New places, old friends. (Open)

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter leaned back in his chair and resisted the urge to write 'Patient is a spoiled brat' on his notes. It was unlikely she'd ever see them, but it would be unprofessional. And he was always professional. He was glad he'd taken this post with Josephine and Gabriel, however, even if it was a change to his usual routine. Treating exclusively teenagers would be a different experience to the others he'd had in his professional career. One which he welcomed, albeit with a little trepidation.

He’d had some teenage patients over the years, of course. One could not avoid them, if he was honest. However what he did realise now, they were perhaps a little more challenging than those of the other age groups. After all, he assumed, hormones and the growth of the brain during the teenage years no doubt had some effect. Never having had quite so many teenagers in one place since he was one himself, many years ago, had afforded him an opportunity to examine an interesting dynamic of behaviours. Although he did wonder if their respective psychiatric issues made the dynamic of this particular school a little… peculiar.

Hearing a knock at the door, he tidied away the file and notes before answering. Just in case it was a patient. After all, if they knew what was written in their notes it might hamper any progress they made. Not that he’d made massive leaps with Miss Jessica Air, but Peter was sure he’d get there. After all, it was his job. And he had been doing it a long time. Locking the drawer he finally called “Come in.” And waited to see who it was, praying it was either Gabe or Jo. He wasn’t in the mood for dealing with teenagers now, and he had not yet become acquainted with the security staff. Although he was sure they were both adequate and personable. Standing up out of courtesy as the door opened, he prepared a professional outlook once more and wondered if it was too early in the day for a strong coffee.

[Dr. Gabriel Hudson]

Gabe knocked twice, precariously balancing the two mugs of coffee in one hand, then returned the second mug to his free hand. After a few seconds, Peter called, "Come in," and Gabe nudged the door open with his shoulder, smiling at Peter as he entered. "Afternoon, Peter. I could hear the screaming all down the corridor, and I thought you might like a coffee. What was going on?" It was true. The girl's piercing shrieks had echoed down the hallway. Gabe had been getting notes from a previous therapy session, and it had struck him that his collegue might like a coffee and some slightly more civilised company, so he had gone to the cafeteria and come back with two steaming mugs of esspesso, which he now placed carefully on Peter's desk, trying to avoid spilling the liquid on the older man's carefully written notes.

Pulling up a chair and sitting himself down, Gabe took a long sip of coffee and regarded his co-worked over the rim of his mug. Employing Peter had been a good choice: the man was an experienced psychiatrist, patient, civilised, and most of all, good at his job, if his references were anything to go by. He had had his first patient just that day, and it seemed that the session had not been the ideal good first impression of St Dympha's. He didn't know who the patient was- he'd spotted a skinny blonde girl leaving the therapy room, followed by a security guard who looked like he had a throbbing headache. Gabe didn't blame him: the girl's voice was high enough to shatter glass. If the glass hadn't been reinforced by metal bars, as it was at St Dympha's. But Peter seemed unruffled, so there had been no physical violence, as far as Gabe could tell.

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter smiled gratefully at Gabe and ushered him to a seat. “I was just hoping for a coffee.” He regarded his colleague with a smile that made his eyes twinkle. “Perhaps you’re a mind reader?” In response to his question, Peter shook his head, trying to banish the memory of all that screaming. Who’d have thought a simple question about respect would have had such a dramatic effect? “Ah. I was questioning Miss Air on the definition of respect. Not to mention why we should show it to others.” Peter didn’t bother to hide a sigh as he sipped his coffee. Excellent, he decided. He may have been a fairly bland person as far as addictions went, but caffeine was a vice he would easily admit to, especially if it was attached to some coffee. He’d never understood the allure of those carbonated beverages young people appeared to enjoy.

Peter carried on sipping, relaxing slightly in the presence of another adult who didn’t appear to be likely to scream at him or throw things. One of the reasons his office was perhaps uncomfortably sparse was that it minimalised the amount of projectiles on hand to the enraged patient, and there always were a few. “I have to say, it was perhaps a learning curve for both of us.” He suppressed a wider smile and nodded towards the chair facing the wall. “I made her sit in the corner, which caused some of the… altercations which arose. Although I have to say, I never assumed she’d scream quite that loudly. I apologise for the disturbance.” He smiled kindly at Gabe and wondered what he was thinking of. He had the look of a man who’d decided he’d done the right thing.

“And how is it for you?” Peter sat back comfortably and examined Gabe. It was one of the things he’d accidentally picked up. It happened when you were in a profession, especially a psychiatric one, for as long as he had. He analysed everyone. Not that this was always a bad thing. “Are your patients… amenable?”

[Dr. Gabriel Hudson]

Gabe chuckled. Mind reader? No. But he knew the feeling. When you'd just had a teenage girl screaming at you for an hour solid, coffee was salvation. He returned Peter's twinkling smile with one of his own when the man replied, adding, "I do wonder, occasionally, if some kind of implant is too much to ask for. But then I remember that we'd be put out of our jobs, so I grit my teeth and hide the knives." His smile turned rueful as he took another sip of his coffee. Peter seemed glad to be in the company of someone who didn't have a voice capable of reaching bat pitch. He carried on studying Peter as he talked, checking for any signs of irritation. There were plenty of those, but nothing to indicate the security guard had been any more than a precaution, which made Gabe glad. He'd hate to have two of his psychiatrists attacked within the school's first fortnights. That would probably be setting some kind of record, and Gabe wasn't a records kind of guy. He was a 'keeping-his-staff-members-safe' kind of guy.

Peter spoke again, and Gabe couldn't help himself. He threw back his head and guffawed at the idea. "That's a tactic I've never heard of before. Tell me, you do intend to persist with this method of treatment? Because if so, I'll have to consider sound-proofing your office." He took another sip of coffee. It was good quality, and Gabe felt that Peter wasn't the only one who'd needed it. Jo was lovely, but she just wasn't up to the kind of conversations Gabe enjoyed holding with other adults, and nor were any of the students he had met so far. "Miss Air is narcissistic, I believe? No wonder she reacted badly to being made to sit 'in the naughty corner', so to speak." Gabe remembered reading her application. She'd come from a very rich family, and had a penchant for suing people for no reason in particular. Apparently, her lawyer was highly inept. The file had amused him.

"My patients? One of them thinks she's evil and has to be hurt to be helped, and the other, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet."

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter chuckled. “I suppose we would be. It’d make life easier though. For us, anyway.” He smiled at Gabe and took another sip of coffee. “No more guessing if your patient is telling the complete truth or not… especially with the drama students I hear you have.” He shook his head again. He hadn’t met any of these students yet, but he was sure they’d be interesting. Although part of him did question Gabe’s sanity. Opening a school for talented children, including those whose talent was essentially lying. Then they were going to aid the students to improve this talent. He supposed there had to have been some method in the madness, but he himself wouldn’t have made that choice. Perhaps those with an exceptional talent for something a little less tricky, psychologically speaking. Flower arranging or making macramé plant holders, for example.

Sipping his coffee, he smiled at Gabe’s reaction. Sound proofing might not be a bad plan. Especially if they were all as well endowed in the vocal department as one Miss Air. “I’m afraid that is so. Consistency is the key to success with these children, I suspect.” This was his professional line. It hadn’t failed him in thirty four years and he doubted it would now. “Although,” he continued, “I have to admit there are moments when I’d prefer to consistently kick the patients in the teeth. But something tells me that would be frowned upon by the powers that be.” Peter enjoyed these conversations, the ones that didn’t revolve around finding out if your patient was being completely honest, what to prescribe them if they required something, or getting their attention to remain on the topic in hand. “At least we both know where we stand, so to speak.” Peter placed his cup back on the desk and went into explanation mode. “She knows I’ll keep to my word. I know she’s…” he held his tongue before he said something he’d regret. “A very… well voiced young lady.”

Peter leaned forwards as he listened to Gabe. Taking an active interest was never a bad thing. “Interesting.” He said, a little curious. He cast his thoughts around to see what issues they accepted which could pertain to that particular affliction and drew a blank. Masochism didn’t fit, not really. No matter, he’d look out the child’s file later. She is not your patient… he reminded himself, before moving onto another topic.

“How is Jo?” he asked, his thoughts turning to Josephine. He’d become quite fond of her while they’d worked together at the psychiatric hospital. “I haven’t seen her since my arrival.” Picking his coffee up he drank another few sips. No doubt it would have been mentioned had she been ill, but it never hurt to ask.

[Dr. Gabriel Hudson]

Gabe was very content, at that moment. He had coffee, he had an intelligent person to hold a conversation with (one who didn't hide under desks), and he had no patients for the rest of the day. This was heaven. Then he remembered that he was married to a masochistic woman, ran a school for mentally troubled teenagers, one of whom expected him to beat and, possibly, sexually abuse her, and Jo was making him a cake. Well. There went his feeling of complete peace. He took a big gulp of coffee. He'd need it. It might be the last thing he ever tasted, unless Jo actually did what he said and stuck to the recipe. He smiled ruefully at Peter. "Thank goodness we don't have many drama students yet- in fact, only one, as I recall. He's bad enough, though." Gabe's eyes darkened at the memory.

"Shame. I'd install it, but I feel that it's useful at times to be able to hear what's going on in the room next door. Jo had some trouble, you might have heard," he replaced the coffee on the desk, and continued, "as for kicking them in the teeth, I do believe that we have a wonderfully trained body of security guards for that. Or at least, I hope so. I don't know what I'm paying for otherwise."

Well voiced? You bet she was. He'd heard her all the way down the corridor, through at least three walls with background noise. Gabe was grateful she wasn't his patient, and he sympathised with Peter. The poor guy. He also had her roommate, he knew, the one with anti social personality disorder. Lucky man, he was not. He hoped he made headway with 'Miss Air' soon, though- Gabe didn't want his own sessions disrupted by a spoiled brat's shrieking, or he'd have to head over there. From what he could tell, that level of noise would traumatise Laura.

"Yes, it is rather interesting. She suffers from Stockholm syndrome and Dependant personality disorder; her uncle told her that she was evil, and, well. We've got the result of that. Or more specifically, I have," he allowed himself another sip of coffee. "Jo's fine. Like I mentioned, she had some trouble with a few of her older students. Two boys attempted to rape her, but I got the situation under control, and I think she's fully recovered." Not to mention annoyed with me for spoiling it for her, he thought bitterly.

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter watched in mild amusement as Gabriel’s face went from blissfully relaxed to tense in under ten seconds. Peter knew that look, he’d seen it before. Gabriel had either just remembered the impending destruction of the planet, or Jo was cooking. Given that he was unaware of anything going to destroy the earth, it was probably Jo’s culinary prowess that had him so bothered, as well as the stress of running a school. Not to mention that the school was for teenagers who had fallen through the cracks in the system due to mental illness…

Peter chuckled again. “They seem capable, the security. The one I asked in to assist me with Miss Air was very competent. He also follows the football, I forgot to ask his name…” Although there was no teeth-kicking required with Miss Air, he was sure that should the need arise, the security would actually do their jobs. Unlike in some hospitals he’d worked in.

Listening to Gabriel’s explanation of his patient, Peter nodded, filing away this for future reference, if he should ever run across this girl. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before. How intriguing.” He took another sip of coffee, and drove his mind back to the matter in hand Not your patient, Ivrie. Put her out of your mind… He took a gulp of coffee and examined Gabe again. He was clearly upset. Well, it was clear to Peter in any case. Whether it would have been so to an outsider was another matter.

“I only heard rumours about Jo’s… altercation.” It was true, whispers on the grapevine. “I suppose, Jo being Jo, she will refuse to pass them along to someone less…” he searched for a tactful way to put it. “Female?” he pinched the bridge of his nose and decided he’d known Gabriel long enough to simply say it. “I’m attempting to avoid the word ‘vulnerable’.” He said, taking another sip of coffee. “It does a woman such as Jo a disservice, but I’m afraid it may be the most accurate I can manage at this point.” He watched Gabriel for a moment. “You say she seems fully recovered? I suppose that’s Jo, but are you? You seem shaken.” He realised how this might sound and placed his cup back on the table. “I ask, of course, not as a psychiatrist, but a friend.”

[Dr. Josephine Hudson]

Jo hummed merrily to herself as she took the cake out of the oven. Sure, she'd played with the quantities a little, but that what baking was all about. Experimenting. Realizing your mistakes, and learning from--- Oh, swearword. Staring at the...mess that was in the square tin, she put it onto the counter, taking off her thick oven gloves and poking the middle tentatively. This...wasn't good. She doubted that Gabe would be impressed if she offered him this as an apology. In fact, it might look as though she wanted to divorce him. And he had told her to follow the recipe, and with some reluctance, she'd agreed. But... What on earth had she created? Sugar cakes they were not.

Technically, she realized, sugar cakes they were, because she had invented the name sugar cakes and...formed this odd, gelatinous mass. But they weren't like the sugar cakes in her head. More... Liquid. Mentally, she went through the recipe she had invented, wondering where she'd gone wrong. It was probably where she had only put one egg instead of two in. The other egg was still on the lounge floor, something she needed to invent an excuse for. Or maybe she should have added more flour... Or less sugar. Or was it related to her putting the whole bottle of vanilla essence in? She just hadn't expected it to come out so fast. Sighing to herself, she decided to stop thinking about her failures - it was depressing - and instead concentrated on how she could make the cake look even mildly appealing.

She had hoped that it would come out a deep red; she had put the same-colored liquid in in an attempt to make it pretty and colored. It hadn't worked, apparently, but she had tried some and it was quite...sweet, almost. But bitter at the same time. And it burnt her throat badly, and made her cough a little, but she had still managed to drink a few gulps. Now she felt slightly dizzy. It was almost pleasant; relaxing. Anyway: onto making the cake look better. She stared at her creation, wondering what on earth she could do with it. How did it taste? In the tray was a large, jelly-like mass of what appeared to be burnt sugar, but somehow - she had no idea how - it was liquefied. Interesting... With some trepidation, Jo got a spoon from the drawer beside her and took a small piece, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Slowly, she put the substance into her mouth, wincing at the heat.

Wow.

That was... Amazing. She giggled to herself. Maybe it didn't look too good, but wow. That was a lot of sugar, to be sure. Gabe would love this! But he was in the therapy rooms... How could she transport this? Deciding that the best way would be not in the burning hot tin, she got a plastic container from the cupboard and scooped out half the liquid mass, pouring it into the container. There was...rather a lot of it. She decided to take a few containers, with as much cake as she could fit. Getting out three more (two of which were designed for salad dressing and about the size of two average-sized fingers) she filled them to the brims with cake, only just managing to squeeze the lids on. Carefully stacking them on top of each other, she grabbed a few spoons - Gabe might have a hungry patient - and left the room carefully.

She walked slowly to the therapy rooms, not wanting to drop the stack of containers. She'd already (possibly) wrecked their carpet in the lounge; and she didn't think the cleaners were too impressed with her general...standards of cleanliness, you could say. Anyway. She was in the corridor outside the therapy rooms when she remembered that she'd left the oven on, damn. Hurrying into the room without knocking - she was carrying containers, and it was hard enough balancing on one leg to open the door with her foot - she looked around curiously. Interesting... Wandering out again, she stuck her head in her own therapy room, and then in Peter's. Aha!

" Hi! Can I come in! It's just... I made a cake, and it's sorta heavy, and I left the oven on full... " She was vaguely aware that her words were coming out very quickly, and she hurried to the desk before she dropped the containers of black and brown liquid. Putting the spoons (from her pocket) down beside Gabe, she smiled at the room in general. " I better go and turn the oven off... Try it, it's really nice! Oh, and here's the recipe... I don't need it. " Taking the crumpled recipe from her back pocket, she pushed it towards Peter and hurried out of the room again, aiming for her oven.

She had never tried to turn off a fire alarm before. Usually, Gabe was the one to do that, while she hid in a kitchen cupboard. But today she had ear plugs! Realizing that she had worn them into the therapy rooms, which had explained why it was so quiet, she giggled to herself. Jumping up and down, she waved a tea towel in the general direction of the flashing, beeping thing until it stopped, before turning off the oven. There; peace at last. Leaving the kitchen as it was, she walked carefully from the room, slightly worried that the floor appeared to be moving, heading towards the therapy rooms once again. This time she remembered to take out her ear plugs, and beamed as she entered the room. " Did you like it? Did you try it? " She couldn't think what, but something was very amusing about that sentence, and she couldn't stop herself from giggling manically.

Jo's Sugar Cakes.
Ingredients.
Two eggs One egg.
20g of flour.
800g of sugar (any sort, mix them all together).
One teaspoon of vanilla essence A bottle of vanilla essence.
Half a bottle of that nice tasting stuff from the alcohol cabinet.

Method.
Mix.
Put in oven.
Get out when smoke alarm goes off (wear ear plugs).

((OOC: I should mention that 'half a bottle of that nice tasting stuff from the alcohol cabinet' and the stuff she used to color the cake is cherry-infused vodka. And this is based on my food technology classes. With less vodka. >.>))

[Dr. Gabriel Hudson]

Gabe finished his coffee and placed it carefully on the desk, leaning back once more and folding his legs out in front of him. Good news, at last. At least he did have competent security, and his hours spent looking for suitable candidates had been well spent. "Of course she will," he replied, with a laugh that was part bitterness, part irritation. "Because that would be a failure. And you know what Jo's like. Vulnerable isn't a word I'd want to use, but it's fairly apt, I'm afraid. As for me? I'm OK, I suppose. Not so much shaken by that incident, but worried about what might happen in the future," he smiled wearily at Peter. "Thanks for your concern. I have to admit, it's good to know there's at least one member of staff who won't dive under a desk or try to bake me a cake every time I seem to get irritated."

He turned when the door opened, and smiled at Jo. The smile faded slightly when he noticed what she was carrying; boxes of brown sludge. She'd finished the cake, then. As she approached the table, he carefully reach out, ready to catch the containers when if they fell. Luckily, Jo made it to the table without anything permanently damaging happening to Peter's carpet or desk. When she spoke, he winced. She'd left the oven on? Maybe if the apartment burned down, he wouldn't have to eat the cake. Glancing back at the boxes, he thought that through. Cake was a small enough price to pay.

Jo seemed to be wearing earmuffs. That was good. When she got back to apartment, she wouldn't have a panic attack and he wouldn't be forced to come and turn off the fire alarm for her. One less thing to contribute to his mental breakdown. When she had gone, he picked up a spoon and raised his eyebrows at Peter. "What do you think? You're not obliged to eat it." Very carefully, he eased the lid off it, and stared down at the gooey mess. Then he picked up the recipe and read it, one eyebrow cocked. Interesting. This didn't look much like it had been followed.

He ate a tiny spoonful, and blinked. Then he put the spoon down, and muttered, "Oh, no. She'd better not have drunk any..." glancing up at Peter, realising this might warrant an explanation, he told his colleague, "It's full of cherry-infused vodka. I just hope she didn't drink any of it." Jo re-entered, holding her ear plugs, and beamed at them both. She seemed on the verge of hysterics, giggling manically and gazing at them all with the startled expression Gabe had come to associate with drunk people who don't realise they're drunk. Crap.

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter nodded. He knew exactly what Gabe meant. “I think we can organise it so one of us is present in our office when she is performing a therapy.” He said, slowly. He was running over schedules in his mind. “I believe that may be a sensible alternative to transferring out her patients and upsetting her.” He smiled at the mention of Josephine’s habit of crawling under a desk if she perceived anyone to be upset with her. “I remember that about her. Not her most attractive trait, but one must take everything in a person.”

He smiled warmly at Josephine as she arrived in the doorway, obviously inebriated. It was curious, he thought to himself. He’d never before seen Josephine touch a single drop of intoxicating liquor, and he didn’t think it was the strain of her new post either. “Good morning, Jo.” An accident then. Only Josephine would accidentally discover alcohol at her age, but he had to admit he found the trait endearing.

Seeing Josephine leave the room once more, he wondered about the contents of the containers in front of him. Raising his eyebrows at Gabriel in comradeship he bravely dipped a finger in the liquid and tasted it. “I cannot say,” he concluded finally “That this is like any other cake I have had the pleasure of… experiencing. I prefer a nice coffee and walnut, myself.” It was true. “Do you think I should lend her the recipe?” His mouth twisted into a kindly smile, and he shook his head. “Maybe this cake would be better suited to a drinking establishment. But it is the thought that counts. At least she wishes to make it up to you, I believe if she were irrepentive, it would be worse.”

Seeing Jo return, he stood up out of courtesy and fetched the chair from the corner of the room. Even if he didn’t wholly approve of her inebriation, she appeared to be unaware of it. Not that he’s make her sit in the corner anyway. Although, he added to himself, it might have been a very effective correction, had Jo been younger. And less of a colleague. Not your patient, Ivrie… he growled to himself, Not even a patient. Your colleague! For goodness sake, man! “Do sit down, Jo.” He offered his hand in case she required assistance. No doubt the alcohol would be affecting her balance as well.

[Dr. Josephine Hudson]

Jo smiled happily. Peter was so nice. So was Gabe. She giggled. Of course Gabe was nice. He was her husband. But Peter was nice, and she wasn't married to him. Maybe she should be! No, he was old, and scared her slightly. She went to take his hand as he offered her a chair and blinked as she missed. That was odd. She fell, rather than sat into the chair, and clung onto the seat, wondering why the room was rocking slightly. Every time the wall opposite her moved, she tensed, holding on and hoping she wasn't about to fall over. After all, she was wearing a skirt, and that would be embarrassing. " Dr...why is your room moving? " It was strange, but none of the two men seemed to have noticed it. Maybe it was meant to be happening.

She suddenly realized that she'd called him Dr, and began giggling. " No! Peter! Because -" she was about to say ' because you're my husband ' before remembering that he wasn't. " Because you're not my husband! " That didn't make complete sense, but nothing ever really made sense. Stupid neurotypicals with their stupid social rules. Jo suddenly felt very, very depressed, and rested her head on her desk, trying not to cry. Why were people so stupid? Gabe was stupid. Everyone was stupid. She turned her head and saw a few people watching her. Squinting, she tried to work out which Gabe was really Gabe. She wanted to tell him he was stupid... Deciding she'd address the room in general with her proclamations of his stupidity, she closed her eyes. " Gabe, you're an idiot. "

Why was he an idiot again? Nothing seemed to make sense, and she was starting to feel sick. Very sick. Jo hoped she wasn't going to throw up in Peters room, and kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Why was she in this room? She couldn't remember what it was she'd wanted... Oh yes. " The cake! Did you like it? " She was suddenly sitting bolt upright, her previous enthusiasm returned. And the light in this room was so pretty... Jo stared at it, wondering how she'd missed the beauty of Peters light-bulb before. Maybe she'd steal it in the middle of the night, or something! She brought her hand up slowly, flickering her fingers in front of the rays of light, before remembering that self-stimming in front of people was weird. She half-brought her hand down, before letting it rise slowly again, pulling it back with her other arm. " Can I have your light-bulb? " she asked, looking at Peter with a hopeful expression. " It's so pretty... "

[Dr. Gabriel Hudson]

Gabe raised his eyebrows at Jo as she walked in again, looking slightly stunned. Drunk Jo was not something he'd anticipated having to deal with any time soon, and he was very glad Peter was there to help. He half got up from his chair as she walked across the room, but Peter beat him to it, helping her to a seat, where she promptly fell over and missed Peter's helpfully offered hand. Despite himself, Gabe had to suppress a grin. The expression of complete puzzlement on Jo's face was extremely amusing, even if she was completely intoxicated. Probably because she was completely intoxicated, actually.

The grin faded to concern as she curled up with her head on the desk, looking as though she was about to cry. "Jo, do you want to go and lie down somewhere? I think you should go to bed," he suggested gently, glancing at Peter with a faint smile. Then she started squinting at Peter, and he frowned at her, wondering what was going to come next. What did come next came as a slight surprise, and Gabe bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. So, this is what your wife really thinks of you, huh? Grinning at Peter, he told Jo, "Well, we aren't all geniuses like you. The cake was... interesting. You didn't follow the recipe, did you?" The light bulb seemed to fascinate her. Gabe glanced at it; as far as he could see, it was an average light bulb, but there was no telling how Jo's mind would work when she was drunk. Sighing at Peter, he look back at his wife as she sat there in her seat, flickering her fingers in front of the light, and wondered how Peter would react to being asked for his light bulb.

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

He hid a smile as Josephine cast a comment his way. “I think it may be you moving, not the room. Perhaps you should sit down?” He did not have the intention of becoming anyone’s husband, but it was always nice to hear this gained support. Watching Josephine carefully, he nodded to agree with Gabriel. “I think that may be best, Jo. You do not look altogether well.” Well… it was close enough., He didn’t want to alarm her, not when she was inebriated in any case. Otherwise she may become upset. And those who became upset whilst intoxicated were, in his experience, the hardest to pacify.

“You may have my light bulb, if you wish. However, I think you’ll find your own in your bedroom is every bit as beautiful.” He wondered if she’d get the subtle hint. Josephine had never truly been one for subtlety, however there was no telling the effect alcohol had on some members of the population. He was briefly thankful she did not appear to drive, to his knowledge. He knew Josephine would never do anything so reckless under normal conditions, however what alcohol could do to the perfectly rational brain was, to say the least, alarming.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Peter smiled. “I can honestly say I have never tasted a cake like it before. However, I must admit I still retain affection for a nice piece of coffee and walnut, or perhaps a chocolate sponge, don’t you agree?” He was addressing the top of her head, hoping these words wouldn’t upset her or anything similar. “Maybe that could be your next project? I have a recipe, if you would care to do it together.” At some point when she was not under any kind of influence, he hoped. Maybe they’d create a cake which was slightly more edible than what she had concocted this time. Although he had to commend her efforts. He was fairly sure nothing similar had ever been created, and was considering donating her effort to science. They’d most likely find it interesting to say the least.

[Dr. Josephine Hudson]

Jo looked at Peter blankly. " I thought you were of an above average intelligence? " What was her point again? She trailed off halfway through, frowning vaguely into space. She'd meant to carry on that sentence...damn. As Gabe spoke, saving her from embarrassing herself, she smiled at him. " I would, but it's not in my schedule, " she explained, before frowning. Why was her schedule so important, again? Was it even important? No, she decided. It wasn't really necessary to have a timetable that you absolutely had to stick too. She decided that from that moment on, she was officially not sticking to a schedule. (At least, during her free period, which ended at five o'clock. Then she'd go back to her routine.)

" I feel well... " Was that true? Jo groaned. Her thoughts were going far too quickly, and she had too many questions and not nearly enough answers. " Maybe sleeping is a good idea... No, you're not all geniuses like me. If you were, I wouldn't be a genius. I'd be average. " Gabe could be very idiotic at times. " And I did follow the recipe! " At that insult, she brought her head up, glaring at one of the two Gabe's that were looking at her strangely. Blinking a few times, she waited for one of them - the left one, in the end - to disappear, and focused on the real Gabe. " I made up my own recipe, and followed that! " She'd been staying within his rules.

Sighing, Jo tried to wrap her head around Peter's sentence. He used such complicated language sometimes... " I don't need recipes, really. I make them up! But thank you. " Rubbing her eyes, she sighed, before pushing herself off the chair and onto the floor, where she clambered under the desk, curling up. Not nearly as nice as her own, to be sure, but it was cosy enough. " You're right, I think I might go to sleep, " she called, before resting her head on her folded arms, curling up into a ball. She could look at the lightbulb in her own room later...

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter hid his amusement at Josephine. “You are very welcome, Jo. If you should change your mind, ask me and we will organise it.” He glanced at Gabriel again before looking back at the woman under his desk. Well, he’d had stranger things under his desk in his thirty four years of experience, however he was sure a sleeping person was a first. “Alright. Goodnight, Jo.” While he would rather not have her sleeping underneath his desk, if she felt safe there he was sure it would be alright, Sometimes it was simply best not to argue with people, especially if they were suffering the effects of inebriation.

Pushing back his chair, he gathered his notes and coffee and made to leave. “Gabe, shall we continue our conversation in the staff room?” He asked in a low voice, wondering if Gabriel would prefer to ascertain the damage to his apartment first. Putting his hand on the light switch, he turned back in the direction of the desk. “Light off or on, Jo?” he asked, smiling. Whole he was sure she would forgive him if he chose the wrong one, a distraught hungover woman, who he strongly suspected had Asperger’s syndrome, was one thing he hoped was nowhere in his future. If she did not answer, he could always ask Gabriel. They could come back and persuade her into bed later. When she’d slept off some of the effects, maybe.

He smiled at Gabriel and wondered if every day was going to be like this. Not that he had many complaints if it was, although he’d advise Gabriel to find a more sturdy fastening for his liquor cabinet. At least he would not be bored. Besides, teenagers were not a group he was particularly familiar with. Indeed, the label had not existed for so long, at this time of life they were often considered adults. But then, children had been considered miniature adults in the Victorian age, he wondered about the mental health of such children. He would very much be interested… did they behave as today’s children, playing and suchlike, or did they behave as adults? He saw some research in his future…

((OOC: Freya, I AM SEVENTY TYPES OF SORRY, OK?))