corrupted-desire:
     Heâs seen many, far too many, in that lifetime of his. Engaged with far too many that were to be considered out of the norm to really be surprised by any and all behaviour presented right before him in that playful way the doctor goes on and on to observe without a blink and without a single word said. Itâs a game for this man, this whole endeavour had been nought else ( from what had been brought to his place as information ), and would be regard as nought else by the psychologist himself.Â
     But truly, in a different way than expected.Â
     âLorne Keene.â Curt and to the point, no waver of voice that goes on as if a monotone. Changes to his âmannersâ were only necessary when they brought him closer to a certain goal ( what was the one with this person right nowâ ? ) and the logical pursuit, he decided, would help nothing in the time being. Would only be a waste of minutes that could be used for more important, more suitable approaches.Â
     âAnd if there is the need to knowââ Blunt, down to the point, not influenced by any and all he had witnessed and by any questions upon agility and painless feel of that âpatientâ of his, a multitude of colleagues would truly have. ââI am not a usual staff member of this clinic.â Not at all. For, of course, he had the education, the skill and the means to save a life that has to be seen as forfeit, but usually, it mattered not. A misuse of time and breath, only to be conducted when needed, requestedâ
     âThe questions will be rather easy to answer. If you decide to do so or not, is up to you. I am merely sent to fulfil that order.âÂ
     How quaint, for nothing written down in that notebook of his he would fill out with pen twirling between long fingers, was interesting for Lorne himself, but only for those whose experience shifts mere marginally beyond borders of the humanly known. All were the same, and all that would be written down, explains itself as something so ordinaryâ âThe first set is mundane: How old are you?â Better to ask directly, instead of constructing sentences that those such unsettled would use in avoiding eye-contact.
     In avoiding that voice that probably chilled to the core whoever found themselves with compassion. âWhat is your hometown, respectively, the city you tend to stay in over a longer while?â What ever would it be important for? Asserting patients to the instituteâs personal data, knowing where to request former files fromâ âAny diseases present, either physically or mentally?â As if he did not know - if he could bring up the means for it, Lorne would have rolled his eyes, explained his displeasure upon the uselessness of this happening ( but he did abide by the law ). âAdditionally and lastly for that batch: do you have any notable allergies?âÂ
     Enough of that farce, enough of the therapistâs waste of timeâÂ
     âwhatever would be answered, be written down diligently and then to be put aside whenever he needed to. He was not a man to stop someone else, not a person to really care if those around him would cry and scream, would play or reach for what he had in hands. Placed aside, forgotten of a notebook.Â
     âMy own: how many did you kill - and why? And I do not care about the very reason, I request the desire behind it.â And so it all may begin.
It was about time that the questioning would come. Arik knew all too well how things loved following a certain procedure all while tiptoeing precariously. It was like doing a persistent tightrope walking act, and he couldn't help but feel a bit... enthused for it. Giving his head a faint raise to stretch out his neck, Arik listened as patiently as he could. He gave off airs of a child; a child was unwilling to sit still and considerably more unwilling to listen. However, he was, above all else, an actor. How much of this was an act and how much of this was true would, preferably, be obvious to his newfound playmate.
Eyebrows gave a light furrow as he nodded his head along to the opposite's name.
(lorne keene. hmm.)
If he was feeling rather daring, he would have repeated it with some sort of gusto but resisted. He had to be on his best behavior after all and most definitely did not want to upset the good doctor.
"Got'cha~" he chirped out, almost immediately after being informed of Lorne's position within the clinic.
(as if i hadn't already known that.)
Eyelids opened to allow a bit of freedom, lashes exposing just a bit of white of the eye. He stared up at the ceiling, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming onslaught of typical questions. He's gone through this many a time, finding it rather boring and methodical.
And yet, he showed no resistance and went along with it anyway.
"Very polite. I appreciate it," Arik complimented, not yet bothering to return any sort of direct eye contact with Lorne. He wondered when it'd be appropriate-- if only for a few seconds. "I guess I'm not allowed to lie," he said merely a few seconds later, a small frown adorning faintly pink lips and giving off the atmosphere of a pouting child.
It was as if stating the obvious amused him. But anyone could be able to tell that he was playing. He loved playing along most of all.
"I'm 21." It was a simple answer until Arik's little frown turned itself over, exposing a fairly childish smile before he corrected himself, "Sorry~! I meant 76. 76 years old."
Arms pulled out from under his neck, coming to rest peacefully at his sides with his hands now joining over his chest. This line of questioning was something Arik was expecting but, admittedly, may not have been what he was looking forward to. He had to find ways to make it fun, after all. Even if those that done it previously expressed any sort of grievance, Arik had full confidence that his current treatment would yield hardly any sort of response nor any sort of reaction. That's what made it fun-- he could do virtually anything he wanted yet he could do barely anything that he wanted. It was a sort of gamble.
"I have two," he went on, now holding up the right hand to show off two fingers pointing up while the rest curled inwards towards his palm, "I love attention, and when I don't get it I feel like screaming! ... Oh, oh!! And I have this thing where if you stabbed me, I would barely feel a thing~!"
(too vague? oh well.)
"Ah, well... I have histrionic personality disorder for one of those. The other, I'd imagine you'd be fairly familiar with, yeah? Hypo... Hypoalgesia? Yep, that sounds about right!" And, thusly, he went right back to answering the final question, "I used to be allergic to peanuts, but it just kinda went away. Funny, huh?"
(hardly.)
Then came the real questions. Arik visibly froze, giving off the illusion of surprise before he turned his head away. He fought the powerful urge to grin and, thus, ruin the purpose of this new game. Eyes fully opened, signalling a sudden grasp of attention as he returned his attention back to the ceiling. A slight smile touched his lips once more as one arm curled over his stomach and the other moved so he was "resting" his chin upon his knuckles.
"What do you define as killing, doctor?~" he pondered out loud, eyebrows furrowing before raising. Up and down. He was going to be laying here for a while, he felt. "I kill all the time for my job, but that doesn't necessarily make it killing. Y'know?" Was he stalling for time? Yes, but it wasn't to genuinely stall for time. He wanted to know specifics, to know the bare bone details, and what Lorne personally defined as killing. It was a curious question that Arik did not personally oppose and, instead, found it somewhat charming.
"Hmph, fine fine. Anyway..."
Arik turned towards Lorne, expression becoming more animated before swiftly dropping.
"It's over a hundred but under three hundred," Arik described whilst moving his hands about in a hectic manner, using them as descriptors with fingers performing strange flexing motions as he went on, "I do it because..."
(it's funny.)
"I dunno~!!"
