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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Jan 1, 2014 1:25:52 GMT -5
The boat ride had been cool—something her father would never have allowed—the rest was a buzz kill. Finger prints were taken. Someone scanned her eyeballs. Every part of her had been bared to someone’s eyes; it was a bit more violating without her clothes actually coming off. The two Pokemorphs at the door, both hideously ugly, began to mumble and rattle about rules and regulations. Some of those were toned out.
Beep! The entrance swung open. The guards gave her a series of directions and a tiny little map. In truth, feeling herself courageous, it had been tempting to stray the course. Some of the people in this place, openly toting deadly weapons, turned her off the idea. Bullets hurt.
Some parts of her outfit also caused pain--figuratively.
The card hung heavy from her neck; she might as well have been given a collar and a leash. The lanyard, while less restraining, was no less inconvenient. Authority rubbed her the wrong way. Things like appointments, unless work required a certain shift, left her with hackles raised. The large woman was unlikely to do what someone else said; the redhead honestly had no other justification for that other than an urge to be rebellious. Her entire life had been spent beneath someone else’s thumb. Calendars, with all of their inane schedules, deserved her resentment too.
That might have been why she was almost late for this stupid date. It also was partially due to the Linoone walking beside her boot-covered feet; the little weasel had decided to chew the clock. The McKenna woman might have skipped if it came without a price; she did not have the extra money to pay her date for a missed appointment. The asshole would work for his paycheck.
Madeline held her head high. She gave a few fiery glares to those who happened to stare at her. Had they never seen a woman in a leather jacket before---was her gender really that confusing? “I cannot wait to get this bullshit over with. Hurry up, Edgar.” The Technicolor rat, who had paused to sniff at a potted plant, gave a feral hiss. Regardless, claws leaving streaks across the freshly polished tile, he raced after his trainer. The taller of the pair, bright eyes lifting to the numbers beside the doors, began to mutter numbers beneath her breath. “101, 102, 103, 104. . .” Glancing from side to side, the counting bouncing like balls in a pin ball table, the carrot-topped girl waited for a number to click. She didn’t need to refer to the card.
“All of these damn rooms look the same.” The Linoone’s irritable voice echoed his trainer’s thoughts. For once, as they agreed, Madeline didn’t correct the blue-eyed blunder.
The tiny gold plaque caught her eyes first. It was a tiny little strip set at about eye-level. Lifting her fists to the door, as her fingers had already curled irritably, Madeline knocked three times. She just twisted the handle, put her shoulder into it, and pushed. She had an appointment—the door shouldn’t be locked. If it was, under her fat-ass, it would likely crumble.
She needed therapy? Orange eyes had gave an angry flare at that suggestion. She was not the one who turned their child into the puppet. It had not been her throwing tantrums like a child—without provocation. If it had not been her mother, someone whom she still cared deeply about, Madeline might have thrown up a middle finger. “I’m still as much an idiot as fucking ever.” The needless profanity made her heart swell with joy. Her father could not yell at her.
“I need Doctor Stanley Hopkins---the shrink. Apparently.” Her words echoed around the area. The Linoone beside her proceeded to make a very inappropriate joke. “I don’t need him though—I am not my relatives.” She pulled at the edge of her jacket with a sigh.
This would be over soon. At least psychiatrists rarely chose needles.
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Post by Stanley Hopkins on Jan 7, 2014 22:23:29 GMT -5
TAKE THEIR BREATH IN ELEGANCE AND PLANT HYDRANGEAS IN THEIR SKULLS; YOU MUST ALWAYS KILL WITH BEAUTY.
| Maybe if Dr. Hopkins had even the slightest intentions of working with his clients today, this situation would have gone much more smoothly. It would begin with his famous firm handshake (where he would pretend his incredibly short arms weren't awkward) and a smile and brief conversation about life and other small things (where he would hope they weren't questioning how yellow his skin was). His usual customers didn't bring any trouble, and although his mind itched to dig into their hippocampus and see what he could do, he with-strained himself (most of the time). The problem with being a pokemorph was that it was incredibly obvious, and often newcomers would be distracted by his disfigurement. Instead here Doctor Stanley Hopkins was blasting Mozart in his roomy Pravus office, instead of being cramped in his chair listening to yet another sob story. Don't be mistaken, Stanley loved his work so much that he actually chose it over his marriage, but there was something about boring routine appointments that drove him farther of the deep end. Only half of his Pokemon team was present for this event. The newest additions, Alpha and her young son Beta, chose to stay home and clean Stanley's rarely used apartment. The Kangaskhans were adamant that the now fairly large awkward family couldn't sleep in the office anymore, and had recruited his other newest member, Omega, to help with their cause. The pink Parchirsu wasn't very interested in Stan's work regardless, and was thrilled to not be stuck in such a crowded room. "Delta misses out on so much, oh do you hear those notes, Gamma? Hmmm yes, see you can just hear his thinking through his work. Can you imagine... just even hearing his brain clinking into place to make those notes, oh it's incredible." He said in an almost tranced state, as his other Pokemon tried to show the least amount of concern. The previously mentioned Delta was wearing headphones in an attempt to mute this god awful mess she was in. It was such a ruckus that she couldn't even manage to focus on her cigarette. "Will you turn that shit down already?!" she cried, looking toward Theta or Gamma for any sort of support. It wasn't often that Delta got in such a mess that she relied on the others to help her handle a problem, but she'll be damned if her owner goes to repeat the record again. It was about at this time when the office door was being repeatedly knocked on, although no one was seemingly bothering to open it. "Theta. Theta. Theta. Thetathetathathatha" Delta started to chant, attempting to get the attention of the Smoochum who was doing a workout dance routine to the music. Truthfully, it looked like she was just spinning in circles, but all dances looked the same in Delta's mind. Getting up to open the door herself was out of the question, and although her psychic powers were strong enough for her to easily open it, it required more effort that her batting at her companion to do it for her. "For god's sake Theta! Gamma! SOMEONE GET THE DOOR!" Delta yelled, before coughing up a fair share of disgusting goop (a common side-effect of letting a baby Cleffa smoke two packs a day). Stanley was probably about mid-twirl when the door managed to "unlock itself and slam right open.' There stood a girl with her un-amused Pokemon bickering about the aforementioned magically opening door being locked. On Dr. Hopkin's side of the entrance, was a nearly dying Cleffa hacking up a storm, a Smoochum who was also in the middle of twirling, and a Shuppet who was the clear culprit to the door opening. Gamma prided herself on her cleverness, and always followed her first instincts on any situation. So when the solution to her problem was to slam the door right back where it was, she went for it with no withstraint. To say the least, this was not what anyone expected the day to be, especially not Stanley.
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LAIKA OF GS!
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Jan 11, 2014 5:17:36 GMT -5
The masculine voice erupted from his chest; it was full of rage and anger. This asshole wouldn’t open the door! Didn’t any of his stupid education tell him to tell time—or how to define appointment! The little mammal would of course deny that his actions were prompted by Madeline’s treatment. The brown Pokemon felt just as disrespected; he had been pulled out of bed, by his ruff, for this shit. “Goddamn disrespectful fucker! I’ll make it so ‘e needs therapy! We ain’t girl scouts! We don’t got all day!”, The Linoone exhibited his needle-sharp teeth at the door. It was as if his irritation would force it to pop free of its hinges. Ice blue eyes were angry slits.His tail, broom like and aggravated, thrashed back and forth behind the weasel. Back claws tightened against the freshly polished tile. The floor gave a squeak of protest.
Her voice was cool—though her words were jibing. “Ass.” Madeline, preferring remaining calm to erupting like a volcano, leaned closer to the door. It would not do, when visiting a therapist, to display a bad temper. She did not belong in the crazy house.
The woman could hear some vague murmurings from inside. The sound of classical, loud enough to be audible, made her frown. It was that shit that her ‘peers’ always insisted on playing at parties; it never earned overt admiration from the little redhead. It made her yawn from boredom. it might have been different if classical hadn’t been shoved down her throat. While it was beautiful, and borne from hard work, it was no longer her idea of art. It reminded her of her father—one of the reasons she was here. “How does he hear patients over that---bionic hearing?”, the question was muttered. Something shouted, finally, for the door to be opened. Leaning back, so her large frame did not tumble inside, Madeline waited patiently.
The weasel heard it too. “About damn fucking time—“, Yakuza snorted. His ears, while small little round tufts, could discern more than vague shouts. Even his nostrils, once shoved into rotting garbage, wrinkled at the wet coughing noises. Digging in a bit deeper, leaving gouges just outside the door, the brown-furred thing rose on his back feet.
The hardy boots took a step forward. Sighing, moving toward the open door, Madeline decided to let bygones be bygones. The sight of the coughing Cleffa however, sounding as if it was dying, made her frown. Is that a client? The sight of the little stick nearby, or at least the ash tray, resulted in nicotine pangs. A cigarette was pulled out. The ass, if he could not answer the door, could tolerate some smoke. “Yo.”, her father would have shivered at that word once upon a time—especially from her mouth.
Shakng off her shock at seeing the Cleffa, the redhead began to move again. Any further conversation, such as a polite greeting, was quickly lost. The door began to close. Jumping forward, like a linebacker about to tackle, she tried to jam the door open. The Linoone, completely by accident, managed to do so first--until he pulled away in agon. Madeline had to complain.. “What the hell!? Why would you slam the door?—This isn’t ding-dong ditch the patient.” The response to dash forward had been instinctive. She didn’t want to be there.
The sinewy creature had woven his way through his trainer’s legs the second the door was open. He might have used a quick-attack to move that quickly. Yakuza planned on taking his surprisingly-white teeth, like needles, and chew a hole through that snobby ankle. Instead managing to jab his nose into the opening. The thick door slammed into his muzzle. The howl of pain, as he pushed against the door—with its loose lock—echoed in the hallway. It Ice blue eyes flooded with tears. “You bahstahd!” The digging digits rose to shove even harder.
“Look, Doctor Hopkins, you seem rather busy. Just open the door, let Edgar free, and we’ll leave—you aren’t getting paid.” The sight of the struggling normal-type was nearly tempting enough to justify payment.
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Post by Stanley Hopkins on Jan 15, 2014 17:38:13 GMT -5
TAKE THEIR BREATH IN ELEGANCE AND PLANT HYDRANGEAS IN THEIR SKULLS; YOU MUST ALWAYS KILL WITH BEAUTY.
| "Honestly, Gamma, that's no way to treat our patients. If you were going to shut the door on them, you might as well just kept it closed so they won't know we were here." Stanley scolded, waving his finger furiously at the stupified Shuppet. "The music was so loud that I'm sure the entire bu-", Delta started to ramble on, before being quickly interrupted. "Nonsense! It's time to tidy up, we have guests now!" He blabbered, his sudden peppiness probably was inflected by the quick notes on his record track. Gamma, the previously mentioned Shuppet, was at her wit's end. Believing that she didn't nothing wrong, (and was wrongly punished!), she had floated over to the beloved record player and lifted the needle, stopping the music. It was almost like a switch on how quickly Stanley had changed to his role as Dr. Hopkins. Only after the room was silent did he notice the Pokemon jammed into the door. "Oh dear, here let me get that for you." he said as he opened the knob and for the first time saw his new, but incredibly furious, patient. One of the many benefits of being a Pokemorph, and a Psychic Pokemorph to boot, was the ability to telepathically alert his Pokemon that their reinforcement may be necessary. He already signaled for Delta to float out into the hallway, in case the planned to flee. Although this sort of treatment was for clients that were forced to see him by his employer, Pravus, he usually set up as a system for some of his, well, more angry clients. "Ah yes hmmm, you don't need to pay me, yes? Please come in and sit down." He lied, wondering how ridiculous it was for her to come to the best therapist around and ask to not pay him. If worse came to worse, his Shuppet could pickpocket their wallet, or he could hypnotize them into giving him a fortune. Stanley Hopkins was not one to rub off badly on. He had the file on-hand on his newest client, things like a basic background check and any medical records. "Madeline Mckenna, correct?" Let's start of with the basics. How are you today?"
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LAIKA OF GS!
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Post by Madeline "Madd" McKenna on Jan 19, 2014 5:47:14 GMT -5
Unless she was deaf and brainless, it would have been rather obvious that someone was home. The hours for the office had been clearly indicated on the paperwork. The music was loud enough to be nearly deafening through the words. Weak human ears failed to hear Stanley’s attempt to brush them off. The Linoone, with sharp ears, began to shake. “Disrespectful rotten bastard!” Madeline, amazed that his vocabulary seemed to have grown, just stared at the weasel. “—I really just want to go back home. We can always go see if the cafeteria is any better than at Rocket.” The brightly-painted Pokemon could distinguish each syllable; it was for that reason, among one or two others, that he charged toward the door.
None of them would shut him out! He had rights---he had submitted to some dumb human bitch to get them. Gone were the days when people, fearing he had fleas or was rabid, left him sitting outside. Madeline ,hearing indistinguishable muttering, was forced to wonder at the contents of the room. The pairing of the music, and the peppy words, allowed the Linoone a moment to bunch his sinew.
The door would likely need to be replaced. The blunt claws, which were made for tearing through both dirt and tree roots, had left some gouges on the thick surface. His nose dripped blood; his snout was already turning a delightful shade of violet. Falling back, snapping sharp teeth a few inches from Stanley’s knee, settled onto his haunches. “You bettah get tha’ or I’ll shove my damn claws up ya smart-ass.” His nose hurt. Turning to stare at Delta, snarling at her, he limped to the side. “You can go firs’---I’d eat him.” The smart pompous ass turned him off.
Madeline stared at the blonde-haired man with equal amounts of distaste and distrust. The amusement at the Linoone’s inability to speak, along with his crestfallen face, lost much of its appeal. Dealing with Stanley, even if he had provided her a brief burst of entertainment, was far worse than just leaving. She didn’t like shrinks. The redhead had no love of people fiddling with her head—no one was a musical instrument. Turning to see the thing floating by her head, briefly, the redhead just snorted. Realizing she had assumed a feminine posture of greeting, hands clasped demurely by her hips, Madeline loosened up. “I hope not—I’ve gotten better damn service at Burger King. I did happen to have an appointment.” For a moment, fingers on the bulge in her pocket, she debated on lighting up again. Her wallet was empty. Tucked beneath her bed at home, where she slept each night, it had remained. Madeline had never had any intention of paying for Stanley; the person who had sent her here could take care of the bill. She really doubted she could afford Doctor Hopkins’s incompetence.. “Thank you; it’s gratifying to see that helping the little assholes is what makes your world go around—pro bono and all.” In truth, with a vocabulary given through years of private tutoring, profanity was far from needed. It made her feel better. The feeling of the leash around her neck, especially from being brought out here to begin with, seemed less pressuring. The invisible hand pulling at it seemed to relax. Swearing had become her wall and defense mechanism. “No, it’s Tits McGee.” It felt good to be a rebel. “I prefer to go by ‘Madd’ now—please don’t use Madeline, Stanley.” First names already—it was better than Doctor Hopkins. Taking a calming breath, pushing aside any remaining irritation from being ignored, the girl began to relax. He was no her father. The sore-nosed Linoone, holding his nose up to stop any bleeding, felt like back-up enough.
Madeline looked for a chair. Finally, picking the one farthest from Stanley, the rather large woman took a seat. The cigarette wormed its way into her hand. The smell of nicotine, the result of something in this room, made the urge irresistible. “I have been worse I suppose. It is also not the best day I have had either---“ Turning to look at the door behind her, with a frown, Madeline offered a piece of advice. ” I do hope you do not turn away less understanding clients like that.” Maybe the blonde had been hiding from someone else he had already snubbed. This time, with her irritation slightly ebbed, Madeline managed a façade of respect. Polite, though a bit clipped, she continued the niceties. “How are you today, Doctor Hopkins--? Or is this an office where communication runs one way—?” Reminds me of home if it does—I’ll get used to it..
Yakuza could not let the earlier situation end without mention. His face was probably shattered. “I’m doing just fuckin’ greah—you broke my damn nohse.” Laying his nose on his trainer’s lap, feeling a bit out of place in this land of psychology, the weasel went silent.
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