mindcracklove | A Day at the Psychiatrist's

Wow. I'm actually writing something. This is new. Hi!

Anyways, this is a quick one shot! It may progress into something more, but I'm not promising anything, given my current schedule. Here it is!

Oh, and pun warning.

12:36 PM - Dr. Sano's Office - Dr. Sano's Mental Clinic - Mindcrack
Blame the Controller grew impatient. Dr. Sano was late, which did not surprise him much. This was becoming a daily occurrence; it only added to Blame's insistent annoyance that he had no need to come here in the first place. He was fine, for heaven's sake, and had been since day one. This session was just as pointless as the last 12 had been, and he should not have to twiddle his thumbs at the behest of the slow psychiatrist.

At first, Blame paced the room, refusing to be calmed by the water wall, which he found calmed him too much.
Finally, The automatic doors slid open with a gentle hiss, admitting Dr. Jason Sano into his own office. The tall man limped immediately into his chair. He dropped immediately into its padding, replacing the now room temperature ice pack next to his hip with a cold one from the mini fridge under his desk.
"Ahhhhhhh" He sighed. "My hip is killing me. Nothing helps, honestly. People think they know pain, but they have no idea."

"You're late." Blame noted, his voice devoid of sympathy.

Dr. Sano sighed again. "Always in a rush, aren't you, Blame? Why not meditate by the water wall, let it calm you down a bit?"

Blame shook his head. "I have better things to do then staring at some fish. Speaking of which," Blame sighed. "May we proceed with my 'rehabilitation'? Or would you prefer to waste more of my time?”

Dr. Sano huffed a little, then swiveled his chair to face Blame's more directly. "Why is it, the further along we get in these sessions, the nastier you are?"
Blame smirked and shook his head. "Isn't that what you're supposed to know, doctor?"

Dr. Sano chose to ignore the comment, instead pulling out a stack of cards from a drawer in his desk. "I am going to show you some inkblots, Blame, and I want you to tell me what you see in them."

Blame's moan was long and theatrical. "Inkblots. Oh, please. My lifespan is not long enough to justify wasting time on worthless pseudo-tests. We may as well read tea leaves or divine the future in chicken entrails."

"Inkblots are a reliable indicator of mental health," Dr. Sano objected, not for the first time. "Tried and tested."

Blame snorted. "Tested by psychiatrists, for psychiatrists."

Dr. Sano slapped a card down on the table. "What do you see?"

"I see an inkblot."

Dr. Sano sighed, well used to this response. "Yes, but what does the inkblot suggest to you?"

Blame smirked in a supremely annoying fashion. "I see card number 72."

"What?"

"Card number 72," Blame repeated. "In a series of 200 standard inkblot cards. I memorized them all when you left them outside the on the desk once. You don't even shuffle."

Dr. Sano rubbed his temples. "The card number does not answer the question. What do you see?"

"I see two men looking alike, one with a metal leg and one without. I see a sword dripping with blood, and a creeper clothed in the skin of a pig."

Now Dr. Sano was interested. "Really?"

"No. Not really. I see a safe home, possibly a family home, with four windows. A child sits in one of the windows, and there is a dirt path leading off into the distance. I believe, if you check your manual, you will see all of those responses fall underneath "healthy" parameters.

Dr. Sano didn't even need to check. Blame was right, of course. He shook his head and sighed, tired.
Blame felt that he owed something to the psychologist. "Dr. Sano, did you have turned in feet as a child?"

Dr. Sano was so surprised, he blurted out an honest answer to a personal question, a very unusual thing for a psychiatrist to do. "Why, yes. Yes I did."

"And were you forced to wear remedial shoes? With shackled soles?"

The doctor was intrigued. He hadn't thought about those awful shoes for decades. In fact, he had forgotten them until Blame had said something.

Blame nodded sagely, and Dr. Sano felt as if the roles were reversed, as if he was the patient.

"I would guess your right foot was pulled into alignment, but your femur was twisted slightly in the process. A simple brace should fix your problem.

Dr. Sano looked down at his hip, and instinctively knew Blame was right.

Blame placed 10 fingers down flat on the desk. "May I leave now? Have I fulfilled my obligation?"

Dr. Sano nodded, relieved that it was finally over. He watched Blame walk through the door and out of the room. He shook his head. Either that man was the sanest person on earth or he was so disturbed their tests could barely scratch the surface.

Dr. Sano pulled out Blame's file and stamped the word ‘FUNCTIONAL’ on the surface.

There we go! This has been fun writing.

If you want to continue this into a Mindcrack Mental AU, then that's fine with me.