(no subject)
COMM: on_thecouch - Do you keep secrets?
VERSE: open
WORD COUNT: 423
Second visit and he's still being sedated. He can hear his hearts beating at a lower rate, his breaths slow and easy. Even his thoughts feel a bit more mellow today; but of course, that's the drugs. They work their way through his system and there isn't a thing he can do about it.
"I see you're in a pleasant mood today," says Cynthia Tyr from her desk.
She's in a pressed dark blue suit with a white blouse - and a silver tie. The Master has a brief thought about trying to grab it, pull it taut in his hands and watch as it constricted her throat; as it began to cut off the blood flow. She has her hair tied back, too, in a professional way.
"You noticed? I was thinking about bringing you a rose, but thought better of it. You might've found it lethal." He grins at her in a polite, personable way.
She merely writes something down on her notes. "I think I might've. Not to mention, I don't accept flowers from patients. It might cost me my job."
"Oh, of course."
"I think," she says as she looks over her things, "I'd like to discuss things you keep to yourself. Things that you keep hidden."
The Master snorts and leans back in the leather chair. "You want me to divulge my secrets to you, Miss Tyr?"
She shrugs just slightly. "I'm certain they'd be interesting, but I'm not keeping my hopes up."
He knows, or suspects, that if she could she would have him spilling his secrets as if they meant nothing at all. Such is, after all, the nature of people in her line of work. They need information, they crave it, and they use clever tactics to get it from people in need of 'help'. They encourage talking, they encourage everything to be spilt to them. It's therapy, and it will help.
The Master shakes his head. "No."
"No?" she asks, as if the two letters formed the most complex word in the English language.
"You heard me."
"I did; but I was prompting you to go on."
He glances off, disinterested. "I've no interest in telling you anything. The things I keep hidden, I keep hidden for my own reasons. You don't need to know them, whatever you might think."
"So you have no intention on telling me?"
The Master looks back to Miss Tyr and chuckles a bit. "Bravo. You are absolutely perceptive."
Cynthia Tyr sighs and jots something down before looking back up at him. "This is going to be a long session, you know."
He grins. "I'm well aware."
VERSE: open
WORD COUNT: 423
Second visit and he's still being sedated. He can hear his hearts beating at a lower rate, his breaths slow and easy. Even his thoughts feel a bit more mellow today; but of course, that's the drugs. They work their way through his system and there isn't a thing he can do about it.
"I see you're in a pleasant mood today," says Cynthia Tyr from her desk.
She's in a pressed dark blue suit with a white blouse - and a silver tie. The Master has a brief thought about trying to grab it, pull it taut in his hands and watch as it constricted her throat; as it began to cut off the blood flow. She has her hair tied back, too, in a professional way.
"You noticed? I was thinking about bringing you a rose, but thought better of it. You might've found it lethal." He grins at her in a polite, personable way.
She merely writes something down on her notes. "I think I might've. Not to mention, I don't accept flowers from patients. It might cost me my job."
"Oh, of course."
"I think," she says as she looks over her things, "I'd like to discuss things you keep to yourself. Things that you keep hidden."
The Master snorts and leans back in the leather chair. "You want me to divulge my secrets to you, Miss Tyr?"
She shrugs just slightly. "I'm certain they'd be interesting, but I'm not keeping my hopes up."
He knows, or suspects, that if she could she would have him spilling his secrets as if they meant nothing at all. Such is, after all, the nature of people in her line of work. They need information, they crave it, and they use clever tactics to get it from people in need of 'help'. They encourage talking, they encourage everything to be spilt to them. It's therapy, and it will help.
The Master shakes his head. "No."
"No?" she asks, as if the two letters formed the most complex word in the English language.
"You heard me."
"I did; but I was prompting you to go on."
He glances off, disinterested. "I've no interest in telling you anything. The things I keep hidden, I keep hidden for my own reasons. You don't need to know them, whatever you might think."
"So you have no intention on telling me?"
The Master looks back to Miss Tyr and chuckles a bit. "Bravo. You are absolutely perceptive."
Cynthia Tyr sighs and jots something down before looking back up at him. "This is going to be a long session, you know."
He grins. "I'm well aware."