Open RP in the Hospital Wing

[nannynutter]

Agnes marched about the Wing in her usual, brisk manner, cleaning instruments and hexing the odd Doxie as she went. Agnes supported magical creatures in general, and they were obviously very useful in potion and spell ingredients, but she drew the line when they managed to break into the liquor cabinet, that was for employees only. Also, mostly her

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[deskologist]

Having succumbed to the temptation of the open bar in Ravenclaw last night, Mort rubbed wearily at his eyes as he trudged into the Hospital Wing. He knew he looked awful; bags under his eyes, slept in clothes, hair pointing every conceivable direction. He wasn't hungover - but there was a nagging question at the back of his mind that he wanted answered.

For lack of anything better to do, Mort knocked on the frame of the door (blinking slowly at the light display) and hoped somebody was in.

[nannynutter]

Agnes walked over with a frown on her face, noticing his appearance. The man was clearly either very ill, or very stupid, and Agnes decided to bank on a combination of both. It seemed like the only general rule that she could apply to the students at Hogwarts. "What is it?" she asked curtly as she drew closer, then stood, arms crossed.

[deskologist]

Mort ran a hand through his hair, doing his best not to look a little intimidated... but failing. Still, couldn't back out now. "It's probably kind of stupid, and I don't even know if there's tests or whatever for this kind of thing," he smiled nervously, "But I was wondering if you could give a definitive answer on whether a person is, um, mentally ill or not."

[nannynutter]

Agnes squinted at him for several seconds. "You thinke you're crazey? You're notte. Crazy people don'te thinke they're crazey, they thinke that they're sane. Or talking to purple cates." she paused. "You're notte talking to a purple cate, yes?"

[deskologist]

Now there's an interesting accent, Mort mused, I wonder where she's from?

"Uh, no, not talking to anything purple. It's just... I've had episodes in the past, mostly under the influence of alcohol. I made the mistake of drinking last night, and when I woke up my room was trashed, and there were pages of writing in my typewriter I don't remember writing. It's not even my normal style of writing. My ex-wife told me I used to get really weird when I was drunk or in that mood... I just don't remember any of it. Are blackouts symptoms of drinking?"

Mort reached into his back pocket and produced several crumpled pages of parchment, trying briefly to smooth out the wrinkles. "I don't know. I guess, I just want to rule out the slight possibility of the crazies. Or maybe find out if someone else wrote this. Though I don't know why I'd write about murdering wives and cornfields." He smiles, glancing down at the paper, clearly not seeing that the paper was actually covered with one word typed over and over; Shooter.

[nannynutter]

((Hey, is there actually anything wrong with him? If there is, Agnes'll find it, but she's not a therapist. She would be able to find out if something's wrong, but she's not a therapist.))

"I have a solutione." she said, her frown deepening. "Don't drinke?"

[deskologist]

(It's never actually pinned down in the source material what's wrong, but it's like a combination of MPD and schizophrenia; he has a personality in his head named Shooter that takes over and does things when he blacks out, but at the same time he has visual and audio hallucinations of the guy. Doesn't matter that she's not a therapist, Mort is just wondering at a potential diagnosis =) )

Mort blinks, and tucks the papers back into his pocket. "Yeah, I know I probably shouldn't. It's kind of like one of those vicious circles... when I'm buzzed I get good inspiration, but then I always take it too far, wanting to get more ideas, and then I just kind of black out. And apparantly things happen when I'm not awake. Is that normal?" Picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, Mort tried not to sound too worried.

[nannynutter]

Agnes frowned for a few seconds before turning around. "Well, I can at least give you a goode looking over ande see if we can finde anything..." she said, opening one of the medicine cupboards. "Have you or were you ever possesed by the Devil? One of the four horsemen? They can be big on possesion you know."

[deskologist]

Momentarily taken aback, Mort laughed uncertainly, a little unsure if she was joking. Then again, he supposed it was possible, considering where he was now. He really had to get used to all this. "Um, not that I'm aware of, ma'am." He paused, wondering if he should sit down or anything. "And thanks. I know this is probably stupid and maybe a little hypochondriac of me, but I want to rule out the possibility."

[nannynutter]

"Sit downe there." she said, stirring something in a jar.

[deskologist]

Mort sat obediantly, just barely stopping himself from absentmindedly drumming out a nervous tune on the edge of the furniture.

[nannynutter]

"Stoppe that, it's annoying." she snapped, applying the gel-like substance on the man's temples.

[deskologist]

"Sorry." Mort clasped his hands together to stop them from moving, wishing he could keep the nervous little smile off his face. Surely those coincidences don't lead up to me being cracked in the head; I'm sure everything's fine.

[nannynutter]

Agnes made small, circular motions over the paste with her wand, then watched as it slowly grew brighter, giving off a surprising, green glow. "This might tingle." she warned him, then began to mutter archaiac words. The gutteral tones spilled out into the Hospital Wing, and slowly, bright lights began to appear all around them, like stars in the sky.

[deskologist]

Mort blinked rapidly at the green light he could see in his peripheral vision, and at the glowing points currently floating in the room. Not being profficient in medicine magic in any way, he was a little confused - but he refrained from asking questions like a panicked little idiot, in case she needed to concentrate.

[nannynutter]

It was a good thing he had kept quiet, healing magic ended badly through lack of concentration more often than not. Agnes looked carefully at the stars, calculating the correlations between them all. "Hmm..." she muttered, glaring at a particularly bright one.