So Diagnose Me, Maybe? {Ben}

[MARY SANG]

Thirteen times. Thirteen times Mary changed her outfit, and twelve of those thirteen times were obviously failed attempts. This was a new doctor, at least for her--and first impressions meant a lot in these cases. The goal was to look as un-crazy as possible. Sane, normal. Which was increasingly difficult when color wasn't your forte, and you had enogh clothes to dress a funeral party. Everything she put on managed to make her look like a sullent teenager. She didn't want the good doctor to think that she was just some child that had never been loved and injured herself to the tunes of Kurt Cobain or Atreyu. She didn't want to look crazy, and she didn't want to be crazy, but somewhere deep inside she hoped she was. She hoped the woman in the mirror was a figure of her imagination and that there was something in her brain that made her think she was being injured. Something that overrode all cotrol on her body. She wanted to know she was doing it to herself, because that would be easier. Swallow a pill, and it'd be over.

Yet, at the same time Mary wanted someone to believe her. That she was being haunted, tormented by a woman from the other side. It was conflicting, and it made the tired girl that much more weary. The fear of this woman had spurred other things...such as a lack of sleep. Mary could go days without sleeping, and when she finally gave in the minimal hours of sleep she managed were plauged with nightmares and horrors that made her wake up screaming. Because the woman only appeared in mirrors and reflective surfaces--Mary had gone to extreme cautions to prevent catching a glimpse. That meant yanking the mirror out of the bathroom in her dorm, blacking out her windows, and having a single, small mirror that was covered by a black drape at all other times.

She had no glass cabinets or knick-knacks, and as long as a shiny surface wasn't big enough to work as a mirror, Mary could easily ignore it. She learned to avoid looking at large pendants, or into people's glasses. She was good at avoidance, very good at it. But it left her acting somewhat paranoid, and had changed her life severely. Her lack of sleep meant she couldn't handle loud, bright colors without suffering a migrane, and it left dark, heavy shadows beneath her eyes that made her look perpetually tired and ill.

Her tattooed arms which were exposed by the shirt had a few scars in the pale skin. Some were from her own nails when she was younger, and some were mysterious, smooth lines that tapered off. It wouldn't be the first time that people assumed that Mary intentionally hurt herself. It was an easier explination than the real story; what truely happened. After feeling satisfied with the way her lipstick sat, Mary covered the tiny mirror and swept her bag into her hand and left the dorm.

A cab took her from the college to the Bertelsmann Building in Times Square. She paid her fare, and climbed out of the cab. The building was slightly misleading. Sweet shops and stores filled the building, and yet one of these things was not like the other. This building housed the new doctor she would be going to; and while children laughed and played in the Disney store...Mary would be staring at the floor to avoid looking at anything in the room.

How would the doctor even begin to help her? Would he spring a mirror on her, would he even listen to her before trying to shove a pill down her throat? The last doctor she had been to hadn't helped much. Simple hums, scratching of a pen on paper, then a new pill to try. It was insensitive, cold, and distant and she didn't feel right. After speaking with her parents, they found Dr. Milner and suggested that their daughter try him. After having her papers released, they were faxed to Milner's office along with her insurance information and an appointment schedualed.

Mary stepped into the building, and went to the little desk. She signed her name in the sign-on sheet and sat in the waiting room. She slowed down her breathing, because the silence in the room was deafening. The sound of the clock was loud, but it kept her curiousity from looking around the room. Mary's tiny mouth was turned down, and she sared at her pale, boney fingers. In her head she was reciting lines, practicing. She couldn't lie--that wouldn't help her any. But she didn't want to be written off either. The anxiety was enough to make her want to scream, and her fingers reached up to press at her tired eyes, before pulling away before she could mess up her eye makeup.

Her hands folded back in her lap over her purse, and she tapped the toes of her boots quietly. Her inky black hair was scraped back away from her face, twisted into a neat bun at the back of her head. A few tendrils fell around her face, so she had something to busy her fingers with if she needed to. Mary had a strange face, with a pointed chin. Her features were large towards the top, while getitng smaller as they went down. High arched eyebrows, large, downturned eyes. A small, upturned nose, and again a downturned tiny mouth. She looked like a figureine, and sitting there with her head down, pale and tired--she looked like something out of a Tim Burton film.

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Couldn't this just hurry up and be done already?

Tags: Zelda / Ben
Notes: Lemme know if I should change anything!
Outfit: Classy Goth.
Words: 975
Lyrics: Say You'll Haunt Me by Stone Sour

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[DR. BENEDICT MILNER]

The last few weeks had not been easy.

Between the constant headaches and the persistent question that rang over and over again in his head, Benedict had been a little bit more strung out than usual. Why was a raven like a writing desk? What sort of question was that? One without an answer, undoubtedly, because no matter how hard he tried, it was as if it was impossible for him to come up with the answer on his own.

But like hell was he asking anyone something that ridiculous.

He remembered the riddle from somewhere, something that he had read a long time ago -- what it was, exactly, he couldn't say. It was as if his consciousness was intentionally blacking it out, keeping something from him, working on its own to protect him from some hideous truth he had not yet accepted.

God. Repressed memories. That was the absolute last thing he needed.

Regardless, between the new migraine medication and his increasing addiction to both cigarettes and tea, it was all the good doctor could do to keep himself together for his patients.

After all, if it was anyone's mission in life to be sane, it was his.

His first appointment for the day was a new patient, a teenage girl named Mary Sang. He had, of course, read up on the information faxed to him by her last doctor, previous prescriptions, diagnoses, etc., but -- as per usual -- he was more interested in getting his own perspective on Mary. Ben could be a bit stubborn on that front: he liked to form his own opinions. Old habits die hard.

He strode into the office about fifteen minutes before Mary's scheduled appointment, poured himself a cup of hot tea from his thermos, straightened up his office. She didn't seem to be volatile or dangerous, just haunted. Chronic insomnia, hallucinations...well, the one could theoretically tie in with the other, of course, that always had to be considered. Night terrors explained the insomnia -- no-one would want to sleep every night if they were just going to suffer, that made perfect logical sense.

Well...he'd have to see.

He'd heard that his new patient had a phobia of reflective surfaces, so, prior to her scheduled appointment, Ben made sure to make a full sweep of his office, hiding a hand mirror in a desk drawer, pulling the blinds over the windows, turning around picture frames. He did one last scan as he straightened his tie, then nodded decisively. Yes. That should be good.

Ruffling his orange hair awkwardly, Gallifreyan High Council of the Time Lords mug in one hand, he poked his head out of his office door and peeked into the waiting room.

It wasn't at all hard to spot Mary. Dressed entirely in black, significantly tattooed, tired-looking, almost doll-like and absurdly spindly. He frowned slightly, took a sip of his tea.

He only hoped that he could find some way to help her.

Clearing his throat softly, he stepped into the waiting room and approached her, gait casual, expression friendly and inviting as per usual. "Hi," he greeted, stopping a few feet from her. "You must be Mary, yes? I'm Dr. Milner. It's good to see you." Between the Doctor Who mug filled with tea and the obvious, painfully posh English accent, it wasn't difficult to guess where Benedict was from. "My office is just over there. Come on in and we can get started."

ooc:
outfit!

[MARY SANG]

Breathe in, breathe out. This wasn't so scary, the ticking was a bit frustrating--but it wasn't bad to talk to someone else. What Mary actually feared were the doctor's eyes. The way he might look at her, frightened, sympathetic. She was torn between trying to figure out which would be better--a pitying expression, or a completely blank one. Pros and Cons, and her head began to list them before she heard the soft footsteps and felt that strange prickle that meant another human being was nearby. The voice accompanied the footsteps, but the voice caused Mary to hesitate for a moment. It was extremely familiar, with nearly the same inflictions. No major change in dialect, but it was enough that Mary suddenly felt a connection to this doctor.

She picked up her head, and opened her mouth when a splash of red caught her eyes. It was a fleeting panic--please don't let the doctor have come to her bleeding. But no, it was simple a coffee mug. With a symbol that she recognized--it wasn't until her eyes danced over the printed words that it all clicked. A tiny smile crossed her equally small lips, "May I just call you the Doctor?" Don't laugh--don't laugh. You snort when you laugh, don't do that. Mary forced her smile down, and stood up on her long legs slowly. "Sorry, terrible joke. It's nice to meet you, Dr. Milner." Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after all. When she stood, she caught the herbal scent that was leaking off the mug.

Now, why couldn't she have just met this man around town? Just wandering about with a Doctor Who mug, smelling of tea? She could have a friend then, but doctors were not friends. They were doctors, and unfortunately he had been doctor-zoned instead of friend-zoned. Her large eyes glanced upwards towards the offices, and nodded her strange head before wandering into the office. Don't look around, don't look around. Blast it all to hell--she was too curious for her own good. She peeked through her eyelashes, before looking more directly at the room, which suddenly made her slightly alarmed.

Nothing shiny. She noticed pictures were turned around and the blinds were drawn. This was a good sign, it meant that he wouldn't spend a majority of her time with him ruffling through papers. It was like a string overhead snapped, and Mary's squared shoulders dropped in relaxation. Her muscles seemed less tense, and she held her head up a little higher, instead of trying to curl in on herself. Her boots tapped quietly across the floor, as she settled onto the very edge of the couch, assuming the armchair was for his own use. She sat almost rigid, before remembering that this doctor in a different universe could have been her friend. Pushing on her heels, she slid further back onto the couch cushion, and crossed one leg over the other, setting her purse on the floor.

Open, she had to look open. She had to look as undefensive as she could; make his life easier and hers as well in the long run. The room had that same smell of tea, and she decided she was going to have to stop by Pipin' Hot Tea for her own mug of tea right after this. Maybe this day wasn't going to be so bad--and keeping that in her mind, Mary did her absolute best to not think of the worst. To not think of accidentally catching a mirror as the day went on. If she thought about that, she would give up before she had even tried. She raised her face again to the doctor, and tried to smile again. Just a tiny curl of the lips--she couldn't look too chipper either, because then maybe he'd just write her off. "What city are you from?" Conversation starter, there we go. Much less awkward.

Tags: Zelda / Ben
Notes: Shoulda titled this When Geeks Meet.
Outfit: Classy Goth.
Words: 680
Lyrics: Say You'll Haunt Me by Stone Sour

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[DR. BENEDICT MILNER]

She certainly didn't look well, but her response was -- well, frankly, it was encouraging. It meant she was responsive, meant she wanted to talk to him. That was good. It was always easier when the person he was trying to help actually wanted to be helped, and this Mary Sang did certainly seem conversational, at the least.

He hadn't judged her based on her attire and assumed from the start that she would be quiet and morose, but he was pleasantly surprised regardless.

The joke made him laugh slightly, and he glanced at his mug, almost having forgotten which one he was carrying today. It seemed his tea-drinking all blended together a bit these days. "If you like," he answered with a friendly grin. "I am the only Doctor here, though I'm afraid I don't have a TARDIS or a sonic screwdriver. Just an office and a teamaker." Another good-natured laugh. "I do, however, wear bowties on occasion." He winked at her and followed her into the office, noticing the tenseness of her shoulders, the way she veiled her eyes when she looked around.

Looking for shiny objects, he was sure. He grinned when she clearly found none and watched her shoulders relax with a surge of satisfaction. He had been right to go about that. If there were any reason to reintroduce the shiny objects, he would do it gradually, certainly. Still, he'd have to remember to hide all his shiny things before Mary's appointments...would have to make a note of that.

Snatching up his notepad from his desk, he scribbled down a quick reminder to himself to do this before all of Mary's scheduled appointments and placed it under his desk calendar before taking a seat in the armchair near her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, as well," he replied to her earlier statement, flipping open his notepad to a blank page. Mary Sang, 22, eisoptrophobia.

He looked up at her question and raised his eyebrows slightly before smiling that same goodhearted smile that came so easily and familiarly to his exotically handsome face. "Kensington," he replied. "I grew up there. What about you?"

To Benedict, the lines between friends and patients were much thinner and less distinguishable. He didn't necessarily like to seem rigid and doctorly -- he found that most patients found it intimidating, and Ben himself found it unnecessary. He did his best to befriend his patients; it tended to help them open up to him. And he much intended to do the same thing with Mary, if he could -- be her doctor first, as always, but also her friend.

[MARY SANG]

This was going to be much easier than she had thought. He didn't seem bored, or frustrated or even trying to rush her out. In the amount of doctors she had talked to--they all seemed to have their flaws. But this one seemed perfect--too perfect. There was a slight nagging suspicion at the back of her mind, but she tried to surpress that as well. She wanted to have at least one day of not worrying, one day where she could at least pretend she was a normal person. "Ooh, it's kind of a toss-up between which is better. Can't do without a teamaker."

Her hands nervously ran across the knee of her jeans, getting distracted with the room once more. She could actually take everything in, fully look around a place without that automatic feeling of having to look away. It felt like finally being able to relax after a long day. Mary started when his voice spoke up again, "Oh, Reading. I'm from Reading." Came the flustered reply. Her hands moved from her jeans, and twisted a wispy brown tendril in her fingers. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced back up at his face. Her body wanted to fidget and hold still, all at the same time. No matter how nice the doctor, there was something about the offices that made her skin itch.

Her fingers moved from her hair, down to her neck where she would typically find a large mass of hair to fiddle with--only to remember her hair was at the back of her head in a tight bun. "So, uh. Where should we begin?" Her hand remained on her neck, though her fingers sneaked up towards the back of her ear where she gave it a tiny rub, trying to warm it back up after the small puff of cold air she felt over her shoulder seconds before she had asked her question. At times, Mary wished she could insert someone else into her skin. Let them feel what she felt, see what she sees. The doctors seemed somewhat pointless at times--they would write her off with some sort of mental condition, give her medication and send her on her way. Medications that didn't help, because what she was seeing was not all in her mind.

Thinking she was being sneaky with her fidgeting, her head dipped down again, as her hand moved away from her ear to rub her tattooed arm. Touching, always touching. Checking to make sure she was awake, and hadn't fallen asleep somewhere. Falling asleep meant nightmares, and nightmares...night-terrors--best to not even go there. Curling her fingers in, she scratched her arm lightly--the scrape of nails told her she was quite awake. So far, so good.

Tags: Zelda / Ben
Notes: WAHH SHORT. -sobs-
Outfit: Classy Goth.
Words: 463
Lyrics: Say You'll Haunt Me by Stone Sour

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