Think Too Much (Open)
Mar 27, 2010 1:37:50 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 27, 2010 1:37:50 GMT -5
It was one of those days.
It was raining outside, which tended to subconsciously make everyone's thoughts a bit more dismal, which had a cumulative effect on Sean if he let his mental shields slip. They were up tight, because he didn't need to be dragged headfirst into a worse mood.
It didn't help that it was - would have been - Robert Hopkins's birthday today. Sean could hardly believe another year had passed; where had the time gone? He sighed softly and shook his head to himself. He decided that on this occasion, he could have a drink, and so he decided to Irish up his coffee.
As an American of Irish descent, he supposed that he should object to the phrase "Irish up his coffee" because it unfairly depicted the Irish as drunkards. Rather than become offended, he found it to be an apt description, so he used the phrase often when applicable.
With a mug of coffee mixed with a bit of Bailey’s in one hand, he settled on the sofa with a soft noise of contentment; it felt good to get off his feet, and the warmth of his beverage helped.
How old would Robert be now? Ninety-one, was that right? It was difficult to contemplate, when he sat down, that his mentor would be ninety-one years old today if he hadn’t passed on. He also made the decision not to focus on how he was now older than his mentor was when they first met. That was for a later time.
Robert Hopkins, without a doubt, was the most patient person Sean had ever met, or ever would meet. Robert would subject himself to Sean’s uncontrolled powers day in and day out to teach him to rein his mind in, and to protect himself from the world around him. The man had put up with the feedback loops, the migraines, the tears and frustration, and all of the thoughts that a twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen year old boy might have, and the man had never so much as raised his voice.
Sean owed Robert Hopkins his sanity, for without his patient tutelage, he had to assume he’d have been lobotomized eventually, and he shivered inwardly at the thought. Thankfully psychiatry had come a long way since then. There was no need to cut away parts of people’s brains.
Not that he’d never...
Well, when he altered someone’s memories, it was done for the purpose of good, and nobody had ever been left a vegetable. He could thank Robert for that precision as well.
His thoughts were all over today, it seemed. Thankfully, he didn’t have any appointments until later this afternoon, so he could collect himself. And have his drink.
He held his coffee mug up in a toast to himself and said, “Here’s to you, Robert.”
It was raining outside, which tended to subconsciously make everyone's thoughts a bit more dismal, which had a cumulative effect on Sean if he let his mental shields slip. They were up tight, because he didn't need to be dragged headfirst into a worse mood.
It didn't help that it was - would have been - Robert Hopkins's birthday today. Sean could hardly believe another year had passed; where had the time gone? He sighed softly and shook his head to himself. He decided that on this occasion, he could have a drink, and so he decided to Irish up his coffee.
As an American of Irish descent, he supposed that he should object to the phrase "Irish up his coffee" because it unfairly depicted the Irish as drunkards. Rather than become offended, he found it to be an apt description, so he used the phrase often when applicable.
With a mug of coffee mixed with a bit of Bailey’s in one hand, he settled on the sofa with a soft noise of contentment; it felt good to get off his feet, and the warmth of his beverage helped.
How old would Robert be now? Ninety-one, was that right? It was difficult to contemplate, when he sat down, that his mentor would be ninety-one years old today if he hadn’t passed on. He also made the decision not to focus on how he was now older than his mentor was when they first met. That was for a later time.
Robert Hopkins, without a doubt, was the most patient person Sean had ever met, or ever would meet. Robert would subject himself to Sean’s uncontrolled powers day in and day out to teach him to rein his mind in, and to protect himself from the world around him. The man had put up with the feedback loops, the migraines, the tears and frustration, and all of the thoughts that a twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen year old boy might have, and the man had never so much as raised his voice.
Sean owed Robert Hopkins his sanity, for without his patient tutelage, he had to assume he’d have been lobotomized eventually, and he shivered inwardly at the thought. Thankfully psychiatry had come a long way since then. There was no need to cut away parts of people’s brains.
Not that he’d never...
Well, when he altered someone’s memories, it was done for the purpose of good, and nobody had ever been left a vegetable. He could thank Robert for that precision as well.
His thoughts were all over today, it seemed. Thankfully, he didn’t have any appointments until later this afternoon, so he could collect himself. And have his drink.
He held his coffee mug up in a toast to himself and said, “Here’s to you, Robert.”
