[f]all out.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen's worry evaporated when the Frenchman picked up his hat. His ancient black lump of a 'head covering', as Dr. DeVrais so very kindly put it. He hadn't seen the thing in… what? Two days? Less than two days? It felt like decades since it had last sat upon his head. Since it had last kept in shadow the bald spot on his scalp. He felt his heart lose a few of the chains binding it just from looking at the thing.

Too bad he would have to wait a while longer for it.

Izzy watched as the therapist clothed himself in something other than his BLANKET, wanting to get up from the chair and rush for his precious precious but not doing so because he did not want to… disturb the other man. This was an odd development, because two days ago he would have done as he so desired with no care for the guy's privacy. It was an interesting development. Surprising. The Brit did not know what to make of it yet.

"Then they will do an adult version of the act," Ismirshalen said stubbornly in reply, refusing to believe any different. Some things never changed. "And it's not ridiculous!," he exclaimed, mortified. "It was finely crafted! My wife said so." He winced slightly even as he mentioned her.

"Oh, of course it is," he added sarcastically in reply to the man's remark. "Do you even wash it?"

And then his smug look turned to one of horror when the doctor placed the hat upon his head. His greasy head. Ismirshalen Alexander Linnaeus's hat upon Vincent Fedor DeVrais's head [their names are such a mouthful]. His previous sarcastic remark was now biting him back in the ass. He wished he'd rushed for his precious earlier. The man's vibrant blue eyes twitched spastically and his mouth pursed itself, but he did not get up from his chair.

Because despite that rather unfortunate turn of events, Dr. DeVrais was also suggesting something that blew over his head.

"Excuse me?" he asked, wondering if he had heard right. "Oxford? W'hy do you want me to go to Oxford with you?"

A shrill ringing filled the room the moment after he asked the question. The telephone.

A man waited on the other line until the doctor picked up the phone.

"G'day, mate!" a rather cheerful voice buzzed over the line. "This is the Quattrocchi Site, am I right? Doctor Vincent DeVrais? I have a message for you! Oh, but make sure no one else is listening, first." The voice paused for a moment to allow for such time. "All right, then. You have a patient, Mr. Linnaeus? His mansion. Burned down. By me! Give him that message. You hear me?" The line cackled as the mystery man on the other end waited for a response.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent slowly put down his cell phone on a yellow table used for shaping Play Dough and looked at the man ignorant of this new information in his room. Vincent still had the same expression frozen on his pale visage from when he had said ‘allô’ to the man on the other end of the line. Maybe he should have just let it ring. But what was he suppose to do? Never before has it rang near him during a meeting with a patient.

«Everything’s going to be alright,» Vincent stately rather plainly after messing with a button on his shirt nervously. He remember to add a fake (But nervous) smile. Out of all his English therapeutic phrases he had learned over the years he decided to use the ‘Everything’s going to be alright’ one. That was worth 15.679 forehead slaps. It wasn’t even in context! Was he even a therapist anymore? He was starting to doubt himself even more these days. And now he was suddenly placed into this extremely unpleasant situation. Vincent figured by this point he must have done something very bad which pissed off every God thought to ever exist.

«One minute,» Vincent said quickly and quietly as he rushed into a small closet sized room to finish completely clothing himself. He realized he must be acting very erratic and was probably scaring poor Ismirshalen whom he now felt very sorry for.

It was always a chance it was a fake like those American school kids did with those ‘bomb threats’ Vincent figured as he was finishing up buttoning pants with way too many buttons and hoping that his clothes matched. Not that it mattered, all his clothes were black. But he’s French so he probably liked to match designers or something trivial like that.

«Go home,» Vincent feverishly screamed as he ran out of his own home, «And take me with you!» He added, halfway down the hall.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen watched as the Frenchman put down the phone. The same expression that he had answered it with was still frozen onto his face. He looked… disturbed. Whatever words that had been exchanged to the man, they were far from pleasant. The Brit shifted nervously on his seat.

Frankly, instead of giving him any comfort, what Dr. DeVrais said sent a shiver of icy fear down Ismirshalen's spine. Fear. It was such an irrational emotion, as he didn’t even know what was going on or what was causing the man to act so strangely, but it felt as if the whole room had just undergone a hideous transformation. The world seemed unsteady. It could have been the mere fact that it was the doctor of all people who was showing such a strong reaction to what he had heard on the phone. Izzy hadn't thought that anything could move the man so.

When the therapist excused himself, Ismirshalen slowly got up from the chair, leaning on his cane and staring uncertainly at the closet where he had departed to. His mind was burning with unanswered questions, and with that persistent yet alien fear. He had even forgotten that the guy was wearing his hat. Suddenly trivial things like that didn’t matter anymore.

He found himself moving for the yellow table where the phone sat. Without consciously remembering having done so, it was in his hand. He flipped it open and pressed the down button for the list of recent calls. There were a few numbers listed there, but the dates on all of them were from more than a day ago. Which didn’t make sense…

Before he could think too hard about it, Dr. DeVrais burst from the closet once more, shouting something that further disturbed Izzy and made him feel sick to his stomach. He pocketed the phone without thinking and then started limping after the guy as fast as he could. It took until they had reached the almost pitch-black parking lot [minus the dull light from a few street lamps] before he was close enough to try speaking to the guy. When they reached his car he opened the side door for the therapist, got in on his own side, and was on the way to the airport before he felt together enough to actually formulate his thoughts.

"W'hat the bloody Hell is going on?" he asked the black-clothed man beside him. His hands were shaking on the wheel. "W'hat happened on the phone? Are you all right?" He passed through a red light without even realizing it. He drove like an American in his discomfort.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent was still shaking in the car’s expensive seats made out of the hide of probably some very rare animal by the time Izzy managed to ask him his load of questions. Vincent hated leather seats and the noises they made. He also hated cars and this just added to his current emotional condition. He felt like he was going to cry so he put his hands over his face and leaned forward until his chest was against the top of his thin legs. He found it so silly how he was getting like this when it wasn’t even his house, his problem, his home, but he felt as if it was all his fault. And just the fact that he was acting this way angered him further. He eventually got over himself and looked at Ismirshalen who he had managed to panic along with him. “Je regret,” He said, trying his best to contort his face into a somewhat happy expression and hoping his French face wasn‘t bright red or flushed. Even Ismirshalen was smart enough to use a bank, right?

“I said everything is alright. Or will be,“ He lied, but he figured it wasn’t lying because he could always stuff him in a closet if it really turned out for the worse. He could stuff this high class, stately prince in his closet. What a nice day for his girlfriend to break up with him, am I right?

“And do not worry for me,“ He nudged the crazy driver like a very drunk American at a football game when their team scores. It was like having to tell someone that they had cancer. If it wasn’t for the fact that cancer treatment can make you bald Izzy would probably appreciate that more than what he was asking Vincent to tell him.

[&Ismirshalen]

As they made a beeline for the airport Ismirshalen kept glancing sideways at the shaky man next to him. Because of his own shakiness he kept almost running off the road to get to know the Australian desert. Being that he had no intention of coming to know such inhospitable grounds, he started forcing himself to breathe in and out in a steady rhythm and try not to pay attention to Dr. DeVrais as he had a mental breakdown. They drove in silence for a while, Izzy concentrating with unusual intensity on the road and telling himself that it was a good thing the airport was not very far from the Quack Shack. In fact the place had been built within close proximity to the airport for the fact that most of their patients came from outside the country.

When the man finally responded to him Izzy had managed to calm down a few levels, although he still was driving very erratically. Because what the Frenchman said was not very reassuring at all, he did not even look his way, in case his expression reflected or perhaps was worse off than his words. That would only send the Brit back down to that state of panic he had been in before. He forced himself to believe what he was being told even though it was probably far from true. For whatever reason the therapist was hiding something from him, he had to believe that it was for his own good.

"Okay," he responded, pulling into the airport. He swerved the car into the first empty spot he could find, then flew out the door and let out Dr. DeVrais. "Okay, I get it. You don’t want to tell me. T'hat's okay." He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his hands as they made it to the entrance. "So we're going to… my home? Can you at least tell me why we're going t'here?" He hadn't brought any luggage with him or anything other than the clothes he was wearing. Luckily for them both, however, he had enough money in his pockets to buy them both tickets to Oxford.