[c]ounting sheep.

[&Ismirshalen]

[Tell me if you have any issues with this and I WILL fix it!]

Ismirshalen twiddled his fingers, listening to the therapist's response and trying to find a hint of mockery. Anything to suggest that the guy was getting a real crack out of this. He remembered hearing it towards the beginning of the session. But now all he heard in the doctor's tone was a sort of pleading. Which made no sense to the impossible-ass man because he was so sure the guy didn’t give a crap about his life. Maybe he had completely missed something. He blinked and turned around, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position in the couch where he was once again facing Dr. DeVrais. The pale man looked agitated. Izzy bit his lip. Was his stubborn behavior really that upsetting to him? Despite everything they had gone through up to that moment, he felt a twinge of regret trickle through him.

What if the guy really did want to help him? For whatever reason… And did he really need help? Was he so blind to the world that he couldn’t see this? Worms of doubt churned inside him, and he was now giving second-thoughts to his life. What had he done for the past 20-something years? Shut himself away from humanity. It was sort of hard to attribute any amount of normality to that. People without any problems were forthcoming and liked to be with other people. People without problems didn’t drink coffee to keep themselves from falling asleep.

"Um…" Izzy's throat felt dry. Part of him wanted him to walk out the door to the office right then, but another part of him wanted to at least try to work with the guy. Plus he couldn’t forget about his hat. If he left or became impossible, he'd never get it back. And what the man had said had triggered a memory inside him, brought something to the surface that could count as 'anything bothering you'. It felt like a thorn. He didn’t want to tell him, but he did. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t. He hated the guy, but he didn’t. At least for the moment.

"Your accent, and… A past girl. My wife. She left me, and t'hen she died."

[VinnNAY]

[[Urgggghhghghhghhh…
I really hate this topic. It’s so boring. And I really can’t write when I‘m rping with Vincent. He doesn‘t usually come across people who act like Ismirshalen so I‘m totally uninspired. Not to mention my writing skills are dreadful.]]

Of course… my accent Vincent repeated in his mind, scowling and tapping his lackluster, undernourished fingers on the arm of his chair. But he let the glower drift a bit. At least he was getting somewhere, now, something he was quite proud of. He always wanted to be the first person to do something impossible with time to spare. Which was what this was. And there was plenty of time to spare, as he noticed on the monochrome clock ticking slowly by. Vincent’s room was devoid of all inferential time.

“Was the first comment used to hide your unease or is it true? I can do a bad Russian accent for you instead.” He just couldn’t help himself. He always could behave himself around a patient but this guy was just so… British. He could only remember one British man who he had a, to say the least, hard time with… FoReShAdOwInG!!!

It was his turn to swallow his pride and “continuer“.
“A wife?” He said mostly to himself. Trying to imagine such a man getting married and… And possibly…
“Did you have kids?” He asked, magically keeping all of his forced seriousness in his pallid visage.

[&Ismirshalen]

[Hm. When the topic ends should we go to an Izzy/Mable scene or are we gonna bring Seth in?
Hah if we wanted to make this interesting we could have Red call Vinny to say he burned Izzy's house down now but then he couldn’t get to know Mable first…
RAH WHATEVER HERE'S THE POST XD IT'S KINDA SHORT AND CRAPPY.]

"Both. And a bad Russian accent sounds interesting. Go right ahead." Much better than listening to him and his indefatigable Frenchiness. Seriously, did he just move from there or something? All the way across the ocean to this place in… Australia. Well if he had done so Izzy couldn’t exactly badger him about it because he himself had come here all the way from England. What a coincidence.

Ismirshalen could tell that the therapist was wondering at his ability to gain himself a wife. Looking at the Brit and all his assholery was sure to give someone doubts about things like that. Well, he obviously had done something wrong because she'd left him… But he still had kept their wedding ring. It was on the ring finger of his right hand, and he looked at it now. He had mixed feelings about the whole ordeal, really. He hated her and loved her at the same time.

"Bloody Hell, no," he responded to Dr. DeVrais's question about the children. "I uh… We weren't really together long enough to consider having a family." And he hated children. "She… A few months after we married I found out she was a prostitute…" He broke off, his face twisting into a look of disgust and grief at the same time. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why he was being so bloody open. "We had a fight. And then she… left." Well, now that was off his chest. But he didn’t feel much better.

[VinnNAY]

[[Aw, your short posts are so short, but so sweet. As long as they aren‘t as short as mine you‘re in the safe zone.]]

This man went against all principles of psychology. How can telling a slightly unattractive man with a silly French accent about your problems not make you feel better? Maybe his pure stubbornness was the force driving such unbreakable laws out of whack. But even Vincent knew that the resilient encryptions of psychology cannot always be free of exceptions. Especially when threatened by supernatural forces like Ismirshalen. It was his job to make sure people (Or Ismirshalen) didn’t break these laws.

“Before you said you were fine...” Vincent inquired, ignoring Ismirshalen’s comment on the Russian accent (To say the truth, his Russian accent was hysterical and in no way accurate). “…But I suppose every ring has a story. Happy or sad.” In fact, Izzy’s life sounded like a crudely written soap opera starring an all teenage cast. Vincent had his share of rings, too. Non of which he wore. He actually had a lot of rings and if he were to wear all of them people would question what happened to all of his significant others. He was just glad non of them were wedding rings. In this case he might feel bad for Izzy. But that’s suggesting Vincent has feelings. Maybe one would or could think he felt something by how he was glancing at his hand just to make sure there wasn’t some sort of wedding ring-wearing appendage on it. But he could only be delighted for such a thing to be laying on his finger. He didn’t bother hoping anymore, though.

He was too old for that.

“How long ago has this happened?” Vincent asked, half listening to himself, half irritated it was so hard to get the man to continue on for more than three sentences. He wasn't really in the mood for this anymore, anyways (Which was strange). While listening he flipped halfheartedly through papers to see if there was mention somewhere of this terrible woman or just something real juicy to learn more about.

He stopped on something real interesting that nearly twisted his face in half.

[&Ismirshalen]

"I'm fine," the Brit grumbled halfheartedly, playing with the gold band on his finger. He remembered when his wife had left him for good. She'd thrown her own ring down the sink and turned on the garbage disposal. The sound of metal shrieking on metal had been the worst sound he'd ever heard, even though it had lasted all of five seconds. He'd almost cried then, but he'd also been extremely angry and his more sentimental emotions hadn't come through until she slammed the door behind her. Of course, once she had left, he'd spent the better part of the day alternating between crying on the couch and throwing his favorite mugs into the wall.

He'd gotten those replaced, of course.

Finally he looked up at Vincent, watching as the man stared at his own hand with a sort of longing look. That kind of surprised Izzy, because as the therapist couldn’t imagine the Brit with a wife, Izzy couldn’t imagine him with any sort of long lasting relationship. Not to say the guy didn’t probably get a few girls now and then… Of course he had no idea just how many girls the Frenchman had gone through.

"Over twenty years ago," Ismirshalen told the-rapist, hating to make his age so obvious. "I was young and stupid and rushed int--" he was cut off by the look on Dr. DeVrais's face. The guy looked like he was about to explode from… laughter. Izzy hadn't known the man could laugh. He also just lost all the comfort that had been so fragile in the first place and hard to win. Feeling a rush of anger, he got up from the couch in a rush, thinking at first that it had been caused by what Izzy was telling him. But once he reached the desk, initially planning to strangle the frog, he noticed that the guy was holding a wad of papers. His papers. Feeling a cold chill suddenly creep down his back, the Brit snatched them from the man. It didn’t take him long at all to find out what had caused Dr. DeVrais's sudden change in attitude. In fact, his eyes snapped straight to the spot, and he froze where he stood, his face paling.

Then he snapped back into the present. Flinging the papers from his hands, he grabbed the other man's tie with a cold bony hand. He felt like beating the Frenchman's head against the desk until he was nothing more than a bloody pulp. He really did. He was about to, also, his hand shaking and starting to jerk down. But he caught himself at the last moment. Not wanting this to turn into a repeat of the last 'tantrum'.

"You bloody bastard," he hissed instead, feeling cold welling up inside him. "T'hat's bloody fucking personal. Forget you even saw that!" His voice shook on the last sentence. He felt the blood pounding in his ears. He had to grit his teeth to keep himself from going through with that bloody fantasy in his head. And was having a hard time at it.

In order to refrain from killing the therapist, he forced himself to shove the guy back into his chair, not gently, and then hightail it out the door. It closed with a bang like thunder.