew exactly who she was, and that wasn't her given name. Amber Markey, age twenty-two, parents murdered, three brothers also somewhere in the system. Escaped patient from Cherry Grove Mental Institution (for the Criminally Insane was implied). As far as she was concerned, all that had been transcended. Let him look if he wished. The knowlege wouldn't do him any good.