Night Game (Claude)
Mar 29, 2010 11:24:18 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 29, 2010 11:24:18 GMT -5
Late afternoons, Sean tended to not have any appointments unless in rare circumstances; students preferred to see him earlier, so they could relax before supper and then do their homework and hang out with their friends. He’d spent as long as he could sitting in his office reading new notes on the contentious debates to edit the DSM; he’d been asked for an opinion on the matter by a few colleagues because of his unique experiences, but there were only so many polite words that someone could use to describe how asinine it was to classify temper tantrums as a mental disorder. In young children.
Eventually, he’d stopped reading, for fear of driving himself up the wall, and possibly bringing on a stress headache – although he preferred them to overextension migraines. He’d gone for a walk around the halls, which were largely unoccupied with the students scattered to their own pursuits. It was disconcertingly quiet for Hammel; not that there was usually trouble, but it seemed more barren than usual. The students were handling themselves, and most of the faculty were elsewhere.
Deciding on what was always a nostalgic albeit professional distraction, he stopped back at his office long enough to grab two bottles and two glasses. Although he slipped the smaller bottle into his pocket before departing down the hall to the Headmaster's Office. He had a social visit to make.
Arriving, he knocked on the heavy oak door, and spoke loudly enough to be heard. “Claude? It’s Sean. Are you busy?”
Eventually, he’d stopped reading, for fear of driving himself up the wall, and possibly bringing on a stress headache – although he preferred them to overextension migraines. He’d gone for a walk around the halls, which were largely unoccupied with the students scattered to their own pursuits. It was disconcertingly quiet for Hammel; not that there was usually trouble, but it seemed more barren than usual. The students were handling themselves, and most of the faculty were elsewhere.
Deciding on what was always a nostalgic albeit professional distraction, he stopped back at his office long enough to grab two bottles and two glasses. Although he slipped the smaller bottle into his pocket before departing down the hall to the Headmaster's Office. He had a social visit to make.
Arriving, he knocked on the heavy oak door, and spoke loudly enough to be heard. “Claude? It’s Sean. Are you busy?”
