Dr. Spencer Reid (zwischenzug) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2015-04-20 07:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: dr spencer reid, character: therese/jeanette voerman |
Between the idea and the reality
Who: Spencer & Jeanette
When: Monday morning
Where: Sheriff's station
What: Spencer gets situated at the station.
Warning: None atm
Status: In-progress
Spencer wasn't sure exactly how he was reconciling his belief in this place, this Marrowood. It was something straight out of a horror story, one that would have been told to little children to deter them from wandering off too far from home. Because they were far from home, near the edge of the universe that had somehow plucked them from their reality. It was hard to wrap his mind because there was no theory out there that could explain all of this.
But he was surviving, going along with the flow until he was released from this place. A hellish existence for certain, but at least there was good company. He had met Kenzi, and had read all the books in the library, and now he even had a job at the Sheriff's station. He wasn't sure how he could help, his skills of profiling wouldn't be of much use here unless they happened to get a serial killer or a sexual sadist along the way. Maybe Rick was right, he could use his degree in psychology to help the residents when they had things on their mind and needed to vent. He wasn't much of a people person, but he could learn. He had done so over time at the BAU.
He let out a sigh, and removed the satchel from across his body to plop it on the desk. It was quiet, not that the town was loud or anything, but the lack of people (dead and alive) was noticeable, and it was any wonder this place had a need for a Sheriff's office at all. Spencer sighed again, and pulled out a few books, pens, and paper, and took a seat in the chair. The doctor drummed his hands along the wooden table for a few minutes as he looked around.
"Where to start," he said out loud. He absently licked his lower lip before he bit down, a tick that he had for as long as he could remember. It helped him to think, after all, and what was Spencer Reid if he could not access all of that knowledge in his brain? He interlaced his fingers, cracked his knuckles with outstretched arms, and picked up his pencil. He'd figure something out eventually - he always did.