Well, here we are again: cell I-44, the home of Arkham Asylum's most charming and cooperative (except when he doesn't feel like it) (being much of the time, barring sedatives) patient.
Where else would he be? Certainly not roaming the hallways with a fussy little man slung over his shoulder. No, it has been several weeks since
those shenanigans
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Comments 18
"Goooood afternoon, Mister...oh. Yes. Good afternoon, you." Well, it's better than Patient I-44. "Have you been well today?"
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"'You'? That's a new one." Completely ignoring the questions these people ask is one of his conscious habits; it's probably mentioned in his file. "Hiii, boys. Won't be needing the ol' lemonade jug just now, I'm still empty." He loves you, orderlies. He really does.
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She consults her paperwork, "Your choices aaaaare Bill, Ivan or Pickles...pickles?" A glance at an orderly, and a shrug. Oh, clearly whoever wrote this paper is full of shenanigans.
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The patient, whatever his name is or shall soon be, leans into the window and looks left and right, past her, past the orderlies, possibly expecting to see a candid camera crew or something. Finding no such thing (presumably), he leans against the door, shoulder first, and gives her an exaggerated look of doubt. "Are you a real doctor?"
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