[OPEN] your very own mental breakdown

[wordvomit]

Who: Ned the Pie Maker and YOU
Where: first-floor kitchen
When: FIRST DAY OF THE EVENT; June 27th
Rating: PG to PG-13
Summary: kjsbdjLKADHJFKMWHY
The Story:

Why?

[Ned awoke to the event feeling the same way he does every other day when he wakes up: normal, slightly sluggish, and needing a quiet jolt of caffeine to his system. The abnormality in the early morning rise came in the form of a bona-fide swarm of diminutive dogs - puppies, to be exact - all of whom looked exactly like miniature versions of Digby.

But it isn't the frequent in-kitchen canine collisions that have him so bent out of shape, like a pipe cleaner twisted too far to be returned to its original perfectly pointy and straight form. No, it is that Ned has retrieved his usual assortment of rotten fruit from a special cooler in the back, intending to bake them into today's batch of pies, and that his first touch to a particularly moldy strawberry has yielded...

...nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The power that has plagued him, consumed his life and dictated his actions for so long, is simply...gone. That cannot be, he thinks, reaching for a handful of blueberries and, for his troubles, receives nothing more than mildew and mush.]

No.

[The kiwis, the bananas, the cherries and apples. All of them, the same result. All of them varying unappetizing shades of brown, gray, and green.

Ned is not yet certain what frustrates him more, the fact that his terrifying Gift refuses to work in a place where no one knows him, or the fact that his terrifying Gift refuses to work and he isn't at home in The Pie Hole, with Chuck, pulling her into a kiss to celebrate his ability to touch her the way he never could.]

No, no no no...no, not here. Why- ...why?! Why now? Why not- wh-why not...

[Why not at home, where it really matters most?]

Comments

[avoirfaim]

[ Don't you worry, Ned, Hannibal has no intention of asking how you feel about that, not today at the very least. ]

You should really see a Doctor about that.

[ He's so funny, isn't he Ned? So funny. ]

[wordvomit]

[The Pie Maker can't help the nervous laughter that escapes him like steam squeaking out of a tea kettle - the prospect of seeing any psychiatric doctor, particularly this one, is some kind of a sick joke. If Ned could properly breathe, he would vomit. As things currently stand, he feels as though Hannibal Lecter's presence is a vise around his lungs.]

Probably,

[he admits, using a dry hand towel to wipe up the last of the bleach.]

But I can think of about twenty-three different reasons why I'd rather not.

[Stepping back and replacing the Clorox in its cupboard, Ned clears his throat to wordlessly announce that he is through. It takes all of his willpower not to bolt then and there, slowly replacing his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.]

[avoirfaim]

Twenty-Three reasons why it's important to consider exposure therapy.

[ Honestly though, even with your ability to stand up to him in spite of your very obvious terror, it takes more than sheer courage to keep him interested. Stick your feet to the floor for too long and he will just move on to the next installation of human failing. ]

Should you change your mind, my office door is always open on appointment.

[wordvomit]

[Exposure therapy. It sounds both painful and violating. Ned would like to preemptively unsubscribe to any appointments he will not be making. The Pie Maker has no desire to expose himself to anyone else familiar with the manipulation of free thought - he has enough problems questioning his identity thanks to the actual Satan here.]

I'll...think about it,

[he lies semi-convincingly, edging around the counter toward the exit. Now standing in the doorway, feeling himself collapse like a dwarf white star, Ned gratefully embraces the freedom curling in past the threshold.]

Enjoy...your...kitchen time, [comes the wary offer from the wary baker, who then decides to retreat without another word, leaving the psychiatrist to his own devices.]