Office of Dr. Tino Väinämöinen

Tino sat in his office, idily tapping his fingers against his desk as he stared at the list of patients.. He couldn't believe his eyes as he read them, but he read the list once more and then again after that. The blonde put the list down, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the picture of him and his dog.
He reached forward, grabbing the silver picture frame, and stared at the picture, smiling as he traced the outline of Hanatamago. Every once in a while, his eyes would dart to the door, thinking he heard someone but he just guessed it was his nerves/hopes about his new job. He spun in his chair, looking at the abstract figures on the shelf behind him. He would need to put some books in there and maybe one or two more of the figures there.
After five minutes of looking around his room, his eyes fell on the door once more, hoping that someone would walk through and talk to him. Tino shook his head, looking at the walls.. Maybe he shouod have painted it a different color, a light blue would have been nice.
Leaning back in his chair, he propped his feet on his desk, leaning back and balancing a pen on his nose, horizontally. He found this little task so amusing that time seemed to fly as he tried to keep it on his nose.. I guess if anyone walked in then they would wonder if he was a seal or something.

There were two choices that presented themselves to Gilbert Beilschmidt when he left the room with the kid. He could go to Group Therapy, or visit his 'doctor'. Feeling rather anxious about the idea of hanging out in a room full of Crazies – and quite possibly that blue-eyed bitch that tried to stab him a month ago, he opted for visiting with his doctor instead.

Not that he liked his doctor much more then he liked anyone else, but the Finnish man was preferable to the chances of being stabbed. Gilbert was nothing, if not self-protecting. He didn't mind getting into a scuffle every now and again, but when there was a chance of fighting with someone he knew to stab and choke, he figured it was best to avoid it.

He didn't bother to knock, before barging into Dr. Väinämöinen's office. Let out a sharp bark of laughter, before moving forward and plopping into the chair in front of the man's desk. “What the hell are you doing? Training for the circus?”

He clucked his tongue, and grinned at the man, “You're Dr. V, right?” He wasn't about to try and pronounce that long ass name. No way in hell. “I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, word is, you're my new doctor.”

Tino didn't expect someone to just barge in like that so, when his patient did, he almost fell back in his chair. He balanced himself quickly, dropping his pencil, and looked at the white haired man. He smiled, letting out a nervous laugh.

"The circus? No, of course not.." He scratched the back of his head, nodding to the other. "Yes, Dr. Väinämöinen, or as you said, Dr. V." He reached down, grabbing is pencil, before setting it on his desk. He leaned forward, clasping his hands togehter, and smiled. "Gilbert, nice to meet you." 

Bringing his hand down, Tino reached into his desk and brought out a file filled with papers. "Let's see here.." He clucked his tongue, raising an eyebrow. "You have ADHD, Megalomania, and a.. Narcissitic personality disorder?" He raised an eyebrow at this. "Hm, interesting." Setting that aside, he looked back up at him, bringing out a blank sheet of paper.

"Tell me about yourself and yours views on this establishment. Is everything alright? Up to your standards? Your views on the patients. This is all about you, right now." He said, picking up a pencil.    

He snorted as the doctor seemed to almost fumble. Definitely new. He arched an eyebrow, and leaned back in his own chair, putting one foot on the edge of the desk so he could balance his chair similar to how the Doctor had been doing moments before. His lips peeled into a grin at the mention of his supposed illnesses. If they were real or not he didn't much care. They kept him in a place with a roof over his head, meals to eat, and no one pointing a gun at his head or yelling at him cause they didn't get their fix.

“Erzähl du über mich?” He asked, clucking his tongue, “Isn't it all in that pretty little file there?”

He motioned to the folder, and tilted his head a bit. “As for this place... it's shitty. The food sucks, the nurses are abusive,” He muttered the second part, knowing that if something was mentioned to Elizabeta, the woman would just beat the shit out of him with her damned clipboard. “And the patients are idiots.”

He felt that somehow summed it up.


[Translation;
Erzähl du über mich? - Tell you about myself?]

Dr. V nodded at the appopriate times, seemingly writing on his notepad, when in all actuality, he was drawing the man's thoughts. He looked at the picture- horribly drawn one, at that- and then to Gilbert.

"You're actions and supposed personality is in this folder, not yourself. Only a person can tell another about themselves, and sometimes, it's not written down." He said, smiling at the fact that the other was somewhat relaxed in his office.

He bit his lip at Gilbert's next choice of words, hiding a laugh. He jotted down a few quick notes, still listening to him.

Food is tasteless, nurses are not the nicest, and the patients are idiots. At this last comment he looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah, the patients are going to be slightly idiotic. This is a insane asylum."

Gilbert's hopes for Dr. V were slowly dropping down to lower levels. He frowned at the pale-haired man, arched a brow and pushed back further on the desk, making the chair wobble a little bit. After a moment, he let the front legs fall down to the floor with a thud. He eyed the Finnish man for a long moment, waiting for any sign of weakness, then shrugged, and tilted his head.

“Being insane does not mean someone is stupid.” He spat the words out, as if it was disgraceful that his doctor was unaware of such a basic fact. Gilbert had lived on the street, and dealt with his fair share of insane homeless people, to learn that they were not idiots. Many of them were far from it. A bit odd, disturbed, sure, but rarely stupid. “Just means there's something wrong with them.”

Like there was with him. Or, that's what he was told, he thought he was fine. His awesome-self was above such trivial faults like a debilitating mental condition. But hey, whatever kept him in a room of his own, with food (no matter how crappy) in his stomach, and no one pointing a gun at him. He could deal with it. Even if he did have one hell of a problem with some of the staff, as well as the other patients.

Tino smiled at how the other caught on. Usually people would just go along with him, not really paying attention to his words. Boviously, this young man was paying attention.

"Of course people in insane asylum's aren't stupid, I was simply wondering if you were truly paying attention." He smiled, chuckling at his own little funny. He picked up a pen, handing it to Gilbert. "I want you to draw the first thing that comes to your mind." Yes, the request was slightly odd, but he really wanted to see what was on his mind currently.. Even if it was something as simple as food.

He started flipping through his files while he waited for the other to finish, wondering how to go about another therapy session. He frowned slightly, pulling out a piece of paper, and stared at the wording. He started to mumble to himself as he read, thinking outloud, somewhat.

He arched a brow, and took the pen hesitantly. It wasn't often that doctors in these places just handed patients a pen. Of course, Gilbert wasn't really prohibited from using pens and the like, he had his own in his room. A whole case of them, all different colours and styles, so he'd never run out while writing in his journal. He was less fussy that way. Didn't have to go and steal the nurse's pens.

For a second he watched the doctor flip through files, then leaned down over the piece of paper, and began to draw. It couldn't hurt, and it was still better then group therapy.

Long, bold strokes. He wondered if he'd use up the whole of the ink, he had a feeling it was more then possible.

Gilbert was a lot of things, but an expert artist he was not. He was a writer, not a drawer. The random black stripes he left at both the top and bottom of the paper were a bit squiggly, though they were thick. In the middle he drew a crudely done bird that probably looked cuter then he'd planned it too. He added a backwards swastika next to the eagle, just for kicks.

Absently, he added the symbol for the Hammerskins, below the swastika. Two hammers crossing, over an odd gear. He wondered if this doctor would even know what it meant, but Gilbert had seen it so many times while on the street, as well during all the court dates he had to go too. He sat back when he decided the picture was done, clicking the pen closed then opened again, shaking it a little, wondering just how much ink was left in it.

Kicking back his chair again, he clucked his tongue and waited.

Tino finished reading the paper, thoughts and suggestions of the next session running through his head. He looked back up when hearing the pen click. His eyes first landed on Gilbert and then went down to the paper.

Picking it up, he studided it, taking in the backwards swastika, the adorable looking bird, and the Hammerskins sign. He raised an eyebrow, tracing one hammer. He looked back at Gilbert, eyebrows raised, and held out his hand for the pen.

"May I see my pen, please?" He said, a smile on his face. Obviously, his mind was all over the place and he just wanted to draw random things. He looked back to the paper once more, clucking his tongue slightly. "Interesting.."

Gilbert watched with an appraising eye as the Doctor looked over his paper. He knew that the man would never be able to truly understand the amazingness of his awesome drawing, but something a little more then 'interesting' had been expected. The added swastika, hadn't drawn the reaction he'd wanted. Maybe he'd have to try something else.

He played with the pen a bit more, tempted to not give it back. Not that he needed it, he had plenty of his own, but he felt somehow annoyed now.

“Tch.” He tossed the pen back in the doctor's direction, and tipped his chair back on one of it's legs. Arms folding behind his head, as he balance on the chair, one foot on the lip of the desk, giving the pressure needed to keep him from falling forward. Tipping back was highly possible. He was less then concerned.

Tino read over his profile once more before setting the paper down and taking the pen. He stared at the other, trying to think of something.

"It says you keep a journal.. How long have you kept this journal?" He started. "Did you just recently start it or did you when you were younger? If the latter is the case, at what age?" He asked, leaning forward. He had a small smile still on his face as he watched the other, somewhat glad that he was relaxed.. Or so it seemed.

He looked at the precarious looking position, chewing on his bottom lip. "That looks.. Slightly dangerous." He mumbled, looking at the leg of the chair.

He blinked, the questions catching him off guard. He almost tipped back, but managed to catch himself by throwing his arms out in front of him, giving his body the push it needed to stay balanced.

He shot the doctor a cocky grin, “S'only dangerous if you don't know what you're doing.”

After a second or two, he frowned, trying to remember when he'd started keeping journals. He knew he had one when he'd run away from home, he was..... His face scrunched up a bit, as he thought over the number. The one that popped up in his mind could not be correct, and he told himself that for the hundredth time, before opening his mouth to reply to the question. “I've had one since I was...”

Damn it.

“Fi..” He twitched a bit, and dropped back onto all four chair legs. “Fifteen.”

He said it in a quick rush, cutting himself off before his mouth could add more, then was quiet for a second. He shifted in his seat, and returned to balancing the chair on the back legs. “Why? Is it important?”

The Finnish man wrote something down on a notepad, a blank look appearing on his face. Seems to be conflicted with numbers.. He wrote before looking back at Gilbert.

"I just have a hunch.. And how old are you now?" He asked, leaning forward in his chair. He rested his elbows on his desk, looking at one of the abstract models. He started to fiddle with it, waiting for the other to give him an answer.

Now, of course, the profile gave an age but he just wanted to pursue this hunch. He didn't know why but when reading over some pages, something stuck out at him. It had to do with numbers. It was fairly odd and probably miniscule but still.. He had this weird feeling that he couldn't explain.

His eyes narrowed, as he settled the chair, and put his feet up on the desk, crossing his legs, and slouching into the chair a bit. He resisted the urge to fidget, it was a great urge, and it made his fingers twitch.

“Twen....” The word didn't want to come off correctly, “Twenty-two-thou-” He flinched and just managed to cut himself off. Silently cursing himself, himself and the doctor.

His ages was in those files, he knew that. There was no reason for anyone to ask him his age. And he'd been compelled to answer, fuck.

Tino raised an eyebrow at his answer, raising his head towards him. He pursed his lips, writing something else down. He nodded to himself, thinking of something else. He circled something and wrote a question mark next to it before looking at Gilbert.

Holding out the pen again, he grabbed a different sheet of paper. He set it down in front of him, leaning against the desk.

"I want you two write down your age. Try not to scribble anything out." He said, chewing on his bottom lip slightly. He went back to fiddling with the piece, keeping an eye on his patient.

He hated when they wrote things down. He really hated it. It always seemed to lead to more medication or treatments.

Ick.

Even so, he took the pen, and clicked it a few times. Open, closed, open, closed. He eyed the paper, and finally hunched over, folding his arms around the way a kid would to keep their test answers away from their neighbour.

This one of the few things Gilbert was self-conscious about. He knew there was something wrong with him here, and he'd worked damned hard to hide it over the years.

He wrote the first two digits, and pulled the pen away a bit, then grinding his teeth lifted his arms, and went to give the pen and paper back. Before he could do so, though, he dropped back down over the paper, and started writing again.

22000000000000000000000000

He didn't want to leave it like that, and despite what he was told, he scribbled over the zeros poorly.

Dr. Väinämöinen raised an eyebrow as he watched the other out of the corner of his eye. He watched as he covered his paper and wrote something down, pulled back hesitantly, and then go back to write some more. He saw the vigorous movements the other made, letting Tino know that he was scirbbling something out.

He took the paper before Gilbert could scrible anymore and looked it over. He looked at the paper, seeing how he had wrote 24 and then tried to scribble out the many zeros behind his age. He set the paper down and turned to his computer, typing in something quickly.

"Have you ever heard of zero stroke, Gilbert?" He asked, eyes flicking to the other man. "It's where others are compelled to write numerous zeros after writing a number, or when they say a number, like for instance when I asked you when you started keeping your journal, you struggled to give me an answer." He turned to him, leaning forward.

"Did you know about this?"

He glared at the doctor a bit, feeling tricked. He clicked the pen open and shut in an increasingly annoyed fashion. He listened, though it was just growing a little to close for comfort. His eyes locked on the computer, it had been a while since he'd used one himself. They were good for a lot of things, but he generally didn't pay them much mind any more. Writing behind always left him feeling more relaxed, even if his hands often ached from gripping the pen too tightly.

For a few moments he mulled over the name of the illness Dr. Väinämöinen had decided to mention. He listened through the explanation of it, and tried not to think too much on it. He had heard of something similar, but it had been a long time since he'd been around someone who would talk about things like that. Even his previous doctor had been more interested in just skimming through their meetings, pumping Gilbert full of whatever medicine he felt would shut him up, and send him on his way.

His Goverment-paid-for-Lawyer was similar. Just enough evidence to plea insanity, nothing else mattered.

“Ja, I've heard of it.” He narrowed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair, “Just cause I fumbled over something, doesn't mean it can be added as something I have.”

That wasn't true, and he knew it. But it was easier to deny then to think there was even more wrong with him. It was better, simpler, for him to believe he was only here because of legal stuff. Adding something more concrete then ADHD or Narcissism didn't feel good.

Tino looked at him when he spoke, growing slightly annoyed at the pen clicking. He nodded, thinking over his words, and then shrugged.

"For now, I wont tell anyone.. Not until I have more knowledge of your being, that is. And I'm sure you'll keep quiet about it, seeing as though you have heard of it, and haven't said anything yet." He nodded when he finished, holding out his hand for the pen.

"Now please, stop the clicking and hand me back my pen?" He asked, smiling still.

It took a lot to keep from looking as relieved as he felt, but Gilbert somehow managed it. He tilted his head a bit, and eyed the doctor for a moment. His hand tightening around the pen, though he stopped clicking. A few minutes of holding the pen, and he reached out, placing it in the doctor's hand, before leaning back in his seat.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a grin starting to form. "So tell me, doc, who else do you have as a patient?"

Tino took the pen, setting it down on his desk. He pretended not to see the grin forming and looked to his computer screen 'checking his emails'. Looking over at the other, he let out a sigh.

"So far, you've been my only patient here, since I'm new. I'm sure that I might gain another once I've.. Become accustomed to how things work around here." He offered him a smile before looking back to his computer.

Turning off the screen, he turned to the white-haired man, leaning forward.

"How many doctors have you had, Gilbert?" He asked, resting his chin on his hands.

He stared for a long moment, wondering how to respond. He could count his doctors on one hand, which was less than most in thie facility could say. He had to really think about it though. He knew he'd never been to see a psychologist before the court had caught him. His parents would have died before admiting there was anything more wrong with Gilbert, aside from his obvious physical defects, and loud mouth.

In his head, he tried to think of how many doctors he'd had, their names, what they'd expected. He could only think of three. The one the court had issued to talk to him and evaluate him, the one he'd gotten when he'd first arrived... That one had been older, left due to health problems. Then the one before Dr. V here, a rather sober man, who had been stabbed by Natalya. Damned psycho bitch.

Gilbert didn't feel like fighting with his voice, so he lifted a hand and showed three fingers. He added, "They don't seem to last long."

The grin on his face hadn't faded yet, and it quirked up more on the left then right, as he leaned closer to the desk, "If you get the blonde chick with the ribbon in her hair, I'd suggest you toss her off on someone else. She tends to kill her doctors off."

Dr. Väinämöinen nodded, tapping his chin. He watched the other mull over his thoughts, wondering if he would have trouble saying how many. 'Three doctors, eh?' He thought to himself, leaning forward against the desk. He nodded to his words, tilting his head to the side.

"A blonde woman with a ribbon in her hair? Tell me more about her. Why would I want to drop her off to someone else?" He looked away, "Besides the 'killing' part.." he added, quietly. "How many years have you known her?" He asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

(Sorry it's so short ;~; )

He caught the steady change in subject, and he was perfectly okay with the topic moving on to someone else. Especially someone he could complain about. He watched the Doctor very closely, taking in each movement he made.

“Natalya Arlovskaya.” Gilbert said, pronouncing it just right. He had an all too recent memory of mispronouncing her surname- more due to his heavy accent then any actual mistake, and her promptly shoving his face into the wall. The girl was tiny, but fuck, she could beat the shit out of anyone.

“I've known her for....” He waved his hand a bit, while thinking it over, then grinned a bit maliciously, “Long enough to get sent to the infirmary for a smashed nose, and a few broken fingers.” He lifted his left and waved his fingers a bit. They were healed now, but the three damaged ones still didn't have quite a perfect grip.

“It'd be in your best interest. The bitch has one helluva temper, and she's damned quick. On top of ya before you know you pissed her off. A real piece of work, that one.”

He thought for a moment about seeing her earlier that day. “But you might be in luck. She was being escorted earlier. Either solitary or maybe a different doctor. If that's it, you're very lucky.”

((lol, don't worry about it. Long as you respond, I don't mind what length it is.}}