Post by pete on Dec 5, 2013 18:05:51 GMT -5
"Did you see it, Doc? I did good, didn't I?"
Dr. Evelyn Everhardt, known to her friends and relatives as Evie, sips her tea (black, one sugar, quite sensible) and peers at her patient over the edge of her spectacles (red, pointy, not so sensible). Across from her, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt is in full-on childish excitement mode, wearing a big goofy grin from ear to ear - a rare sight - as he recounts his adventures in the ring earlier in the week.
"...and I didn't lose my temper! At all! Not even when they started singing that song, Doc! I just...I channeled it! It was amazing! You should have seen it! And this week I'm in the THIRD match! Curtain jerker no more! Woo-hoo!"
John allows himself a moment of ecstatic happiness, punching the air in celebration, but Dr. Everhardt holds up a manicured hand (bright red, not so sensible either) to stop her patient. "John. Not so loud, please."
Triple J draws back, meekly, and lapses into silence for a few moments, as he studies his psychiatrist. Dr. Everhardt is busily scribbling away at her notepad, now and again trapping the pencil between her lips (cherry-red, not at ALL sensible!). At length, John leans forward again, trying to peer over her mass of dark-red dyed hair.
"What you writin', Doc?", he asks, a definite tone of suspicion in his voice.
"I'm drawing, John", is the calm and collected reply.
"Can I see?" Less suspicion now, and more interest.
Dr. Everhardt hesitates for a moment, then nods slightly, deciding full disclosure is best in this instance. She holds out the sketchpad, where she has been etching out a broad-shouldered, muscular male figure, and turns her gaze downward, as if embarrassed. After a moment, she withdraws the pad back to her lap. John, however, has taken in the drawing and leans back in his chair, a glint in his eye and a grin spreading across his lips.
"That's what I like about you, Doc. You shoot straight! No bullshit!"
He shoots the psychiatrist a genuinely charming smile, pointing at the notepad:
"That's good! Who is it?"
Is that a fluster coming to Dr. Everhardt's cheeks? Well, if it is, she is doing her best to disguise it. Her voice, however, somewhat betrays the effect of John's praise on his analyst:
"N-nobody. Just...someone I know. But thank you, John. For your compliment."
Schmidt seems oblivious to the effect he has had on his doctor, and she quickly deflects the conversation back to his wrestling prowess:
"So, tell me about this upcoming match."
"Oh." John thinks for a moment. "It's a one-on-one match. Did I tell you that? I don't think I did, did I? Anyway, it is. Just me and this guy called, um..."
John checks his phone for the file attachtment with the match card for the fifth episode of PURE TV. "...Maverick Jones. Almost as stupid a name as mine is."
Sensing an approach to dangerous territory, Dr. Everhardt quickly intercedes. "Do you know anything about him?"
"Not the first thing", John admits. "Guess I'll find out in the ring, huh? Maybe I can ask him after I've busted his mouth open, heh heh heh!"
John's violent tendencies are surfacing. This is not good. Dr. Everhardt quickly leans forward and places a hand on her patient's knee, shuddering slightly at the surprising tingle it sends through her. Then again, after the subject matter her brain has deemed fit to sketch earlier, she really should not be surprised, should she? John is surprised too, and looks down at the placement of her hand quizzically. The psychiatrist takes this opportunity to catch his eye and plead:
"John. Please. Ask him before."
JJ looks back into his doctor's eyes for a second, then smiles and lets out a little chuckle, understanding the implicit message in his analyst's words.
"OK, Doc", he concedes. "I will."
Dr. Everhardt smiles, reaching for her tea again to take another sip.
"Thank you, John", she murmurs, with a smile and a glance in her patient's direcion. "Tnank you."
Dr. Evelyn Everhardt, known to her friends and relatives as Evie, sips her tea (black, one sugar, quite sensible) and peers at her patient over the edge of her spectacles (red, pointy, not so sensible). Across from her, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt is in full-on childish excitement mode, wearing a big goofy grin from ear to ear - a rare sight - as he recounts his adventures in the ring earlier in the week.
"...and I didn't lose my temper! At all! Not even when they started singing that song, Doc! I just...I channeled it! It was amazing! You should have seen it! And this week I'm in the THIRD match! Curtain jerker no more! Woo-hoo!"
John allows himself a moment of ecstatic happiness, punching the air in celebration, but Dr. Everhardt holds up a manicured hand (bright red, not so sensible either) to stop her patient. "John. Not so loud, please."
Triple J draws back, meekly, and lapses into silence for a few moments, as he studies his psychiatrist. Dr. Everhardt is busily scribbling away at her notepad, now and again trapping the pencil between her lips (cherry-red, not at ALL sensible!). At length, John leans forward again, trying to peer over her mass of dark-red dyed hair.
"What you writin', Doc?", he asks, a definite tone of suspicion in his voice.
"I'm drawing, John", is the calm and collected reply.
"Can I see?" Less suspicion now, and more interest.
Dr. Everhardt hesitates for a moment, then nods slightly, deciding full disclosure is best in this instance. She holds out the sketchpad, where she has been etching out a broad-shouldered, muscular male figure, and turns her gaze downward, as if embarrassed. After a moment, she withdraws the pad back to her lap. John, however, has taken in the drawing and leans back in his chair, a glint in his eye and a grin spreading across his lips.
"That's what I like about you, Doc. You shoot straight! No bullshit!"
He shoots the psychiatrist a genuinely charming smile, pointing at the notepad:
"That's good! Who is it?"
Is that a fluster coming to Dr. Everhardt's cheeks? Well, if it is, she is doing her best to disguise it. Her voice, however, somewhat betrays the effect of John's praise on his analyst:
"N-nobody. Just...someone I know. But thank you, John. For your compliment."
Schmidt seems oblivious to the effect he has had on his doctor, and she quickly deflects the conversation back to his wrestling prowess:
"So, tell me about this upcoming match."
"Oh." John thinks for a moment. "It's a one-on-one match. Did I tell you that? I don't think I did, did I? Anyway, it is. Just me and this guy called, um..."
John checks his phone for the file attachtment with the match card for the fifth episode of PURE TV. "...Maverick Jones. Almost as stupid a name as mine is."
Sensing an approach to dangerous territory, Dr. Everhardt quickly intercedes. "Do you know anything about him?"
"Not the first thing", John admits. "Guess I'll find out in the ring, huh? Maybe I can ask him after I've busted his mouth open, heh heh heh!"
John's violent tendencies are surfacing. This is not good. Dr. Everhardt quickly leans forward and places a hand on her patient's knee, shuddering slightly at the surprising tingle it sends through her. Then again, after the subject matter her brain has deemed fit to sketch earlier, she really should not be surprised, should she? John is surprised too, and looks down at the placement of her hand quizzically. The psychiatrist takes this opportunity to catch his eye and plead:
"John. Please. Ask him before."
JJ looks back into his doctor's eyes for a second, then smiles and lets out a little chuckle, understanding the implicit message in his analyst's words.
"OK, Doc", he concedes. "I will."
Dr. Everhardt smiles, reaching for her tea again to take another sip.
"Thank you, John", she murmurs, with a smile and a glance in her patient's direcion. "Tnank you."
