Why would we want an ethical review board?

Ask/RP blog for Night Vale OC, Dr. Ward Clifton. Feel free to send asks, starters, and M!A's. Mun's main blog is purplezombieattack. M!A: None/accepting

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

“Not this time, since the purpose of this meeting was assessment. In the future, there will be,” Ward answered. 

[themathisoncollective]

“Okay.” Jim awkwardly shoved his tangle and his phone back into his hoodie pocket and then fiddled with the brakes on his wheelchair. “Um. So then we’re done?”

[nvpa-ward]

“For now, yes. I will see you again next week, correct?” Ward guessed, standing up. He would most likely not remember. He often forgot appointments. It was what psychologists did, invariably.

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

That worked, too. As long as there was some way to make communication easier, it would be an improvement. “As long as you have some method of communication,” Ward commented before looking toward the door. “Do you have any questions before we end this session?”

[themathisoncollective]

He shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. “Is there, uh. Anything I should um. Be doing or thinking about until then? Loretta always gave me homework or something.”

[nvpa-ward]

“Not this time, since the purpose of this meeting was assessment. In the future, there will be,” Ward answered. 

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

Now that was a useful thing to know…if Ward knew it. Unfortunately, he didn’t. “Not even a bit,” he admitted. “I know Russian, which I doubt would be helpful, and Morse code, which most people obviously know.”

Maybe one of those actually would help the situation. He couldn’t be entirely certain, as with most things.

[themathisoncollective]

“Damn,” he muttered. Encouraged by getting the swear out, and armed with the knowledge that this, at least, wasn’t a difficult subject, he continued onward with his voice. “It’s. Um. It’s. Sign is uh. My uh, first, um, language. Speech is hard. I’ll, um, bring something easier to type on next time.”

[nvpa-ward]

That worked, too. As long as there was some way to make communication easier, it would be an improvement. “As long as you have some method of communication,” Ward commented before looking toward the door. “Do you have any questions before we end this session?”

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

Ward waited in silence, wondering whether or not to clarify that he doesn’t necessarily have to answer it. He gave up on wondering that when he saw Jim take the phone. Alright, he could wait for a few more minutes. And he did end up waiting for a few more minutes. Oh well. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t being paid for his time anyway.

When he finally heard the answer, he nodded. “Yes, of course. I doubt what you’ve been through is the sort of thing anyone would want to be real. Would you say the fear is what causes you to lash out?”

[themathisoncollective]

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. In the absence of some safe person or place to help ground him, he’d always been angry in fear. Lashing out had gotten him into so much trouble over the years, and now here it was causing trouble again.

And he wanted to explain that to Ward, he really did, but his words were still stuck in his throat and he didn’t like relying on AAC–it was slow and awkward and he hated the way the voice sounded. So he typed up a question on his phone: “Do you know sign?”

[nvpa-ward]

Now that was a useful thing to know...if Ward knew it. Unfortunately, he didn’t. “Not even a bit,” he admitted. “I know Russian, which I doubt would be helpful, and Morse code, which most people obviously know.”

Maybe one of those actually would help the situation. He couldn’t be entirely certain, as with most things.

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

Ward returned to listening, a lot of these details familiar to him for more reasons than one. For more reasons than he cared to recognize, but at least he had calmed himself down enough to listen by that point, if nothing more. He’d just have to try to keep his mind under control for the time being. Sure. Because that always worked. Okay, it never actually did, he only liked to pretend it did.

“A flashback?” he guessed about the last bit. It sounded like one, from what he knew. “It’s a relatively common symptom. One of the worst, but common.” He looked over at him, noticing his shaking hands. “How about we discuss what happens when people push you for information you prefer not to explain? What exactly goes through your mind when that happens?”

[themathisoncollective]

“They can’t–I can’t–” His words dried up entirely as he tried to explain, catching in his chest and his throat and threatening to suffocate him as he tried to force them out.

With a shaky, defeated sigh, he nudged Sheila back up to his shoulder and traded the tangle for his phone again. He typed a bit, deleted it, and tried again. This went on for several minutes before he had figured out what he wanted to say and let his phone read it off in its monotone voice, “I get scared. I don’t want to talk about it. Talking about it makes it real.”

[nvpa-ward]

Ward waited in silence, wondering whether or not to clarify that he doesn’t necessarily have to answer it. He gave up on wondering that when he saw Jim take the phone. Alright, he could wait for a few more minutes. And he did end up waiting for a few more minutes. Oh well. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t being paid for his time anyway.

When he finally heard the answer, he nodded. “Yes, of course. I doubt what you’ve been through is the sort of thing anyone would want to be real. Would you say the fear is what causes you to lash out?”

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

“They usually are,” Ward muttered, partially from experience. And that usually made matters more difficult. “Which symptoms have accompanied each of these situations?”

[themathisoncollective]

Clack-clack-clack went the tangle in Jim’s hands.

“Um. The stars uh. I get really panicky? Like I can’t breathe and I need to be somewhere small. Feels like, uh, something’s out there, something awful that uh, wants to hurt me. Freaks me out real bad, I just kinda, uh. Shut down. Can’t even get myself back inside or anything.”

He crumpled the tangle and stretched it out a couple of times.

“When people push, I get um. Angry, can’t control myself, say a lot of shit I don’t mean, that sort of thing. And uh. I’m not really sure what happened driving to the Bluffs. I got the the uh. The spot I would’ve pulled off the highway to uh. Go trek out to 805′s building. They were out in the desert on the edge of town, so. But I got there and I like. I dunno.”

He frowned, trying to think hard about that day. It was all fuzzy but even the vague memory made his heart race and his hands shake. “I think I thought I was there again. Fighting them. Just for–for a second. I don’t remember, really, but. I had to get a friend to come sit with me until I could drive again.”

[nvpa-ward]

Ward returned to listening, a lot of these details familiar to him for more reasons than one. For more reasons than he cared to recognize, but at least he had calmed himself down enough to listen by that point, if nothing more. He’d just have to try to keep his mind under control for the time being. Sure. Because that always worked. Okay, it never actually did, he only liked to pretend it did.

“A flashback?” he guessed about the last bit. It sounded like one, from what he knew. “It’s a relatively common symptom. One of the worst, but common.” He looked over at him, noticing his shaking hands. “How about we discuss what happens when people push you for information you prefer not to explain? What exactly goes through your mind when that happens?”

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

Yes, sleep sounded nice. Ward didn’t say that, but he certainly thought it. “That should be attainable,” he commented instead. “There must be times when your symptoms are worse than usual, correct? Can you recall a specific situation where this has been the case?”

[themathisoncollective]

“A couple, yeah,” he answered. He picked the tangle up again, twisting it around anxiously. “Like, um. When people try to make me talk about how there’s something wrong with me and won’t uh. Drop it when I tell them. And when I drove back to the Bluffs to visit Pipit, and, um. Being alone in big open spaces or–or looking at the stars.” His voice cracked on that last point, and he dropped his eyes back down to his hands. “But um. They’re all different. Like, uh. Different symptoms, I guess?”

[nvpa-ward]

“They usually are,” Ward muttered, partially from experience. And that usually made matters more difficult. “Which symptoms have accompanied each of these situations?”

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

“Well, I hope that works out for you.” Ward looked over at the moth, not used to or comfortable with actually not being a dick to almost everyone, including clients. “And for Sheila, with learning how to tell the two apart. Anyway, you said you were here because of your possible post-traumatic stress disorder, correct? What, exactly, are you hoping to accomplish?”

[themathisoncollective]

Jim got quiet again. The silence stretched on for nearly a full minute before he could summon the words to speak.

“I want to be better.” His voice was quiet, but pained. “I want to be safe to be around again. Not angry or scared, not yelling or hiding and–” He faltered and wiped at his eyes. “I want to fucking sleep again.”

[nvpa-ward]

Yes, sleep sounded nice. Ward didn’t say that, but he certainly thought it. “That should be attainable,” he commented instead. “There must be times when your symptoms are worse than usual, correct? Can you recall a specific situation where this has been the case?”

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[anomalousamalgamate-deactivated]

Ward nodded in acknowledgement. “She must be…Partner?” He may as well ask for clarification wherever he could. It would, at the very least, be a helpful distraction. And it would keep their discussion going.

[themathisoncollective]

“Um, yeah. We’re sort of platonically dating? She wants to call it quasi-romantic instead of queerplatonic, which is fine. I’m aromantic, she’s not, but we’re making it work.” He shrugged and smiled, a little sadly. “We don’t get to see each other super often, but she’s coming round for Christmas, which’ll be fun.”

Sheila let out a grumpy couple of clicks, and Jim tapped her gently on the head. “Oh hush. You know we’ll sort it so you can tell who’s who.” Then he glanced up at Ward and explained, “Sheila’s vision isn’t so great, and Pipit’s kinda my best friend’s double, so she can’t tell them apart a lot of the time.”

[nvpa-ward]

“Well, I hope that works out for you.” Ward looked over at the moth, not used to or comfortable with actually not being a dick to almost everyone, including clients. “And for Sheila, with learning how to tell the two apart. Anyway, you said you were here because of your possible post-traumatic stress disorder, correct? What, exactly, are you hoping to accomplish?”

[nvpa-ward]

Blog Switching Stuff

[[So the mun has had the brilliant but tedious idea of moving my Night Vale blogs to the massive multi-muse blog @anomalousamalgamate for multiple reasons. All current roleplay threads will still continue on there, and I will keep these other blogs up for reference purposes.]]

[nvpa-ward]

Cecil settled into the chair uneasily. "So, you're my new therapist, huh?"

“Psychologist,” Ward ‘corrected’ him, as though the difference in this case was at all significant. It wasn’t, really. Or, it didn’t matter.

He had considered responding with sarcasm, such as ‘no I have no idea who you are; get out of my office’. Unfortunately for him, his boss had told him during Thursday’s weekly murder attempt that he needed to cut back on the sarcasm. So there went the primary enjoyment he got out of this job. 

“Anyway, would you care to explain why you’re here?”

[nvpa-ward]

Ward did, in fact, ‘follow’ that explanation, even though the mention of Desert Bluffs made him instantly weary and most of Cecil’s story made him almost wish he hadn’t asked. It sounded like some typical love story, right down to the loss of an arm via kitchen accident. “Oh, so that’s-” he began, sounding bored until he realized that that was only the background information. “Yes, I understand. So, what happened when he came back from the dead?”

[voicececilgpalmer]

“Well, he was gone for about four years, four years and change, actually. I gave birth to my son, and Daniel and I got married, and we all moved into a little house. And then I was sitting on a park bench one day, and who sat down next to me? Earl. And I was so happy, Doc. I mean, I’d never stopped loving him… I never had time to even figure out how I was feeling between him and me and Daniel, before he died. So I figured maybe we could pick up where we left off, or figure something new out, where we could all be together. And then he started dating Marcus Vansten, which threw me for a real loop, I can tell you.” He chuckled joylessly. “That was hard. I tried to give up my daughter so that she could live with Earl and Marcus, ‘cause I figured that they’d be able to do better by her, and if Earl liked Marcus more, he was probably better. Then Earl… uh… did sex things with Daniel again, and I was thrown for another loop. Daniel reassured me he only wanted me, and proposed – said we could renew our vows. Earl was gonna be my best man. And then Earl and I went shopping for wedding stuff, and he asked me to run away with him, and I told him no, it would be the three of us or nothing, and we – Earl and I – made out in the dressing room. I guess, uh, I guess Marcus found out somehow and busted Earl, and he said that we couldn’t, like, cuddle or anything any more. And I said it was okay, as long as I still knew he loved me, and he gave me this bracelet so I would always remember.” He held up his arm to show Ward the handmade bracelet on his right wrist. “And, uh, then it felt like he was never even gonna tell me he loved me any more, and he was all like ‘oh, hey, buddy,’ and I… I couldn’t take it. And that’s when I tried to jump off the roof of the station and spent a little time in the hospital.”

[nvpa-ward]

Stories like this reminded Ward of why he avoided relationships. It was so much simpler. “...Thanks for bringing me up-to-date on the matter, I suppose,” he muttered before speaking more clearly and directly. “So, what was this about losing an arm in a kitchen accident? I think you sort of skimmed over that detail.”

[nvpa-ward]

James Mathison was a tall black man in rumpled jeans and a bright yellow hoodie covered in bird- and feather-shaped patches. He refused to sit anywhere other than in his wheelchair. He kept his eyes down, watching the colors of his tangle twist around as he fidgeted restlessly with it. Perched on his left shoulder was a truly massive moth, a full foot in length and covered in white fluff. She cooed softly and watched Ward carefully. [technicallynightvale]

Ward sat in one of the office’s armchairs, across from his newest client. Behind him, one of the walls had been patched up as a temporary fix after his boss’s latest attempt to murder him. He had only recently managed to clean all of the blood from the latest escaped experiment out of the carpet. For some reason, they always seemed to wind up in his office. All-in-all, it was a fairly normal day for him.

“Now, would you like to explain why you’re here?” he asked, keeping an eye on the large moth. “First sessions normally include gaining an understanding of the exact problem, as well as what you expect to gain from being here.”

[nvpa-ward]

Ward listened to Jim’s explanation of what had happened, tensing slightly at the first mention of a ‘Smiling God’. No, that was an understatement. Although only slight tenseness may have been visible, it was more of an immediate, violent response internally. From there on, he had to mentally talk himself down. Easier said than done, really; it was difficult to focus on much of anything with the blood seeming to roar through him, in anticipation of some sort of danger. Even more so when, the more he mentioned anything related to…well, to that…the more the reality around Ward (or whatever constituted his usual experience of “reality”) systematically fell away bit by bit.

It took a few minutes before he realized that Jim had stopped talking. After a deep breath, he found something to focus on–the wall clock behind his client, which didn’t work but still made a suitable enough ticking noise for him to try to drag himself back to everything around him–before speaking.

“Well, that’s fucked up,” he managed to say. Although he spoke normally, he couldn’t shake the personal feeling that his voice was distant, as though far away and coming from someone else. Dammit, now was not the time. He would have to pull himself together better than this if he was going to do his job. In other words, hopefully this wouldn’t last the rest of the day like the last time. “Um…anyway, if that’s what you told people, it’s most likely close to the truth.”

[themathisoncollective]

Jim nodded slowly. In those few minutes, he’d been watching Ward from the corner of his eye. It had seemed like he’d spaced out, but then there were those telltale signs of trying to calm oneself. Jim knew them quite well, both from personal experience and working with the kids. “Um. Are you okay?”

[nvpa-ward]

Had it been that obvious? Great, now wasn’t exactly a time that Ward was prepared to cover for himself. “Yes, I’m fine,” he responded coldly, not considering his own tone entirely convincing. “Back to what you were saying, that’s fucked up...who is Pipit? It seems as though she was rather helpful.”

[nvpa-ward]

How odd. Aria hadn’t expected to feel…remorse? It was just a little, but definitely there. Maybe because, even though she couldn’t see or understand why, her brother cared about Jerome. She looked at him, unsure of how to deal with this. So she didn’t deal with the emotional problems involved.

“Wait, do you honestly think I would kill you?” she asked. Wait, she had just threatened to do so. “I would, given sufficient provocation, but I’m not going to. I only wanted to make sure you knew the truth so you wouldn’t get too caught up in this false belief. And since you didn’t seem as entirely convinced as the brofessor, I thought it would be easier to tell you than to tell him. Just…try to keep him from doing anything reckless until this whole thing wears off.”

That was the last thing she said before Ward returned with the cups of tea in his hands and a confused look on his face. He couldn’t remember why he had come here, or why Jerome was talking to his sister and…crying? Either way, he also hadn’t heard what she had said. “Did I miss something?” he asked first of all, setting the cups down on the side table.

[jerome-criminalbaker]

Jerome glanced up at her, maybe a little surprised. “I mean…” he started, ready to explain how he had thought he had forgotten, because there was precedent for his brain being messed with, but Ward was already there.

If his face wasn’t already upset already, it would have fallen. Because regardless of what Aria said, Ward deserved to know. It was better he knew know than when he thought Harper should be waking up. Jerome stood. “Ward, Harper isn’t… Ward, we don’t have a son.”

[nvpa-ward]

Harper? Ward was about to ask Jerome who Harper was (and why Aria had just facepalmed in that moment) when he heard that second part. Why did Jerome feel the need to tell him that they didn’t have a son? It should have been obvious considering the fact that they were unfortunately not together romantically.

“I know,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Jerome. Why did he seem so upset, anyway? “Anyway, why are we in my sister’s house? I didn’t think you two would get alo-” Wait a second. This all added up to something familiar, something greyface-related. “...Son of a bitch...”

[nvpa-ward]

100 Days of Headcanons: Day 80

Book

Ward actually reads books often, regardless of whether they’re legal or not. He also understands the need to keep this a secret, if only to preserve his reputation and, by extension, his career.

[nvpa-ward]

How odd. Aria hadn’t expected to feel…remorse? It was just a little, but definitely there. Maybe because, even though she couldn’t see or understand why, her brother cared about Jerome. She looked at him, unsure of how to deal with this. So she didn’t deal with the emotional problems involved.

“Wait, do you honestly think I would kill you?” she asked. Wait, she had just threatened to do so. “I would, given sufficient provocation, but I’m not going to. I only wanted to make sure you knew the truth so you wouldn’t get too caught up in this false belief. And since you didn’t seem as entirely convinced as the brofessor, I thought it would be easier to tell you than to tell him. Just…try to keep him from doing anything reckless until this whole thing wears off.”

That was the last thing she said before Ward returned with the cups of tea in his hands and a confused look on his face. He couldn’t remember why he had come here, or why Jerome was talking to his sister and…crying? Either way, he also hadn’t heard what she had said. “Did I miss something?” he asked first of all, setting the cups down on the side table.

[jerome-criminalbaker]

Jerome glanced up at her, maybe a little surprised. “I mean…” he started, ready to explain how he had thought he had forgotten, because there was precedent for his brain being messed with, but Ward was already there.

If his face wasn’t already upset already, it would have fallen. Because regardless of what Aria said, Ward deserved to know. It was better he knew know than when he thought Harper should be waking up. Jerome stood. “Ward, Harper isn’t… Ward, we don’t have a son.”

[nvpa-ward]

Harper? Ward was about to ask Jerome who Harper was (and why Aria had just facepalmed in that moment) when he heard that second part. Why did Jerome feel the need to tell him that they didn’t have a son? It should have been obvious considering the fact that they were unfortunately not together romantically.

“I know,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Jerome. Why did he seem so upset, anyway? “Anyway, why are we in my sister’s house? I didn’t think you two would get alo-” Wait a second. This all added up to something familiar, something greyface-related. “...Son of a bitch...”

[nvpa-ward]

despite the rockiness of the last appointment, Lucy returned after the usual interval between appointments, some papers in hand. but she lingered in the doorway, then held out the papers to Ward. "You still need to sign off," she said by way of greeting.

Well, at least the fact that she had bothered to show up was a good sign. Or Ward hoped so, at least. He took the papers and looked through them for a few seconds before glancing back up at Lucy. “Did everything else check out well enough for you?” he asked and flipped to the last page. What looked vaguely as though it could have almost been someone’s illegible signature appeared on one of the lines at the bottom as he looked at it. It was, specifically, his illegible signature. It just wasn’t easy for most people to tell.

[nvpa-ward]

100 Days of Headcanons: Day 79

Relatives

Ward doesn’t have many living, still-human relatives. Even when he did, he didn’t know most of them very well, nor did he care to.