maskormenacelogs | You've come to see the healer, so don't you be afraid

WHO: Dr. Crane and YOU.
WHERE: ImPort Clinic, Nonah.
WHEN: April 2nd till April 7th.
WHAT: Crane's available to talk to about all your problems. He might be probing and prodding, and trying to perceive your fears at the same time. Maybe you're breaking and entering? Or maybe you're just visiting?
WARNINGS: Psychological discussions of a personal note. Discussion of suicide.

[A: Open]

[He doesn't make a sound, no murmur - he's silent in his chair, calm and poised, watching his visitor and dissecting them with his curious mind, trying to see what makes them tick. To see how their minds work. To see them exposed. From their word choice to their body language, every detail is scrutinized and appraised, discarded if meaningless and treasured if valuable - revered if it unveils fear.

He writes something into his notebook, resting it on his thigh while he flicks his eyes around his office. Clean and traditional, the room was sterile with few home comforts; there wasn't a single telling thing that could reveal something about himself. His copy of The Murders in the Rue Morgue was gone, replaced by Lord of the Flies, a book about human nature and individual welfare versus the common good. He likes its symbolism and allegory - and its controversy.

A restful breath, then he leans forward. The leather creaks - and he quirks a brow. He tilts his head slightly, and his body seems to twist the other way. His face is still and emotionless, intently listening to what his visitor has to say. He drums his knee with his fingers. Which must mean something, as he's clearing his throat soon after. Then saying one of three things:]

What do you want?

And you expect me to help you with that?

So. How can I help you?

[B: Closed]

[While earlier in the evening Crane may have been present, now he's nowhere to be seen. Neither can his footfall be heard; those vengeful enough to have pursued him before know his love of scaring people. His office seems unrewarding. Very, very unrewarding. From the top shelf to the bottom draw, every cushion and cranny, every conceivable place Crane can hide something, there's nothing.

There's one place for someone to look. It's a tiny drawer attached to the underside of his desk, with only one lock. He wouldn't keep anything there, right?]

[C: Closed to Abduxel]

[Crane observes.

The city of Maurtia Falls fascinates him, intrigues him, pulls him deeper into it's darker places to investigate the types of people who make its underbelly their home - and he does so using a form that's not going to raise suspicion.

He's a crow, roosting on a rooftop. He can look down across one of the gambling circuits along the canal. It's foreboding and dark at eleven at night, and the city's lights create a dim grey-yellow haze on the skyline. And the thing that interests him the most? Everyone's fears.

He can see them all.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Peter's not exactly good at being evasive. He's blatant about it, more inclined to try and skirt topics entirely than reroute them somewhere else. Considering how he used to tell everything under the sun, cutting himself off vocally is an entirely new feat and really, he has no idea what he's doing with it apart from trying to keep everyone at a distance.

And really, maybe he's hoping Crane will tell him he's not supposed to come around a second time. Peter doesn't need to be therapized, thank you ever so.

But it's still infuriating and Peter's gaze narrows, shifts towards severe annoyance. It's sort of exactly what he expected therapy to be. A regurgitation of things Peter already knows. Which- maybe he shouldn't have come in the first place. ]

You think I don't know that? That i'm stupid, that I missed the part where he should be better? Maybe let him go after he threatened to let me die? [ Sarcasm has become Peter's best friend. But now he's glowering. Pissed. On a roll to prove a point. ] I get it. He's clueless, he never talks about caring as much as I used to, big surprise. Politicians get away with every kind of bullshit imaginable and i've heard it all. So I know.

But that time I almost blew up New York? He still saved the fucking day. And when I almost helped kill everyone. He fixed that too. So even when he's full of shit, he still comes around.

... You almost blew up New York?

[The suggestive tone in Crane's voice that made him want to talk deeper. The focused stare he was giving Peter. He wants him to talk more about this topic, perhaps. His need is deep, on a personal level. He's done something similar, he knows - but he's not quite ready to talk about that to a stranger.

Still. He can't really talk about Peter's brother right now. There's something interesting about the potential of New York's population being locked in a scream before their lives are snuffed out. It makes him ignore everything else Peter's said, for now.

Clearly, Crane has priorities.]

[ That's what he gloms on to? Out of everything? Granted, Peter's still guilty about that particular incident, but what he'd nearly done for Adam is something Peter feels infinitely more shitty about. The population of NYC compared to 93% of the entire world. That one he still has difficulty coming to terms with. ]

I didn't have particularly good control of one of my abilities at the time.

[ Understatement. But he looks at least somewhat neutral, leaning towards discontent. This doesn't even make him fidget, it's just a fact of his life by this point. He nearly blew up New York. He just isn't supremely fond of telling that to everyone he walks past on the street. ]

[The reason for focusing on a 'lesser' atrocity is simple - it's the thin layer of ice under Peter's feet, and it'll only hold for so long before it cracks and he plummets below the surface. There's also the need to watch him squirm, of course, be it in anger or any other emotion. He wants to feel he has that power.

Others might consider this the starter before the main course. He just sees it as a more logical approach.

There was also natural curiosity. What sort of power could blow up a city?]

I see. [Wow, Crane. So accepting of atrocity.] So your brother was involved in stopping your... pursuit of that. What about the rest of your family?

[ Please to not be bringing the rest of his family into this conversation. It's dangerous territory and discussing his parents is infinitely more problematic than discussing his brother. Even when it comes to things like the explosion - everything that's come after has only been icing on an incredibly shitty cake and Peter clears his throat, gaze wandering off for a moment before returning to Crane, as if staring at the guy while he spoke would make the whole thing easier.

It wouldn't. ]

My mom wanted me to explode. Would help my brother win the election if he had a disaster to take care of. I was supposed to die, he was supposed to win out.

[ His family loves him so very, very much. ]

[Crane doesn't care for Peter's feelings. He sifts them all - anger, fear and petulance - to discover what he wants. The jetsam and flotsam can be trashed for all he cares.]

I know you won't feel calmer dwelling on it, Peter. [A true fact; Peter did seem agitated in his fear. Angry too.] I'm certain you know this, actually. So what exactly do you want from me? From this time here? False platitudes?

[Tough love, and it's given in the most polite, unassuming voice possible. He's been there. Done that. Swallow what you're given, Peter. Or he'll force you to.]

[ It's honestly a good question. Considering Peter doesn't have much of an answer to it. It's not like he especially wants to be therapized, and he's not looking to be consoled. Really, everyone can save their pity, their remarks - mostly he wants to crack a few people upside the head. People who aren't even here, which leaves him in something of a pinch. ]

I don't know. It's not like I need to be fixed. Wouldn't expect you to do it anyway, i'm pretty sure therapists don't pretend that they're some kind of magic pill.

But no, i'm not looking for bullshit. I can get that from anyone else. You said two hours, i'm guessing i'll be out of here in- [ a glance to his watch ] - probably right around now. This place, i'm probably not the most interesting guy to step through your doors.

[Crane figures it's time soon as Peter glances at his watch. In turn, he glances down at his notebook, resting in his lap. He barely tilts his head. It's a simple flicker of the eyes, that's all.

Least his reaction is honest. He doesn't show much interest, and this case doesn't move him. It's mildly fascinating, but not one he'll put himself out for. It's the sort of case he'll file away and come across when perusing his records. He'll stop, think, smile - and then file it back.]

Yes, you're right. You're not interesting enough. [Surgical honesty. Sometimes it's a better tool.] In respect, I won't try and convince you into bland pay-by-the-hour therapy. One thing I'll tell you; try to swallow what life's given you. Till it makes you nauseous, if it comes to that. It's a bitter medicine, but it's a more effective one.

[Peter can show himself out.]

[ Oh, that one earns a prolific snort. ]

Glad to know i'm not interesting. Also nice to know you're full of shit. Pretty sure therapists don't function under the idea of only keeping around what makes an interesting case. [ Hell, happy to know he's not worth too terribly much in the grand scheme of things. But ah, well. ]

And one thing i'll tell you is I don't need your advice. Already got more than enough from people who've lived a lot longer than you ever will.

[ Yup, that'd be the door, and yup, he'll be on his way. ]

You've come to see the healer, so don't you be afraid

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