9247/Just who's asking the questions here

Just who's asking the questions here
Date of Scene:	22 December 2021
Location:	Dr. Jonathan Sims' office.
Synopsis:	Colette goes for a therapy session with Jonathan, and suggests that he should stop listening and start talking.
Cast of Characters:	Colette O'Connail, Jonathan Sims

---

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Things are getting weird, but sometimes you need normal, and sometimes you've just go to make a living. After all, preparing for a war against the angelic hosts doesn't put food on your table, but clients for the psychiatry business does. This particular case promises, at least from the initial contract, to be relatively straightforward and potentially lucrative. Someone with too much money deciding her probably spoiled rich-kid daughter needs a bit of therapy - frankly it's generally the easiest money a psychiatrist can earn.

    Which is what leads Colette O'Connail to enter the psychiatric office of Jonathan Sims. And almost immediately the signs are that this isn't going to be quite as straightforward as he might have hoped. She's dressed not in the kind of sombre and staid outfit most patients will wear, but something more fit for partying. If this was a second or third session, it might be an indication she was angling for a positive report from him, but for a first session, it probably means she's planning to go out afterwards and is here more on sufferance than anything else. It's just lucky she's not wearing sunglasses -- those are the worst.

    That initial assumption is corroborated by her first words when she enters the office and takes her seat. "I don't need therapy," she says. Her mother had explained, in the booking, that she was concerned that her daughter had trouble connecting with people, and never seemed to make close friends. The children of rich families often end up with problems socializing, one way or another. "But you know what moms are like. The fact that I'm an adult now and can look after myself doesn't seem to have occurred to her, so here we are. I want her to be happy. So..."

    Colette settles in her seat with the kind of confidence of poise that suggests she probably acts like she owns the place wherever she goes. "So. How about I double your pay and you tell my mom these sessions are going great? That way everyone's happy, right?"

    Things like this happen. It's all still on the spectrum of normal. If Jon were to let his telepathic and empathic abilities loose, that's the point he'll no for sure that this isn't normal, because there is nothing there. An echo of his own empathic carrier. An implacable wall that can only be put down to a psychic barrier of impressive strength.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The office is lined with bookshelves, and besides the winged chair facing the door and couch next to it--a normal couch, not one of the lie-down ones--there's a window with potted flowers hanging in front of it, and more plants on and along the tops of the bookshelves. It's all very bookish and cozy, and the man sitting across from Colette fits right in. Gold-rimmed glasses, dark green cardigan, khakis, grey-streaked hair getting long enough to cover his ears. He sits without the sort of notepad one might expect from a therapist, listening quietly to the declaration that 'everything's fine no really.'

    "Well," Jon says with an amused sort of smirk, "I often say that everyone should go to therapy at least once in one's life. Mental health check-ups are just as important as physical health check-ups. Honestly the best time to start therapy is when you're healthy, so your therapist has a good baseline should anything go off the rails."

    He smiles then. "I'm afraid no amount of money would convince me to abandon my professional ethics, however. You needn't tell me anything at all--you can walk right out the door if you like--but I'm not going to lie about how you're doing unless there's a proper reason."

    He sits back a bit, brows furrowing. The question, of course, is if she /knows/ that she doesn't register to a telepath? It's entirely possible that a rich and overbearing mother is also someone who would know telepaths or magicians that would do a ward he can't detect. He knows enough rich people to know they have such connections.

    "Your mother claims you have trouble making friends, trouble connecting with people. Your mother, however, is not my patient even if she's paying the bill. So is there anything you might like help with otherwise? Life goals you'd like to reach that you're struggling with?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette smiles a little, a smile that is neither cold nor particularly friendly. "Yeah well it was worth a try. If I walk out the door, you'll tell her and she won't be happy. I guess that means we're stuck with each other." Her dark eyes turn to the rows of books on the shelves, and judging by the fact she doesn't just glance over them but seems to be scanning, it looks like she's reading titles, and possibly even with some faint interest. It's not the behavior her party girl appearance would tend to predict.

    "I am content with my life," she says. "I make friends to the degree I chose to make friends. My mother views the world with a different perspective than I do. She observes that she would be unhappy without more intimate and sharing friendships than she believes I have, so she assumes I would be unhappy. I'm not. Nevertheless I do not wish her to be unhappy, so here I am."

    She turns back from the books to look more closely at Jonathan. "I'm not saying she's stupid or anything. Far from it. Very smart lady. Generally very insightful, but maybe her own daughter is a bit of a blind spot for her. I can't imagine that would be an uncommon thing. You should probably take it as a sign you're doing something right, Doctor Sims. I mean I googled you and you seem to be pretty well respected but not exactly... well." She gives a shrug and gestures vaguely at the room around them.

    "Not trying to be rude, but I have to admit I would have expected my mom to engage some stupidly over-priced shrink with a wall full of certificates, and a bigger rep than yours. I have to admit I'm curious why she picked you."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The shelves are full of both the normal sort of books on psychiatry and also more esoteric volumes--everything from ethnobotany and ancient shamanic practices to Egyptology and Western occult traditions. The framed credentials on the wall are an MD from Columbia, internship at Arkham, residency at Metropolis General.

    Jon chuckles softly and laces his hands together. "I /do/ have a reputation, though it's... not a very well-known one. I'm known well enough in certain circles--many of my patients are, ahh, 'capes' in the common parlance. Superheroes. I also assist those who've had run-ins with things most psychiatrists would assume are mere delusions. Which... is one of the main reasons I am neither 'stupidly over-priced' nor have a bigger reputation. I'm the first to admit I'm a laughingstock to many of my peers, but." He shrugs easily. He doesn't seem bothered by his reputation, or lack thereof. "My patients, by and large, are happy with my work. Perhaps she dug, and discovered that fact. Reputation is easy to buy, easier if you spend more time making flashy speeches at big conferences than actually /helping/ people."

    He tilts his head. "Of course, she may /also/ think you need help of the sort I normally provide. Trust me, I will believe just about anything you /possibly/ could have to say to me about any... recent experiences. That's my reputation, as it were. I will believe you. Listen to you. Help whatever the real problem is, and not assume you're delusional because you saw a demon."

    A pause, and then he smiles. "Or, perhaps, the fact that I'm taking /very/ few patients any longer made her think that I was particularly exclusive. When one has money to buy whatever you like, I've found, one starts to focus on signifiers of quality other than price. So... which do you think, then, hmm?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette snap-points at Jonathan and settles back comfortably in her chair. "There you go. Cape-shrink. That'll be it. Mystery solved. I've been hanging around with capes. She probably thinks they're a bad influence on me and you'd know what it would be about. She does worry about that."

    She goes back to studying the books again, and if he's particularly observant, Jon might notice she's paying a little more attention to the esoteric works than the psychiatric one. "Couple of years ago I was walking on the beach and an alien fell into the sea. I rescued him and we became friends. I've been teaching him English. Quite an interesting challenge to teach someone English when there's no possibility of a shared language, no kind of Rosetta stone for it. Anyway he needed somewhere to live which would be safe for an alien so I got him hooked up with the Titans and he lives with them now. That's kind of put me in contact with a few of them. Guess I can't really blame my mom for being a bit worried about that. Capes are not the most stable types."

    She turns back from the books again to study Jon with a look that seems a touch more curious than it had before, but the blackness of her eyes make her expression a little hard to read. Pupil and Iris seem almost undifferentiated in blackness, something normally seen only in easy Asians. There may be a hint of that in her genetic makeup. "That's an unusual speciality, Doctor Sims. How did you find yourself that particular line of work? I mean aside from the whole thing where frankly anyone who dresses up in spandex to fight crime is probably prime material for a shrink so there's a market opportunity to tap."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon can't help but snort at 'capes are not the most stable types.' Well, he ought to know, yes?

    He smiles easily and gestures at the Arkham internship certificate on the wall. "My mentor was Dr. Hugo Strange, when I worked at Arkham. I... wanted to try to help people. Save them. I believe even 'villains' deserve a chance to heal if they want. Our souls are not judged until death, after all, for those who die--there's plenty of ways for one's heart to lighten, if only one is given the chance. But... I could not stand the way Arkham functions, so I left. When I opened my own practice, one of my first patients was a 'cape' and it went from there." He shrugs.

    "How do you find your association with the Titans, then? Perhaps your mother's worried that the friends you're making are the wrong sort." He holds up a hand. "Not that /I'm/ judging. But I'm curious what /you/ think on the matter."

    There /is/ a sort of... weighing, assessing, judging look in his eyes. There's a mystery and he's curious.

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    "You use such interesting words, Doctor Sims." Colette smirks a little to herself. "So your wish is to save the souls of those who's wish it is to save our purely physical manifestations, then? That's an odd way to put it. The mental health of patients is more usually the wheelhouse of a psychiatrist than the spiritual health. It is true that the derivation of the word 'psychiatrist' comes from the Greek /psyche/ and that originally meant something more akin to 'soul' than mind, but I'm sure you're not supposed to take that quite so literally. Perhaps you should have become a priest rather than a doctor."

    Whatever mystery there is, she sounds less and less like the rich party girl her appearance might have suggested with every sentence. Colette leans forwards, resting an elbow on her crossed knees, looking up at him with a faint smile. "The Titans are very eager. Some perhaps a little too eager, but I would class several of them as my friends. How could such paragons be 'the wrong sort'?" Her smile grows a little, looking playful. "On the other hand we have established the lack of stability. And they do not exactly lead the kind of existence that promotes a long and healthy life. Perhaps my mother is concerned that I am opening myself to hurt by befriending people who are rather more likely than average to die the next time some bunch of idiot aliens decides invading the planet would be fun."

    She leans back, spreading her fingers. "But there you go, we have found something in common. We both consort with capes. How do /you/ find /your/ association with capes, Doctor Sims? Judgement is, after all, your professional prerogative, whether you deny judging or not. Capes expose themselves to considerable psychological stress, surely. One thing I will say about the Titans is that they act as a support network for each other. I think it's generally the case that capes tend to be rather lonely. They are individuals who have rejected society's ability to solve its own problems and have chosen to place themselves above society in terms of determining morality. That is inevitably a lonely path, wouldn't you agree? It must be far easier to remove oneself from such concerns. We as a species evolved to deal with immediate problems. Where to find food, where to find shelter. Not global or universal problems. Not problems of abstraction. This is something we have learned to do as the evolution of our societies has outpaced the evolution of our minds. To immerse oneself so completely in such abstractions may be a way to help society as a whole, but must be damaging to the individual."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles. "So many people lack spiritual guidance these days, for whatever reason... my family was closely tied to the Catholic Church for a time, many of my ancestors' siblings wound up taking confessions. There's a similarity between the confessional and the therapist's office. But more particularly--for the criminally insane, the first step to any sort of redemption is often healing the mind. I turned away from that work, however." A frown flickers across his features and then is gone.

    "What do I think of 'capes?' Well. Much of what I think is protected by patient-client privilege. Or the seal of the confessional, if you prefer?" He grins, briefly. "Generally speaking, I think they are the modern manifestation of the long-standing human tendency to venerate the heroic. The Pharoahs of Egypt were universally depicted, in motifs that remained the same over three thousand years, as heroically slaying their enemies. We still re-tell stories of Greek heroes today--and some of them walk among us. I think something deep inside humans longs for the hero that will save them from the unknown. The... problems of abstraction."

    A pause. "I think they would do well to be less violent and more compassionate, to work in teams more than alone, and I have told them so. Some listen, some do not. I generally advocate self-care and being sure one is grounded in some semblance of a normal life--perhaps it won't look like anyone /else's/ normal, but something stable and familiar. Routines. Structure."

    There's something in his tone that indicates maybe he thinks Colette is one such. The Titans are largely public, but maybe she has an association with them by virtue of being a cape herself?

    "I'm curious... how was it you found an alien? Purely by chance? And figured out how to teach them the language?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    There's a momentary narrowing of Colette's eyes during Jonathan's discussion of the heroic in Egyptian and Greek history, perhaps the first real physical 'tell' she has let slip of her inner thoughts, though it fades quickly and it's hard to draw anything from context. "It sounds like you'd be relatively approving of the Titans then," she says. "That's kind of their thing, creating for themselves a life and self-identity that is not purely determined by... heroically slaying their enemies. On the other hand, perhaps there is some contradiction in what you're saying."

    She sits up straighter in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. "If you are right that this is a modern manifestation of the heroic impulse, then perhaps there is no right way to do it. Is that heroic impulse something inherent to the species, or a product of stratification in society? The ancient Greek heroes are surely a product of an age that was increasingly unequal. To be a 'hero' was to be the high point of society. The Pharoahs had to be portrayed defeating their enemies because failing to defeat their enemies would undermine their claims of deification. Perhaps likewise in today's society, capes are driven, if only subconsciously, by a desire to promote themselves. If that is so, should they be judged by their actions, which may benefit society as a whole, or by their motivations?"

     She gives a half-smile, rapidly followed by a shrug, and turns back to the shelves to study the books once more. "I was on the beach. He fell out of the sky. My first thought was that someone had fallen from a plane or something. I didn't realize he was an alien at first. He's humanoid enough that even when I saw he had bird wings, I assumed he must be a mutant." She doesn't say the word 'angel', but it's an link someone who had experienced what Jonathan had experienced lately would be unlikely not to make. "He had accidentally opened up a wormhole that deposited him in our sky. That attracted some attention from the capes. By the time I'd dragged him to the beach, Captain Marvel had shown up. She figured out he was an alien. As for teaching him English -- not easy. You start by establishing a basic vocabulary and build on it. I am an English teacher, but that's mostly teaching literature to school kids, not teaching the language to aliens. There isn't exactly a text book on it. I may write one based on my experiences."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I do generally approve of the Titans, yes," Jon says amicably. The one Titan he's met decided he was terribly misguided, but she did have reason. "And I would quite agree there's no one right way. Part of what I do is helping each of my patients figure out what works for them. I find they are driven by a wide variety of motivations. Some a desire for recognition, perhaps, but many by a desire to help society--or even a /need/ to help society. My one issue with the Titans is the same issue I have with all too much of the fact that we need superheroes at all--children never should be asked to fight adults' battles for them. Nor should they feel the need. A failing of society, I think."

    He sits back, crosses his legs. Regards Colette for a long moment. "You're quite curious about what I think. Avoiding opening up, I would think. Relatively normal for a first session. And of course it's normal to try to establish a rapport, but I get the feeling it rather goes beyond that."

    He tilts his head a moment. "Sometimes it takes people a few sessions to admit they are, themselves, 'capes.' Or otherwise... abnormal. At first I thought perhaps you weren't aware you have incredibly strong barriers against psychic intrusion, but now I suspect it comes from within. That you are not what you seem." He smiles. "Which is fine. You will find I am... quite difficult to surprise, in here." He gestures to the couch she sits on. "I had to replace that couch recently lest it give anyone who sat on it nightmares due to the nature of the magic that had seeped into it. I do not care who you are or what you do; so long as you are here in this room as my patient, you will be treated the same as any other."

    There was that one time a patient snuck through his window and pulled a gun on him and threatened to kill him three times, after all. Really, after that, pretty much nothing's going to faze him.

Colette O'Connail has posed:
The faint, amused smirk makes a reappearance. "As it happens, the alien I rescued is psychic too. Contact telepathy. You might think that would be very useful for helping to learn a language, but not so much. It's a short-cut. Languages are very fundamentally rooted in grammars, and for ideas to be transmitted from mind-to-mind without recourse to language indicates that at that psychic level they bypass the grammar of language. Taking such short-cuts rather than learning a language organically is a way of ensuring a poor grasp of that language."

    Colette rolls her neck slightly. She's not taking the full benefit of the couch, remaining seated on the edge, sitting a little stiffly. "That's how I found out that I, as you put it, 'have incredibly strong barriers against psychic intrusion'. It came a surprise to both of us. In that respect I can hardly deny being 'abnormal'. I am a schoolteacher though, not a cape."

    She uncrosses her legs, stretching them out in front of her and smoothing down her skirt, looking away from him as she does so, paying attention to her handiwork rather than watching his reactions. "You of course are also by that definition 'abnormal', or else you wouldn't know that about me. Which equally raises the question of whether you too are a 'cape'. Maybe you found my suggestion that the drive to become a cape might be a form of self-promotion at heart personally offensive."

    She looks up again, composed, the smirk gone and replaced by a faint smile once more. "You're curious about what I think. That's a professional requirement for you of course, but does that make it any more valid than if it comes from genuine curiosity?" she shrugs her shoulders, hands raised slightly and open. "You are being paid for this session. I am resigned to it, though I consider it unnecessary. I see no reason to sit here in silence though, so why not talk? Perhaps it is you who is avoiding opening up. As a psychiatrist who treats capes, you maneuver yourself into a position of listening. Have you considered the possibility that this is your way of avoiding opening up, that you listen to others speak of experiences that might have some reflection in yourself, as a way of dealing with something within yourself without ever having to acknowledge to yourself that you are doing it?"

    Her smile widens, and somehow for once seems properly genuine. She leans back into the couch and swings her legs up on it finally, getting comfortable. "Perhaps it's something that is better left to children than to adults," she suggests. "Isn't it foolish to expect the adults who have caused a problem to solve it? The faults inherent in causing the problem are deeply rooted in them. Children are more likely to seek a path that leads to a different direction. Though... perhaps this raises the question of what you mean by 'adult'. Someone who's experience means they know how to cope, emotionally and rationally, with the situations they are likely to find themselves in? We as a species face many situations that are unfamiliar to us, of late. Is it reasonable to say that any of us are actually adults?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon, it may be noted, pays no attention to the legs and skirt smoothing, any more than he had any overt reaction to her state of dress. He's entirely focused on listening to the young woman, head tilted slightly, expression curious. He smiles, just a bit, as she speculates about his motivations.

    "I am between therapists just now," he says, "but any psychiatrist worth their salt will admit to going to therapy themselves. Healers are, after all, quite often the ones most in need of healing. All that second-hand trauma takes its toll. In that space, I am the patient. I open up. Here... well. Professional ethics bar me from becoming too friendly with patients. There is a degree of objectivity that must be maintained, if one is to properly help." Something passes through his expression before he can close it off. Guilt, maybe? But then he smooths that out.

    "Nothing wrong with wanting to talk. Sometimes that's more useful than anything else--a chance to say things you know won't be shared elsewhere. Though I must put out the standard boilerplate that if you indicate a desire to hurt yourself or others--outside of the normal course of vigilante duties--that I am obliged to report that to appropriate contacts. But, yes. I have a cetain amount of psychic ability, myself. I limit it to viewing auras much of the time--a thing I cannot help unless I close my eyes. You have no aura to speak off. It's... odd."

    He shifts a bit, then says softly, "I think it says something about a society that so many of my patients come in with their worst traumas coming from their parents. That so many children die young, at the hands of those sworn to protect. That so many people who cannot legally vote or join the armed forces, whatever their maturity level, dress in costumes and fight crime. What it says is nothing good." He flashes a smile. "I try to help where I can. Perhaps it's the children that will change that. I certainly hope so."

    He purses his lips, then says, "I /am/ a naturally curious person. And not offended by anything you've said. My motivations for helping people are... that I want to help. I had a bad experience with therapy as a child, and I wish to help others avoid the same."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    "How old are you, Doctor Sims?" Colette asks, staring at the ceiling. "Mid thirties, perhaps? Does that make you one of those adults? You say that you have seen may patients who's traumas stem from their parents. If it is the adults causing the problems, that would seem only to fuel my suggestion that you may have it the wrong way around, that it is the children who /should/ be solving the problems. Perhaps we should give the vote to people when they hit say twelve, and take it away again when they become adult. Perhaps only the very young should wear capes."

    She tilts her head to look at Jonathan, "I appreciate your discretion, but I have no desire to hurt myself or anyone else, and have no vigilante duties. But rest assured that I will extend the same respect to you -- nothing you tell me will go outside this room. Consider this a chance to say things that won't be shared elsewhere." She gives him a magnanimous shrug, accompanied by a clearly amused grin, and settles down in the couch again.

    "Perhaps you need healing more than I do," she says. "After all, so many of those problems you mention, the traumas inflicted by parents, happen despite the parental desire to help, or perhaps because of it. Perhaps too, there would be less need of capes if there were fewer people who deemed themselves responsible adults in a universe filled with children who attempt to impose their solutions on those children. Oppression so often comes out of an attempt to solve problems, a misguided attempt to help people by /determining/ what is right rather than by letting them help themselves." It's hard to deny she has some kind of a point there -- after all, this is a pretty good description of what the angels seem to be doing...

    "Don't worry Doctor, I'm not trying to make friends with you. If you recall I'm here because that's something I'm supposed to have little interest in. I am here to make my mother happy, and no other reason than that. I may not be a trained therapist, but I have nothing better to do with my time in my office than listen to you, and I probably have more experience with capes than most of the therapists you would have the opportunity to see. Why not indulge yourself? Perhaps it will help you to help others."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon chuckles. "Ah, but... I have /no/ guarantee that you won't simply run off and report all my secrets to someone else. Not that I mean I mistrust you--but if I were to do that? Share my patients' secrets with others, outside of particular parameters? I could lose my medical license and thus my livelihood and profession. Not to mention potential fines or prosecution. The patient has no such burden, and nor should they."

    He regards Colette quietly for a moment. "I wonder, are you just curious? Bored? Trying to deflect by turning it around on me? You're hardly the first person to try to draw me out, point out how much healing I must surely need. Which is rather beside the point. If anything, it might give one more compassion, hmm? Is it any wonder that, say, a childhood cancer patient might grow up to want to be an oncologist? Extend compassion to those in a similar situation?"

    He smiles. "As for the children who are out there doing that work? I do not fault them. I support them. Help where I can. Quite often, I follow their lead. Many of them have good heads on their shoulders."

    He glances to a spot above Colette's head, expression thoughtful. "The mind--human or otherwise--has a marvelous capacity to heal itself. People can see horrific trauma, be broken in body and spirit, and yet survive. I try, myself, to... help people along into healing themselves. The work I do, much of it, just does not work unless the subject is willing." He smirks, gaze returning to her. "If a patient won't talk about themselves, well, I can hardly force them too. My method, usually, is to help people find what will help them heal, to find coping strategies for their lives out in the world. To help them help themselves, as you put it."

    He tilts his head. "I wonder, as a teacher, do you prefer to teach in that manner? Guiding someone to help them learn on their own?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    "Clever," Colette replies, turning her head to look at him again. "I'll give you that. You're no idiot. Yes, that's the way I prefer to teach. It's the only way to teach, rather than to instruct. I have no desire to give instruction. Instruction is vanity. A desire to have other minds ape your own. The universe already has my mind in it, to create an echo would be pointless. It's far more interesting to provoke another mind to develop in a unique fashion. Otherwise, what is the point of that mind? I'm not so vain as to see the value in creating a faint, short-lived echo of myself. "

    She resumes staring at the ceiling. "Neither boredom nor curiosity. I'm not sure I really know what boredom is, I don't think I ever learned the trick of it. The universe flows around us in infinite variety. There is a fragment of spider-web on your ceiling. If you prefer, I can watch it. It sways in the slight breeze coming through this window in a pattern of chaos that never repeats. Each movement is unique, a new thing in the universe. At some moment it will come loose and fall, but it won't fall straight down. It's too light. Which way will it go when it falls? Where will the wind catch it? Until the moment it falls and is caught in the breeze, there is nothing but unlimited possibility. So I can best answer that with the question 'why not'? You are here. I am here."

    " You assume, because I am your patient, because I am lying here on your couch, and because it is normally the case that everyone does, that I need healing. Perhaps you are right, or perhaps you are wrong. Perhaps I need healing, but the only thing that will heal me is beyond your knowledge. I do not believe that I am in need of your help. On the other hand, we have established that you do need healing. Is it not then logical that we should use this time productively by seeking out /your/ healing?"

    She looks back at him, grinning a little. "None of what you have described actually /guarantees/ your silence either. You ask me to trust the system. I keep all kinds of secrets. I know the secret identities of several capes, some of whom guard that secret very highly. You could chose to trust me simply because I have nothing to gain from sharing your secrets with others, and you might have something to gain from sharing them with me. Perhaps it could be an opportunity to help you cleanse your soul, and to relieve some of that weight on /your/ heart against the day it is compared to the weight of a feather."

    It seems a rather /relevant/ thing to say, but then he was the one who initially brought up that imagery of weights on the heart, and with his talk of Pharoahs and the books of Egyptology it's not really all that surprising. She's obviously well educated. She gives another shrug and turns to him again.

    "You could unburden without sharing anything about your patients, Doctor Sims. If you chose to. For me -- a way of passing the time, nothing more. For you -- who knows? Something for you to consider for our next session, if you like."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon flinches visibly at 'spider-web in your ceiling,' and glances up involuntarily. A tell, of whatever deep-seated issues he has. Takes slow, deep breaths. There's no spider there. It's alright. It's alright.

    By the time he's slowed his heartbeat, she's talking about his healing, about trusting the system. At 'compared to the weight of a feather' his face goes stony. His eyes narrow, turn flinty. He doesn't respond right away, though. Considering his response.

    Finally, "I have a duty. Anyone who sits on that couch is given the same treatment. Perhaps they don't need my healing--but I am honor bound to offer, if it is needed. So I will not..." He hesitates. He's angry about something, clearly, but just as clearly trying to hold it in. Hold it back? Maybe not act on it directly.

    "I would suspect you know more than you're saying, about me," he says finally. "I /suspect/ that you have another reason to be here than merely discussing philosophy. Thought I'll admit to being... /jumpy/, given some of the patients I've had lately. Given... other things going on, lately."

    He frowns. "What does it benefit /you/ for me to unburden myself, hmm? I can tell you what my work gives me--money to live, most obviously. A sense of satisfaction and pride in a job well done. And I have other reasons for being drawn to /listen/, to gather tales of people's lives and store them in my head. Private reasons, personal ones, but ones that benefit me nonetheless. Curiosity I would accept--that's the easiest way to explain my private reasons--but you say you're not curious, and you understand the... beauty of the world in its tiny details." Another involuntary glance to the ceiling. "So not boredom. What, then, behind the insistence?"

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette picks up on the increasing tension in his voice, frowning very slightly to herself, and when he uses the word 'jumpy', she turns to stare at him. After a few moments she swings back around to sit upright on the edge of the couch rather than lying on it. "I already gave the answer to that: why not," she says. "This is not insistence. I already said I would be satisfied to watch the spider's web blowing in the breeze. "

    She tilts her head to the side, watching him in silence for a few moments. "Jumpy," she repeats slowly. "Well then. My reason for being here is that my mother insisted. She picked you, not me. I know about you only what a very brief Google search told me, and what you told me yourself just now. Which is a little more than the words you have spoken, but no more than my ears and eyes convey."

    "What does it benefit me? Nothing. Nothing at all. Nor does it benefit me if you do not. The universe keeps spinning either way. I am a part of it either way. I do not prefer one path or the other. You say you are drawn to listen, well perhaps I am drawn to observe. Because what else is there to do? I can observe, or I can act. I do not think the second option is the best one, so I chose to observe. Sometimes I act in small ways. To teach, for example. Even then I try to tread as lightly as I can upon the world."

    "You want to gather tales? Why, curiosity? What difference does it make? A true thing is true, whether it is remembered or not. There are things I remember that nobody else does. Would you like to hear them? I was born here on Earth twenty-two years ago, but there is a part of my mind, the part that tells you 'you shall not pass', that is far older. That has seen things nobody else remembers. That witnessed the death of stars so ancient their light was lost to this galaxy before this world had evolved eyes to see it. If I told you some of those tales, then what? What would that do other than create another short-lived, faint echo of my own memories? What would it be other than vanity?"

    She shrugs her shoulders again. "I suggested a little vanity that might serve some purpose, might help you heal. I can listen to you or watch stars go out. One day, when the last light in the universe goes out, and all memory has gone, it won't matter which. But maybe right here, today, tomorrow, for you, it will. It makes little difference to me either way."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It would keep that knowledge for others," Jon says softly. "That is part of my purpose. The newer part, but part. To keep the knowledge of the past, for the future. Everything ends, and everything dies, but in the meantime... well. In the meantime, I know what Khufu looked like in its heyday. I know the fire that consumed Alexandria. I know the confessions of conquistadors and the glories of the Bayt al-Hikmah. I... use that, to try to help the world, in the ways I am meant to help."

    He tilts his head. "I'm curious, about this other part of your mind. An alien? An angel? A demon? I keep running into people who have reason to help me in a... nexus, a confluence of events. The last patient in this room set me on a path that might doom the world--or might yet save it. Seems to be all I get in here, these days. Reason enough to keep the doors open, though."

    He eyes her a moment, then finally says, "In good faith, then, because I should not have been angry at you--there is a sick girl in Queens I should be tending to right now. I've already had distractions from it today, while trying to buy some herbs and reagents to try to help her. It's a mystical sickness, and I cannot find the cause without stabilizing her. I'm here because I'm bound to help, and..." He smiles. "And because your mother offered enough money to make it worth my while. I've become busy of late, and I have to keep the lights on somehow."

    A pause. Then, "She's my daughter. And I've told this to no one, not even her. I'd suspect the doctor I asked to check her blood against mine can guess who the father's blood I provided was, but if she did she didn't say anything." He looks down at his hands. "I gave her up when she was a baby, not certain she was mine. I thought I was protecting her, but she wound up in the hands of the man I hate most in the world. She calls /him/ 'father.'" His hands clench in his lap until the knuckles go white. Anger, contained. He does a lot of that. "And now she's sick. And maybe I can't do anything. But I need to wait anyway, I can't help her yet. Even if I went there just now I'd pace around waiting for another. So, no need to be angry with you. You're not wasting my time. It is, indeed, something to do to pass the time."

    He looks up finally and says, "My ancestors believed so long as a name was spoken and known, the soul and spirit lived on. That may be reason enough to tell stories of stars long dead. So long as a thing is remembered, it is still alive in some way. Even if the things I know are locked in my mind, will me locked in my daughter's when I die... they still live on, that way. For as long as that matters."

Colette O'Connail has posed:
    Colette watches him closely for a few moments, then lets her eyes flick to the side. "None of the above. I'm... that part of me is not of the Earth, but it isn't what you'd call an alien. It is a thing unique in the universe, but unfinished. Had it been completed... one man's angel is another man's demon, Doctor Sims. It's hard for me to see the difference between the two amounting to any more than whether it won or lost the last war it fought in. "

    She looks back. "Yours is a pleasant philosophy. I can see how you would find comfort in it. But one day you, and I, and your daughter, and all the dead stars will be forgotten and gone, and that will not take away from the fact that once they existed. Nor add to it. Twenty billion years or so from now, none of this will matter. Looking back from then, or looking forwards from now, is all that divides important from unimportant. Another matter of perspective."

    "The fire that consumed Alexandria. The face of Khufu. Your daughter's health. These things matter to you. Here, and now. And all we can do is live and experience our lives in the moment, because that's the only thing there is. Memories of the past are things that exist /now/. Fears for the future are things that exist /now/. Now is all there is. Don't be afraid to embrace that."

    Colette brushes her hands together briefly, as if dusting them off, then stands up from the couch and takes a step forwards, offering her hand to Jonathan. "Talking of /now/, it must have escaped your notice that my time was up five minutes ago. Thank you, Doctor Sims. This was more interesting than I feared it would be. If your previous patient has not in fact doomed the world... see you next time?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles broadly at 'one man's angel is another man's demon.' "Seems to be that way," he murmurs.

    Then he blinks at her. He, too, had entirely forgotten what time it was. "Wh--oh! Oh, Rosie usually... but I sent her home early..." A momentary fluster, the 'therapist' hat knocked sideways to show whatever lies underneath. He, too, stands and offers his hand.

    "Here's hoping," he says. "Everything does indeed end... but in its proper time." He's trying to remember that and not give into nihilism. Hence continuing to do his job, in the face of all that's happening.

    "But... yes." He smiles brightly to her, all the anger gone. "See you next time."