Genetic Emancipation [Sean]

L.C. Milliner
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Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 23, 2010 8:36:27 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 23, 2010 8:36:27 GMT -5

She was almost certain she hadn’t done anything wrong this time.

With deliberate slowness, L.C. Milliner shuffled her way to the school psychologist’s (Or was it psychiatrist? What was the difference, anyway?) office. She and Doctor Neville had come to be very familiar over the years. Every time she had stolen something from other students, every time she had ‘accidentally’ slapped Vincent’s face off (it grew back, she didn’t understand why it was so bad) every time she had done something out of line, she always wound up in Dr. Neville’s office talking about her ‘rough childhood’ and ‘trauma’ and ‘acting out’ and ‘redirecting anger’ and other things that would tire her fingers out from air-quoting it all. In the end, she was lectured about being an upstanding citizen, trying harder, and that he had faith in her and everyone knew she was a smart girl and if she would just apply herself in her studies and didn’t sleep through class all day she would have all A’s. She would nod and say she understood and she would try harder, but it was hard to lie to a telepath. She knew Dr. Neville knew her exact thoughts on the subject.

‘Stop lying to me. Stop lying to me. Stop lying to me.’

At the moment, she tried to push the past sessions with Dr. Neville out of her head, because she was trying to figure out what she had done this time to merit a call. She hadn’t stolen anything recently, at least not anything important. (The cranberry colored nail polish at the mall was so overpriced! Four dollars for a tiny bottle? Screw that idea!) She hadn’t slapped Vincent’s face off-- she had punched him in the face, yes, but she didn’t slap it off. The punching plan had sucked anyway; she hadn’t shut him up in the slightest, she managed to increase the talking. In retrospect, she should’ve known better. She had tried to better in school, even, she wasn’t falling asleep in her math class anymore, for one. Sure, it was too late in the semester to pass the class now, but hey, she was putting some effort into it. She hadn’t managed to stay awake through one entire econ class yet, but econ was boring and she had a D, so she considered it to be passable. Maybe it was about the holes she had put in the cafeteria table the other day? She had blamed that on Sammy, though. It couldn’t possibly be pinned on her. Even if it was, she’d simply say it was Vincent’s fault. Everything was Vincent’s fault most of the time.

Stopping, the blonde teen leaned against the wall and looked out the window. The sky was overcast and gray. Rain was imminent. There had been a mad lightning storm the night before, she knew because she had stayed up through it, watching a ‘That 70’s Show’ marathon until five AM when she finally fell asleep on the couch, too tired to have nightmares. Her angry roommates had prodded her awake, demanding her to forfeit the sofa. It was a hard battle, a bloody struggle (she had pricked someone’s finger on accident) but she had moved back to her room to lay in a heap on her bed for two hours. During that time she didn’t sleep, but instead heard them talk and disband, and she heard someone on the cordless phone for a bit and, after getting up and taking a shower, was informed Doctor N requested his presence in her office, preferably today and not five minutes before he had to leave. She’d hand it to the old man, he knew how well she could evade.

Despite being a smart girl, she never pieced together that her roommates had called Doctor Neville and complained about her constantly waking them up between her screaming in her room at night and the loud, late TV watching, along with her laziness. If she had, her living arrangements would’ve been swiftly redone. She had changed rooms twice in the course of a year, both due to the same thing, and now that she was eighteen she was considering getting her own place, but she couldn’t find a job. It was one of the downsides of being a pickpocket. People noticed things disappeared when you left the store and no one hires a pickpocket if they can’t help it. It just wasn’t practical.

Moving from the window, L.C. continued down the hall, black boots hitting the floor, blue jeans rubbing together. She adjusted her outfit, she had tried to appear ‘presentable’ and had worn a graying vest over a plain black v-neck T-shirt. She was impressed that she had managed to put an outfit together that didn’t have holes in it, or at least any that could be seen. (A hint for the oblivious: the vest was more then a fashion statement.) She arrived at Doctor Neville’s office at-- she craned her neck to see the clock down the hall-- two fifteen, exactly. Not too shabby. Pausing, she debated just walking away and waiting until later to talk to him, but decided against it.

‘You probably know I’m here already, don’t you? Hi, hey, hello. Maybe we can just communicate through your door this time. Yes? No, no, of course not.’ There wasn’t even a space for the telepath to insert any message there, L.C. already knew the answer. ‘Well, here I come.’

L.C. cracked open the door to Doctor Neville’s office, half hoping he wasn’t there. “You summoned me, Fühur sir?” She asked in the sweetest tone possible, as if she had simply called him ‘sir’ and not labeled him a dictator (in German, even) before that. She could tell they were off to a great start already.

‘I don’t know why I’m called but I hope it isn’t about the nail poli- oh crap, good going L.C. think about that with a telepath, why don’t you just think about hitting Vin while your at- ah, fuck. I’m screwed.’ She was contemplating just throwing herself under a bus now to save Sean the trouble.

[/size]

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 23, 2010 18:24:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 23, 2010 18:24:10 GMT -5

Sean had never quite known when his job title had grown to encompass any task tangentially related to the mental or emotional wellbeing of the students or the other faculty. He was good-natured and patient, certainly responsible, and he had never complained when his job title stopped syncing with his duties. But sometime between his third and fifth years working at Hammel, his job had expanded, growing to encompass not only psychiatric duties and prescribing medication, but guidance counseling, maintaining student records, offering love advice, teaching the senior psychology class, teaching the annual sexual education seminar, guiding telepaths and other budding psychics, spiritual advice, teaching cards games, reassuring parents, associated medical matters, senior staff duties – although that had developed after his tenth year - , mentoring the wayward, being a surrogate uncle, advising other faculty, serving as morale chair, and tending to disciplinary matters, among other tasks. Sadly, as he had aged, he realized that he had nothing else to do with his time, given his lack of family life, and thus he had embraced the increasingly large and eclectic collection of duties with open arms.

Ignoring Jesse’s situation as it needed its own category; L.C. was the student about which Sean received the most complaints, certainly on a weekly basis and possibly on a daily one as well. Vincent, Samuel, and Horus were simple, in that the complaints were primarily from teachers about Vincent’s stunts and poor academic performance, Samuel’s tendency to burn things, and Horus’s narcolepsy. L.C.’s complaints, too, were repetitive, but they were also more numerous and came from a wider set of people. She fought, she damaged property, she didn’t pay attention in class, she was cocky and had an attitude, and she had a nasty habit of stealing. She also suffered from nightmares and insomnia and kept her roommates up half the night. All of those contributed to, and were derived from, her deep emotional problems, many of which Sean had tried to work with her on to rise above. She had been making progress over the past semester...for the most part.

The insomnia and the nightmares persisted, and the complaints from her roommates had only grown. To prevent them from seeking out Claude and making the situation even worse, he had agreed to talk to L.C. At the worst, he would talk to Clarisse as well and see what the three of them could arrange.

Of course, it wouldn’t be L.C. if she arrived quietly, which was why he heard her chatter of thoughts and the heavy footfall of her boots before she poked her head in the office. He would ignore the nail polish for the moment, although that warranted a lecture as well, because he had greater concerns. Such as his distaste for being addressed with a title reserved for arguably the most evil man in history. She was in a mood, which was unfortunate as he was not. Gesturing at the empty chair before his desk, he told her, “Have a seat and you know better. It’s ‘Doctor Neville’ or ‘Doc.’”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

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Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 23, 2010 20:20:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 23, 2010 20:20:09 GMT -5

“…Yes Doctor Neville. Sir.” The blonde muttered, coming in, shutting the door behind her, and taking her place in a chair she had already managed to put a hole in. Crossing her legs, she put her elbows on her knees and leans forward to put her chin on her hands. It looked like a simple gesture of getting comfortable, and it was, but she was getting comfortable for the long run.

There was reason why L.C. was always referred to Doctor Neville and no one else, and that was because she had all but mastered the art of distraction. Her goal with everyone was to derail them from the main topic, get them angry, and get them to inevitably go off on a tangent until their allotted time with her ran out. It seemed to work with a great many people, but Sean was the trump card of the academy. Most people, she could distract for a good thirty minutes. With Sean, however, the time was halved, and then halved once more. It was like an impossible mission, but she still tried to carry it out. When distraction didn’t work, she had the silent treatment, the blank stare that smoldered on no matter what the teachers did or said or threatened. Silence was her greatest weapon against those she couldn’t run through with her spikes. (This included everyone but, well, Vincent.) This, too, did not succeed with Sean because no matter how blank the stare, she couldn’t make her mind go blank along with it.

But she still had to try.

“What’s the difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist, anyway? Which one takes more training? Is there a big difference in the teachings, like they are similar but applied different, or?” She asked, trying to make herself look genuinely interested, including filtering her thoughts so she could push all the incriminating thoughts to the back of her head and out of the way. She was trying to dodge the inevitable, but hey, at least she was going to give up easily. “Is psychology interesting? I may take your class next year.” She was going to be a senior, after all. “Does it take a lot of college training?”

[/size]

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 24, 2010 21:33:18 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 24, 2010 21:33:18 GMT -5

Once she was seated, Sean settled behind his desk as well, making himself comfortable for what could be a long discussion, as many of her summons to his office were. It was fine, as she was less stubborn than Jesse was, although a challenge in her own way; she was more responsive than the young man as well, which made her easier to deal with. Not a walk in the park, as she often implemented the silent treatment and there was her underlying attitude problem, but he took what breaks he could.

L.C. was not inquisitive so much as she was full of questions; Sean drew the distinction because an inquisitive person was interested in answers, viewing the asking of questions as a learning process. A person full of questions, however, was interested in the questions themselves, viewing them as a means of distraction and wasting time. He knew how to cope with those who were full of questions, and although he often took the bait, he never lost sight of the topic at hand. Today he would take the bait, as he had a few extra minutes; she’d made good time arriving today. “A psychiatrist is a medical doctor with the power to prescribe medications and who often makes formal diagnoses. Psychologists study psychology in college and can go on to take graduate programs, but they aren’t doctors. Most talk therapy is done with psychologists these days, although it wasn’t always that way.” Psychologists did studies and research and had endless debates about Freud; psychiatrists would always be doctors, and they were also compensated accordingly. In Manhattan, his time was easily worth four-hundred dollars per hour; given his level of experience and capability, he could get five or six. That was how he had managed to pay off his student loans and build his nest egg as fast as he had.

Sean wouldn’t allow himself to get too bogged down in her questions about the ins and outs of psychological coursework or about the class he offered; there was a time and place for that. Although that place was generally his office, the time would be later, when she hadn’t been summoned for an unrelated matter. “Yes, to both questions.” He didn’t miss a beat as he continued, “Do you want to make a guess about why I called you down?”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

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Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 25, 2010 23:05:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 25, 2010 23:05:10 GMT -5

L.C. listened to the doctor’s reply, nodding as she stared at him with a vacant expression that portrayed nothing. If he wanted to read her, he was going to have to read her mind, not her face. She wondered, in the back of her mind, what it was like to be Sean Neville. Was his existence a sad one or was he fulfilled with the life he led? She remembered hearing he didn’t have a wife or kids. Did he ever regret that? She listened to his explanation and recalled that he was a psychiatrist, not a psychologist, and she was pretty sure he was the reason she wasn’t allowed horse tranquilizers for sleeping medication. His explanation was reaching a close. Rolling one shoulder, then the other, She prepared herself for the distraction battle that was about to ensue. It was going to be a long struggle, and a losing battle, but her point in life was to make nothing easy on anyone. If she was going to go down flaming, she would go down flaming.

If Dr. Neville didn’t miss a beat with his reply, hers was even more fluid. “Not really, no. Do you ever have troubles with your telepathy like getting annoying songs stuck in your head? I think that would be the most awful part of it. Or am I wrong? Wait. I know. With all of us teenagers around, I bet I know what would suck most. Perverse images. We think about sex every, what, seven seconds? No wonder why you teach that seminar, of all people.” There was a tiny bit of smugness in her eyes as she locked them on Sean, though the rest of her face portrayed nothing. She had no smile, no blood rushing in or out of her face, no movement to portray how happy she was she had thought to diffuse that. It was like disarming a bomb, in her opinion. There may be a minefield ahead, and she would never get across it, not with Sean, but every bomb was a victory, in her eyes. She wasn’t winning, by any means. Not in a long shot. If anything, she was losing. She had hoped he would be tangled in the questions for a good two minutes; he had given her half of one back. She needed better distractions. She contemplated drilling a hole in his chair but she’d rather find out what she was sent there for before getting herself in any more trouble.

She was betting it was not the holes in the cafeteria table. That would be too easy. She had put holes in too many things already; they would just write her up for that, not send her to Sean. Was it because of the nail polish? Possible, but not probable. Her face portrayed nothing, still, but inside she was frantically searching for a shred of something to go off, a shred of something. She wanted to know. She had to know what she did in order to skirt around it.

[/size]

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 27, 2010 19:00:45 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 27, 2010 19:00:45 GMT -5

Sean decided that he would answer that one question, merely because it was best to get that out of the way, and because it could establish some control of the situation. “No, I don’t.” The truth of the matter is that he didn’t in any true sense of “trouble” and hadn’t for several years; he had four decades of experience under his belt, and more important than that, he’d trained with the best. At this point in life, getting songs stuck in his head from other people was the worst side effect of his telepathy, but once upon a time he had risked losing more than a brief moment’s peace. But that was long ago, and he didn’t have those problems any longer. Nothing beyond the occasional migraine, and even those were rare since he kept to his limits. As for the teenage ability to think of sex constantly, he was now immune to that, after spending twenty years working at Hammel, and that was one reason of many that he taught the sexual education seminar. Also that he could look the students in the eye while saying the word penis. But that was neither here nor there.

She was also correct that, for today at least, the holes in the cafeteria table weren’t the problem. That would earn another lecture at a later time, but for now, Sean had a greater concern than minor property damage.

“Your nightmares are getting worse.” It wasn’t a question. Sean had reached the limit of indulges that he would make for her. Between the severity of this particular problem and all of the complaints he had received, he wanted this to be out in the open. She could find another teacher later who might indulge her in the question game. Folding his hands in his lap, he leaned forward slightly, giving this topic his full attention. “And I’m sure that your insomnia hasn’t gotten any better, considering that the two often go hand in hand. When was the last time that you slept through the night uninterrupted?”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

Stablehand
Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 27, 2010 19:41:21 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 27, 2010 19:41:21 GMT -5

L.C. wasn’t expecting her nightmares to be the problem. Not at all. She couldn’t even pinpoint the last time she had been called in for her nightmares. She thought the administration had dismissed them, left them for her to deal with. They said it was chemical imbalances that caused it, she had iron in her blood, too much, too make the spikes, but that caused other chemicals released and… She hadn’t bothered to listen after that. Still as stone, she stared off into space, thinking hard. The distraction war was over sooner than it had begun. It was all over.

Recalling her morning, the things she had heard, she suddenly realized why she had been called down. The yelling at her to get off the sofa, the discussion in hushed tones, she had heard, the phone conversation… It all made sense. Her roommates had ratted her out! Rage and disbelief flashed across her mind for a moment but she stuffed it down, already retreating to her silent mode, trying to shut everything out. She closed her eyes and sighed, trying to wipe her mind blank, like a chalkboard, but it failing. Instead, she only heard the words repeated in her head, about nightmares getting worse. Images flashed across her brain like a flickering light.

A child falling from a silver hoop.
Her brother pushing her forehead.
Falling through a long dark hole.
A funhouse with doors.
Being shaken.
Continuous failure.
Her mother.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
Her fingers against her head.

She felt her arms prickle and was aware she had grown spikes for a fraction of a second, but her skin smoothed back to the flawless state it had before. She bit her tongue and realized she could never win this battle against Sean. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t say anything though. Saying something could bring on a mass amount of tears thanks to teenage hormones. Instead, she put her hand on her forehead instead, sighing loudly. It was full of emotion- frustration, anger, sadness, fatigue- she hadn’t slept well in a long time.

‘They don’t understand. But I get it. I’ll move out. I’ll just… Go. Find a place in town. They don’t want me around anyway. Motherfucking sons of bitches don’t know anything about me don’tknowthehalfofitiftheyknewtheywouldunderstand they’d leave me alone, leave me alone, get out of my head…’ The blonde let out a choked noise, a sob that had broke out against her orders to keep it in. Her mind moved at a thousand miles per second. She hadn’t answered Sean’s question, but she hadn’t realized it, she thought the answers went hand in hand. She was here because she couldn’t stay in her room anymore.

No, she hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in a long while. How could she fix that? She couldn’t. The only way was to stay up so much that she would fall into a dreamless unconscious state that was closer to being comatose, not sleeping.

[/size]

Last Edit: Jun 27, 2010 19:42:10 GMT -5 by L.C. Milliner

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 28, 2010 14:18:58 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 28, 2010 14:18:58 GMT -5

Sean took her reaction as confirmation of what he’d been told by her roommates, despite the fact that she had not answered his question. Her nightmares were worse, and her insomnia was no better, and either her trainer wasn’t able to mitigate the side effects, or her trainer was unaware. He thought briefly of Ann and how she was too timid to call attention to herself. Although L.C. had never displayed shyness when it came to others, he knew that aggressive persona was often that, a way to hide sensitivities and perceived weaknesses. He understood; as he was loathe to display weakness to others now, although it had come freely when he was her age.

She had two very real problems, caused by the same side effect of her powers. The question then became how would they best remedy the situation? He was usually inclined to involve trainers, and possibly Clarisse when the side effects were unknown. However, in this circumstance, he wanted to limit those involved. First of all, Clarisse’s doctorate was a Ph.D. not an M.D. and so his medical training was more of an asset when brain chemicals were involved, particularly when her side effects were neither new nor uncharted. He knew precisely what the problem was. Secondly, although Sean would eventually want L.C.’s trainer to work with her on mitigation, direct involvement would only delay the process, and would do nothing to help her get a good night’s sleep this week. Finally, there remained the difficulty with her roommates.

The young woman’s thoughts rushed at him quickly, and from what he heard, all were precisely what he expected. She was hurt, she was angry; she was quickly trying to make plans because she thought that she wasn’t allowed to remain in her room. The last of those would be the first to address, and he explained, “Nobody is kicking you out; as long as you’re a student here, you have a home in this school, a room in the dorms.” He needed to stress that, because no student could be tossed out due to a disagreement with her roommates. That fact didn’t solve the underlying problem, and he had to admit that he wouldn’t want to be around a gaggle of girls who were angry at him for chronic insomnia or for nightmares, both of which he had suffered before.

Folding his hands before him on the desk, he continued, “You and I need to figure out what we’re going to do. I have my prescription pad in my desk, and I could write something up for you now, which could be filled through the emergency plan so you could have it tonight. With your unique chemistry, I can’t guarantee that the pills will work, but they’re worth a shot. But I also won’t put you on any sleep aid without your consent, so you tell me what you want to do.”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

Stablehand
Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jun 28, 2010 18:11:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 28, 2010 18:11:08 GMT -5

The blonde student looked up at Sean through her hand and watched him for a moment, shaking her head as she calmed herself. She leaned back in the chair, head touching the back of it as she stared up at the ceiling. “I’m sick of changing rooms all the time, Doc.” She wanted stability. She never had stability before in her life, not as a child, not as a student in Hammel. Was it too much to ask for? Was that it? Stability was just an impossible request from her that couldn’t be filled, then. She bit her cheek in thought before closing her eyes. “But I don’t want to go back to that room anyway. They hate me. They deserve a full night’s sleep. They don’t think about how I feel as long as they benefit. Well, fuck them.” Normally she at least gave Sean the courtesy of not hearing her curse, but at the moment she wasn’t censoring herself. She had other things on her mind like the indecency of other teenagers. She had a theory in her head, the bubble theory. It involved teenagers not caring about anything as long as their ‘bubble’ was not affected. As soon as it was, they sought to eliminate the problem as quick as possible; even if it meant alienating their own. Where could she go? She didn’t have a job, she recalled. She had thought about it earlier, even. Without a job, she couldn’t pay to live anywhere else.

She sighed as she shifted her feet to the floor. She wanted to stand, she wanted to walk out. She wanted to leave and not come back. But she stayed rooted to the spot, because Sean was the only person that could deal with this, as much as she hated it. “Sleeping pills won’t help.” She waved a hand at him as if to dismiss the idea on the spot. Despite being an angst-driven teenager at times, L.C. knew how to handle adult matters like prescriptions and medication. She was mature, unlike other students. She just chose how to demonstrate her maturity; through being a sarcastic smartass or actually acting like an adult. “They make me a zombie all day and even if I don’t have nightmares, I don’t like drifting around on autopilot. Besides, most don’t have an effect.” She shook her head, recalling the ones she had taken. She ticked them off on her fingers. “Lunesta, Ambien, Sonata. None of them worked. Ambien made my nightmares worse, even.” She shuddered and shook her head as she closed her eyes, trying to think again. She drew one knee up to her and rested her head on it, not wanting to talk anymore. She didn’t have anything else to say.

‘Just give me some tranquilizers or sedatives or whatever. Stop giving me weak stuff I know won’t work and give me something meant to knock me out.’ She thought, shaking her head as she thought it. He wouldn’t go for that plan, she knew it. The worst part was that she didn’t want to be on medication either; she just wanted the nightmares to go away, or at the very least be explained to her. ‘I don’t even know what they MEAN.’

[/size]

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jul 5, 2010 9:54:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jul 5, 2010 9:54:34 GMT -5

She had good cause to tire of changing rooms; one room change was more than enough, and she’d passed that threshold long ago. Her sleep habits, rather lack thereof, had given her a reputation among the other students as a potential dorm-mate. “Nobody’s going to force you to change rooms,” he reassured her, although that did little to get to the heart of the matter, which was her current relationship with her roommates. Were their positions reversed, he wouldn’t want to go back either. He let her rant for a bit without interjecting, only commenting when she finished. “They’re teenagers, and you know how teenagers can get. It’s difficult and they can be selfish. The question before us now is what are we going to do for you for tonight?”

Ambien was the last medication that Sean would ever think to prescribe for L.C. given her nightmares. He wouldn’t even take it himself for his insomnia, given the medication’s effectiveness in putting him to sleep and his tendency to dream other people’s dreams when they were within range. The joys of being a telepath. Focusing on the matter at hand, Sean had to wonder what irresponsible doctor had prescribed Ambien to her, although that was neither here nor there, as he wouldn’t make the suggestion. And as she had listed several other prescription sleep aids, and he knew those were stronger than over-the-counter medications, they were at a bit of an impasse. He couldn’t fault her for wanting to avoid cognitive impairment; side-effects were the leading cause in avoiding medication, and she had enough problems as it was.

Whilst working through a mental checklist of what other treatments might be available, he heard her request. Usually he didn’t reply to thoughts alone, unless there were other parties involved, he had to give a specific warning, or those were the parameters of the session – some students preferred not having to speak aloud, and he respected that. Her mental tone was a plea, which elicited sympathy from him, and prompted him to speak. “Tranquilizers won’t be any better when it comes to making you a zombie.” They would knock her out, surely, but her hypothetical sleep couldn’t be described as restful so much as “coma-inducing.” It was a delicate situation. “I’ll write you a prescription if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend testing them until the weekend, so you have a couple of days off to try them out.”

He didn’t envy her the situation. Then came her other lament, which was one that, although frustrating, was more easily solved. “Tell me about your last one. Maybe I can interpret it for you.”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

Stablehand
Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jul 7, 2010 17:12:01 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jul 7, 2010 17:12:01 GMT -5

[Sorry about the long post coming up, I got carried away. Took me a few days to write the latter half with my hand being the way it is, so don’t worry about replying any time soon.]

L.C. blinked and nodded at the doctor, glad she could finally try something she had been thinking about for a few years. “Whatever works. With my chemical what-do-you-call-its, who knows how it’ll work.” She sat both feet firmly on the floor and sighed, looking up at the ceiling in thought. When Sean asked her to explain her dream, she bit her lip in thought. She didn’t like thinking of her nightmares during the day; in fact, she liked to think about them as little as possible. Dwelling on them usually sent her mood into a downward spiral or made her feel nauseous. However, if Sean could possibly explain them to her, maybe it was worth a shot. She wasn’t sure.

“It always is the same dream.” She corrected. “Or the same set, anyway. It’s like... A bunch of different nightmares linked together. Like playing the same movie day after day. And they’re so vivid. They... They feel real.” She shook her head and looked down, pushing her hands on her knees, hard. She stared at the floor, trying to find the words to explain but coming up short. But that was the good thing about Doctor Neville, often times she didn’t need words to explain things, only pictures. She breathed out softly and looked to him, blinking before biting her lip. “It’s honestly... Easier if I think about it. It’s hard to explain out loud.”

With that, she breathed out and felt a corner of her mind open up like a cellar door that hadn’t been opened for year. It took a moment before she could sort out all the images, but she began to play out her dream, like a movie. There were blurry parts, but other times the pieces were perfect.

“It starts off like a dream, just a memory from when I was younger. One of... My worst.” She whispered, picturing it in her mind. With that, her mind was off on its own.

It was dark backstage before the show. The tent flaps split in front of her to show the clown was leaving through the other set of flaps and she smiled brightly, looking in the mirror. She was seven years old. Her brown hair was pulled into two braids to keep her hair out of her face. She looked outside again and peered through the flaps, anxious as she watched the silver hoop lowered to the floor. Behind her she heard two people arguing as the ‘ringmaster’ came out with a microphone to announce her.

“It’s none of your damn business, Magda.”
“I think it is. Girl is too young to go up there. I have bad feeling, premonition. I see bad thing happening.” She growled, pointing a crooked old finger at the hoop.
Lyra’s mother snorted and rolled her eyes. She, too, was dressed in her costume, a crimson leotard with sparkles. Lyra’s was blue with large faerie wings on the back, made from wire and blue cloth. The gypsy looked to her with crazy eyes and shook her shoulders as her Mother rolled hers and walked off to have a cigarette.
“Be careful, Lyra. Careful, careful! You understand, yes?!”
From behind her, she heard her introduction and knew she had to go on soon, but the gypsy wouldn’t let her go. “Yes.” She said without meaning it, then turned out of the gypsy’s grasp and ran through the tent flaps as her stage name was shouted.
“IIIIIIIIIT’S THE BLUE BUTTERFLY!” Lyra cartwheeled and spun rapidly through the air with a grin as people oohed and aahed. She held her arms up in the air and laughed as the audience clapped. It seemed almost perfect. She was living every child’s dream, and she knew it. She could feel their envy and oh, she loved it. Running, she jumped to the hoop, slipping her foot through the anklet it was supposed to go through before grabbing on and pulling to signal her lift.

She had forgotten to tighten the safety anklet.

Sailing above the crowd, the hoop spun as she swung in it, laughing as she soared over the stands. She sat inside and hung by her knees and twisted herself around the hoop for ten minutes before doing her final act, hanging from the hoop by one hand and foot as she spun rapidly in circles. She felt her hand slip and tried to fix her grip, but she messed up and let go instead, swinging downward. That was when she realized she hadn’t tightened the anklet.

She fell twelve feet to the floor. The audience gasped. Lyra was in shock for a moment before a clown came out and nudged her playfully, looking to the crowd before bending over her.
“Lyra, get up. You have to get up and pretend you’re okay.” He looked to the crowd with a grin as she girl stood slowly with a forced smile. He raised her left arm and Lyra felt a stabbing pain in her right as the people clapped. She gritted her teeth as she grinned and bowed. She heard the microphone in the man’s hand reverberate in her ears as he spoke.
“HAHA~! YOU ALL THOUGHT SHE WAS HURT, DIDN’T YOU?!”

L.C. stammered as she continued, feeling herself pass some of the meaningless bits in a fast forward way. “After that, I was taken out of the tent. To a dark room, somewhere. And sat on a table so the carnival vet could examine me.”

“Her right arm is broken.” The carnival veterinarian said, looking at the girl.
“Mommy, it hurts.” Lyra whimpered.
“Hospital! She needs hospital!” Gypsy Magda muttered, staring at the girl.
“Mommy, it hurts.” Lyra said again.
“Can’t!” Said the owner, shaking his head.
“Mommy, it hurts...” She whimpered, holding her arm, cradling it.
“Counts as child abuse-”
“Can’t just leave her-”
“Mommy, it hurts...”
“They’ll investigate-”
“My daughter doesn’t need no stinking hospital-”
“Mommy, it hurts!”
“Could shut us down-”
“Bone is broken, can’t fix-”
“Clean break, should mend if she-”
“Mommy, it hurts!”
“Lyra’s a big girl, she can-”
“MOMMY, IT HUR-!!”
She felt her Mother’s hands grab her shoulders and she shook her violently. Lyra began to cry even harder. “I know it hurts but we can’t take you anywhere! Stop crying! Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up-”
The scene began to melt into something else and Lyra got older and her arms began to burn. The other people faded away. Then, suddenly, she was sitting in her old bed, spikes shooting from her arms and hands and legs with a lancing, reverberating pain enough to make most preteen girls cry and even some adults. She had used her power by mistake for the first time in her life, and her mother was shaking her still, telling her to shut up and that she wouldn’t take her to a hospital...

L.C. bit her cheek and shook her head, breaking the dream off before she could think of anything else. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to think of anymore. It made her hurt all over, from her head to her heart. “I don’t want to think about this anymore.” Her voice was strained, but barely a whisper. She looked on the verge of tears, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She would never let them fall, not in front of anyone else, anyway. “There’s so much more. There’s... But I can’t think about it. And that isn’t even the worst of it. Not at all. There’s... There is just so much more.”

‘Blood. There’s so much... blood.’ The thought crossed her mind but she shoved it back quickly, not wanting to think about anything close to the final part of her dream. They had only caught the beginning. The end was the worst, and she didn’t want to ever think about it without having to. She leaned forward and pressed her face to her legs, as if she could hide from Doctor Neville that way.

“I’m so tired of this.” She whispered, feeling her eyes start to burn from the tears not falling. “I just want it all to stop and go away.”

Last Edit: Jul 7, 2010 17:13:01 GMT -5 by L.C. Milliner

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jul 12, 2010 12:09:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jul 12, 2010 12:09:43 GMT -5

There was no guarantee that it would work, no, but Sean preferred to play it safe and follow medical guidelines. Thus, when he recommended that she not take it until the weekend to test the side-effects, he expected the advice to be followed. Opening the top desk drawer, he removed his prescription pad. Pulling a pen off the holder on his desk, he began to fill out her information and the drug name and dosage; they could have it filled at the local pharmacy and get it to her quickly enough. Once the prescription note was filled in, he set the pad aside, not yet handing it to her; she would get it when she left, but they had more to discuss. “As I said, don’t test it out until the weekend, just in case it works too well.”

Her description of the circumstances of the nightmares: their repetition, their types, the fact that they were linked, was familiar. Many patients, many people, suffered from similar types of dreams, from recurring nightmares. In that she could take comfort that she wasn’t quite so unusual. He doubted that would comfort her, as the knowledge did nothing to ease the underlying nightmares. “Dreams and nightmares often do; that’s part of their function.”

When she admitted that it was difficult to describe her nightmares and suggested that she think about it, Sean nodded in acquiescence. That was common enough in this office, for him to follow along with thoughts when a topic was too difficult to express verbally. He gave her his acknowledgement, “Go ahead.”

As she began to think about her dreams, Sean tuned into the mental descriptions and the memories; they were horrifying and symbolic, as nightmares tended to be. As an outside observer, he could be a bit more aloof, more critical, and able to dissect them more easily simply because he wasn’t emotionally invested. But he also hadn’t lived her life, and thus Freudian and Jungian symbolism only went so far. The images stopped abruptly, followed by her protest to continuing. “That’s fine,” he told her gently; she had shared more than enough to begin, and it could be traumatic. “I have a couple of books on the topic of dream interpretation. How about you borrow them, and you can read them at your own pace?”

When she admitted that she wanted the nightmares and insomnia to stop, Sean spoke what first came to mind. “I know.” The doctor wasn’t flippant when he acknowledged that; he merely spoke the truth, as she had. He knew that she was tired of missing sleep and of the nightmares; she should be tired, she was entitled to be tired, and frankly, she was entitled to a bit of sympathy, certainly compassion and understanding. Unfortunately, teenagers were poor at offering such compassion and understanding to their peers, or to others outside their peer group, when doing such was an inconvenience. Fortunately, most teenagers outgrew that pettiness, but the maturity of age did nothing for L.C. right now.

He understood the desire for the side effects to simply stop and disappear. At her age, he, too, had made a similar wish. Just as nobody chose to be a meta-human, no meta-human chose his side-effects. Nobody wanted side-effects; they were simply part and parcel with being Meta, and one adapted. Sean preferred migraines to many of the other effects he had seen over the years; he preferred migraines to the possibility of constant nightmares and insomnia. Although he suffered insomnia, those sleepless nights were caused by his unrelated bouts of depression. “I wish that this were so simple.”

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

Stablehand
Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Jul 30, 2010 14:33:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jul 30, 2010 14:33:52 GMT -5

It was amazing, the things Sean could do. L.C. had tried and tried for tranquilizers for months, even years, but with just a few scribbles he had handed her a free prescription, just like that. Well, not literally, it was sitting on his desk still, but in the figurative sense, it was like handing her a one way ticket to a good night’s sleep, or so she thought. She wasn’t sure what kind of prescription it was, whether it was pills or a shot or what, but she was hoping for the former. Swallowed pills were her best friends. She could take them dry no matter the time of day or state of her body. She rarely drank a glass of water to get them down anymore. That should’ve been a testament to how many times she took them, but she didn’t think on it.

The teen nodded about the dream interpretation books, but it was a slow, uneasy nod. She wasn’t sure if they would work, to be honest, but if Dr. Neville was suggesting it, then she’d try it out. She sat back in her chair and fidgeted with her hands, creating tiny spikes from her fingertips, clicking them together out of habit. They were sharp as needles but didn’t threaten the female, only the furniture around her. Even the furniture had little to worry about. If she was in a destructive mood, she would’ve sent spikes out of her knuckles. “Sounds okay.” She muttered, retreating back into her shell like she had done a thousand times before. She had revealed too much of herself and she felt like she had to go back to being a teenager again, her replies suddenly becoming clipped, short, and completely unrevealing.

L.C. knew of the lack of compassion in teenagers. She knew how hypocritical she was for hating people for it. She couldn’t remember the last time she allowed someone to cry on her shoulder or let them tell her their problems. To expect some empathy from them was a folly. Her roommates probably had the right to treat her like they did, the property damage being what it was. Any less would’ve worried her. But in her situation, with her group of friends being slim to none, it was hard to do anything or allow herself to unload her problems. She couldn’t remember the last time she had really, truly laughed about something and not at someone. (Vincent.) Was it sad that her only seemingly close friend was a complete idiot? Or that, in his mind, they weren’t even close friends, but she was just one speck on a long list of friends? She deflected Sean’s comment about how he knew, writing it off as just another thing adults said. ‘I know’, ‘It’ll be okay’, ‘If you try harder you can succeed’ and ‘you are special’ were the words she always heard coming from the mouths of her elders and it finally had come to the point that all she heard were the words, not the emotions behind it.

Liars. All of them.

“I don’t know where I’m going to stay.” She blurted out, changing the subject before her dark mood got any worse. She was already starting to eye the arm of the chair she was sitting in with the intent to make her mark on it. It was time to move onward, and quickly. “When I had to move before, I always had a few days... But now, I can’t go back, Doc. I don’t want to see their stupid faces.” She shook her head, thinking of the consequences of her going back there. Seeing her roommates would likely trigger an angry firestorm, she knew that. She wouldn’t deny it, she knew better by now. It sucked having anger issues, it sucked even more when they could turn lethal. A large sigh escaped from her and she slid down in the chair, her posture growing worse and worse until she was practically halfway in the chair, held there only by her feet digging into the floor.

“Sucks.”

[/size]

Dr. Sean Neville
Institute Official

Psychiatrist
Telepathy/Memory Manipulation
Played By Sean

The One and Only Seangularity

Posts: 8,987

Gender:: Male

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Aug 18, 2010 15:11:25 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Aug 18, 2010 15:11:25 GMT -5

From his side of the aisle, Sean considered his ability to help students far less amazing. He understood the value of help, which is why he came in to work every day with a smile on his lips. It was also why he let his job duties grow, encompassing tasks that had little if anything to do with his initial job title. This was why he grew emotionally invested in the students at Hammel. But he also understood the bureaucracy involved in what he provided, or the psychiatric methodology. As he wasn’t going to take these pills, this was treatment, yes, but also thirty seconds worth of scribbling on his medical stationary. It was encouraging, however, to know that he was providing help, and hopefully these pills would prove helpful.

The telepath rose from behind his desk and crossed the room to the other side. Scanning the bookshelf, he found the book he wanted and pulled it off the shelf. Returning to his desk, he handed her his copy of I Had the Strangest Dream...The Dreamer’s Dictionary for the 21st Century. Smiling, he then sat back down across from her. “Here you are. I hope that helps a bit; it’s one of the better ones out there, if you want to cut out the usual Freudian analysis. It’s a good place to begin.” She could put it on her nightstand and not think about it for two months, if she didn’t want to use it, but this way she had the option readily available.

Although Sean understood that it was easy to write off his assurances as the same platitudes adults gave about puberty eventually being all right and high school being terrible, he had deeper insight when he spoke. Yes, he was an adult, a teacher, an authority figure, a psychiatrist. But he was also a telepath, and in order to develop into the well-rounded, balanced person he was today, he had had to struggle and suffer constantly as a teenager. Sean had hated being a teenager, although it had gotten better once he’d finally learned to create mental shields and Maggie Donovan had started talking to him, but that had been after several years of pain, of the stigma that he might be mentally ill, of the other stigmas that he was a willing invader of privacy and couldn’t be trusted, of knowing what he didn’t want to know, of the loss of control, of the feeling that he was drowning. All of it. Truly, he understood how frustrating powers could be, and when he spoke to the students, when he spoke to L.C., he was genuine in his compassion.

Her sleeping arrangements were problematic. Sean had no intention of forcing her out of her room, and he knew that Claude would give her a new assignment if she was uncomfortable with these roommates, which she was. That didn’t solve the immediate problem, as she needed somewhere to sleep tonight, and if she wasn’t willing to go back to her dorm room, she was currently without a bed.

He didn’t believe that any student should be without a bed. He also realized that telling her to ignore her roommates wouldn’t help the situation, because she had her reasons for wanting to avoid them. And at her age, Sean wouldn’t have wanted to face them either. Now he would simply go to bed and ignore them, but that was decades of self-confidence which gave him that ability.

He was thoughtful for several minutes, as he worked through the possibilities. She was eighteen, and Hammel could put her up in a hotel for a night or two, although that would involve a budget and policy meeting and they weren’t due for one of those for at least a week; that wouldn’t solve the immediate problem. Nor would shuffling rooms, as she fully expected that and needed a few days to do so; the shuffle wouldn’t give her somewhere to sleep tonight. They didn’t have any rooms that were made up and livable at the moment where she could sleep, since those were prepared as needed when the recruiters brought word of new students. She had no friends to stay with, no family nearby with whom she got along. So he could either front her the money for a hotel room, bypassing the budget and policy meeting, which would get him potentially reprimanded, and would leave her to fend for herself in a strange place and with no transportation to get to classes tomorrow. Or he could give her a room for the night, and potentially be reprimanded for that, but he would know she was safe and he could drop her off tomorrow morning.

It wasn’t the most appropriate course of action, but she was eighteen-years-old which removed some of the impropriety. Besides, James and Chase had taken in Niko and were hoping to adopt him one day; there was no reason that Sean couldn’t give a young woman a bed for a night or two when she was in need. He had a spotless record after twenty years of employment. If necessary, he’d make those arguments.

Coming to his decision, he looked over at her. “If you need somewhere to stay tonight, I have an extra room.” He had several, but that was what happened when he lived alone in a house designed for a family of four or five.

You want to graduate? Listen to Sean talk about condoms.

L.C. Milliner
Retired

Stablehand
Iron Spike Protrusion

Been a while.

Posts: 290

Genetic Emancipation [Sean] Sept 18, 2010 23:55:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L.C. Milliner on Sept 18, 2010 23:55:13 GMT -5

As L.C. took the book she nodded in thanks, but she knew she would probably never read it. Even if she had said herself that wanted to know what her dreams meant, on the inside she was scared to know. What if they meant something completely different than expected? What if it said ‘if you’re dreaming about [insert dream sequence here], you are crazy’? She had tried her hardest to make sure she wouldn’t go insane. Even with her anger issues, she hadn’t torn anyone to shreds yet, not even Vincent, who could withstand the attack. What if it was all for nothing? Maybe she had gone crazy anyway, from bottling it all up. She needed to go to the training room, tape her knuckles, and punch some more concrete. She vowed she would do that in the future, granted she had to remember to do it amidst the packing and room changing and such.

Being a teenager made L.C. want to scream some days. Other days, she wanted to lay on her bed and cry. It was hard being a teenager, but it was harder being an unpopular teenager. Not only was the whole world against you, but your own comrades, the generation she grew up in, her supposed comrades, did everything in their power to make sure she did not survive the battlefield. There were some days she wanted it to end. Thanks to her dreams, she knew very well how it could end. Just because she made spikes did not mean she was immune to them, she knew that well enough not to hit herself. She bled the same blood the same way everyone else did. The only difference was that her spikes slid out from her skin, like a finger nudging through shoddily knit fabric. Retracting, it felt like she lost part of herself when she didn’t have any spikes out. They were a part of her like Sean’s telepathy was a part of him. Without it, she felt helpless. That’s why she didn’t like hanging around Anya for too long.

As Sean, unbeknownst to her, had an internal conflict with her housing predicament, L.C. glanced to the book in her lap, sighed, and opened it, deciding to take a look at whatever Sean had given her. She propped the book up so he couldn’t see it, though she knew full well he could likely read it just as she did. Hiding anything from him was impossible, she knew so even though she still tried. She flipped through the pages, noting that the interpretations were in alphabetical order. She skipped to the ‘s’ section and scanned the pages, looking for her specific problem, hitting it almost at the very end.

Suicide
To dream that you commit suicide, represents your desperate desire to escape from your waking life. You may be harboring feelings of guilt that you cannot get over and thus turning the aggression on yourself. You need to start approaching problems from a different angle. Alternatively, the dream suggests that you are saying good-bye to one aspect of yourself and hello to a whole new you. It is symbolic of a personal transformation or a new stage in your life.

“Bullshit." She muttered under her breath, shutting the book tightly. ‘Escape from your waking life’? ‘Hello to a whole new you’? She was the same old L.C. Milliner, pickpocket, thief, troublemaker, friendless, and bitchy as always. She looked at Sean as they sat in silence, before he dropped another bomb on her. He still hadn’t answered her about housing yet. Just as she was about to open her mouth, he opened his, giving her a statement that made her close her mouth with a snap as she blinked.

For the record, L.C. was mature enough not to immediately turn to the normal teenage thoughts of Sean being a dirty old man. Instead, she was busy trying to figure out how far he was sticking his neck out for her. He could possibly lose his job over this. She sat stunned for a moment, trying to figure out the last time any teacher had bothered to stick out their neck for her, if at all. So far, she was coming up with none. Even with an extensive record and file dedicated to property damage, Sean was still inviting her into his home. Even if it was for a few nights, she was still floored with his generosity. “Er, yeah. Sure. That’s… Yeah. Th-thanks.” She bobbed her head, feeling herself going red. She was supposed to be the cold girl that wouldn’t care either way, and here she was, stumbling over words.

“Just as long as you know that I can’t be held liable for any injuries you might get if you wake me up during a nightmare.” She muttered, looking Sean in the eye. “I mean it. Don’t wake me up.” She shouldn’t have to say anymore on the subject. She wanted him to trust her opinion. She was the one who dealt with them all the time, she was therefore the expert on her demeanor when she woke up. She knew that mixing Sean into the equation would only complicate things.

She stood hastily, grabbing the book. “I should grab some clothes. There’s some in my locker.” Only L.C. would have to carry clothes in her locker. Only she would have a good reason to. “When should I… Err, where should I…” She pointed to the floor, then the door, then the clock. She wanted to get out of there and get ready. She felt a little awkward, accepting help from someone. It was a natural reaction, of course, but she disliked it. Sighing, she jerked her thumb to the door, closing her eyes and pausing to order her thoughts.

“Can I go now, and when and where do you want me to be so I can come over.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a plea for her to get out of his cramped office. She had time to punch out some concrete and be back in time for him to get off work and take her to… Wherever he lived. “And does this have to get approved by administration or is this a sort of ‘under the radar’ deal. because I understand either way.” She shrugged. She flew under the radar enough, like with that nail polish…

That she had just thought of again. Shit.

[/size]

Last Edit: Sept 18, 2010 23:56:06 GMT -5 by L.C. Milliner

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Genetic Emancipation [Sean]

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 23, 2010 8:36:27 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 23, 2010 18:24:10 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 23, 2010 20:20:09 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 24, 2010 21:33:18 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 25, 2010 23:05:10 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 27, 2010 19:00:45 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 27, 2010 19:41:21 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jun 28, 2010 14:18:58 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jun 28, 2010 18:11:08 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jul 5, 2010 9:54:34 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jul 7, 2010 17:12:01 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Jul 12, 2010 12:09:43 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Jul 30, 2010 14:33:52 GMT -5

Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Aug 18, 2010 15:11:25 GMT -5

Post by L.C. Milliner on Sept 18, 2010 23:55:13 GMT -5

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