[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

[wordvomit]

[Ned's eye twitches when he lies, but the little tic executed in this moment is the result of frustration rather than a need to defend himself with another fib. Hannibal Lecter, intimidating presence though he is, is not intimidating enough to bully Ned out of the public space where he finds some of his most comforting solace.

Even if said solace has apparently abandoned him today, along with his gift. Ironic that it manages to bring him a fraction of peace in Wonderland.

Understandably tense, Ned clears his throat and locates a cabinet with cleaning supplies, grateful that there is enough Clorox to appease Darth Inquisitive over there. He sprays down the counter and begins to clean.]

So. Is there anything else you do besides cook and ask a lot of questions?

[avoirfaim]

There is.

[ He considers, in his absolute lack of concern for Ned's opinion or Ned's interest, leaving it at that. He could stand there watching and waiting in complete silence if he chose to, and in his mind he flipped a coin. ]

I happen to be a psychiatrist.

1/2

[wordvomit]

[The words make him stutter, the stutter makes him jerk, and in the process of jerking his arm back from the counter Ned upsets his spray-bottle of Clorox, which hits the floor noisily, leaving him staring for a painfully long moment at the edge of the granite top before clearing his throat and stooping to retrieve his cleaning agent.]

2/2

[wordvomit]

That...

[The Pie Maker begins wiping his counter again, suddenly hyper-aware of his movements.]

...sure is a profession.

[Cough.]

[avoirfaim]

[ A telling response, for sure. Hannibal watches the Clorox bottle as it hits the floor and clatters down onto its side, before returning his highly unimpressed gaze to Ned himself. ]

Do you have a problem with Psychiatrists?

[wordvomit]

[Gee, was it that obvious? The question drives the blatant point home like a sledgehammer, hitting Ned in the solar plexus and leaving him floundering for a response.

There's a good chance that Hannibal Lecter, psychiatrist, has been analyzing him from the start, so any attempts at pathetically covering up his neurosis now will work poorly, if at all.]

N-Yes.

[Nice save. This far into his own grave, it's better to be honest. Ned clears his throat and uses a dry towel to wipe up the excess bleach.]

I'm just not a fan of...doctors.

[avoirfaim]

I can see that.

[ Analysis as an active action that one does implies that there are moments when analysis is not in action. That form of analysis is for people without the capability to keep their eyes observing and their mind sharp every minute of the day. He hasn't been analyzing Ned from the start, no, merely observing. He doesn't analyse, he observes. His observations are always analytic.

But anyway. ]

Do you know why?

[wordvomit]

Yep.

[Ned's monosyllabic reply is accompanied by faster scrubbing, because he doesn't like where this conversation is going, and he doesn't want a how do you feel about that conversation on today of all days.]

Sure do.

[But the 'why' is not public information, and something like that has to be dragged from him, kicking and screaming and bloody.

Probably.]

[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.]