Getting Comfortable (Doneele at least)

[Doctor Schmitt]

Sharing a space with someone else always raises some sort of friction. Siblings, roommates, colleagues, couples, gardeners on adjacent lawns, squirrels in the same tree, two petrol stations on the same corner, differing ice cream trucks in the same neighborhood in summer, Dick Cheney and his hunting partner -

- It was to be expected, though, it was the human condition. Part of the natural experience to co-habituate with another human being, to learn about them, to compromise and to eventually star in a sitcom about the tumultuous early days with said other person that admittedly don't do fantastically in the first season but really pick up when they introduce Matt LeBlanc as the new neighbor and adds a much needed spice to it. Ah yes, true friendship.

Then there was Doctor Schmitt and Doneele Monolayre: The School Psychiatrist and the Head Nurse. In the same wing. Working and practically living together. That was a combination that had so much potential for disaster - given Schmitt's volatile optimism and eccentricities, and latent urges/alternate personality, and Doneele's.........Doneele-ness. It was a match made in Heaven. or Hell. Or Both. Or Norway.

Either way, moving in, the good Doctor had a few...predictions about how this arrangement would work. Either they'd find some sort of common interest or hobby that would forge a nice pleasant bond, or they might largely ignore eachot-......Doneele would ignore Schmitt, rather, or maybe some sort of feud would break out. It was like Shrodinger's Hospital Wing. It could be ALL of those until someone witnessed.

Long story short, Schmitt was dancing. Up and down the Wing, with his staff, while the varied walls sang out, quite perfectly, the instrumentals and supporting vocals to The Barber of Seville. Yes, he was at the tail end of his Opera binge, though there was no foreseeable end in sight.

[Doneele Monolayre]

Doneele's head turned left and right as needed while she watched her... associate run around like a stupid loon and screech out words (a song?) at the top of his lungs.

She placed her right elbow on the counter and raised her hand to place its back against her cheek.

Her violet eyes swiveled back and forth, back and forth. Her heavy eyelashes, made even more voluminous with mascara, came to a close slowly and then parted again. She fought the urge to yawn.

Morgan Pendragon, darling naive child that she was, took these two to the Hospital Wing (although it seemed more like Morgan and Schmitt pranced rather than walked once Schmitt's manic behavior infected her). She showed them all the important little cubbyholes and et cetera and et cetera. It was of overall little importance, as Doneele would undoubtedly figure things out as she went... Anyway, it seemed she would seriously be spending her time and territory with--

--Her eyes moved left to right. She pursed her lips--

--this imbecile. This hyper imbecile. Maybe she would have to kill him. Her fingers twitched remotely as he rapped this cane against the stone wall in a jungle beat.

But if she killed him, then she would obviously be the first suspect. Apparently, police worked much better than before. Making a drunk have an unfortunate accident or go for an unseemly swim in his birthday suit or having him choose a dragon's cave to rest in were endings that appeared much more suspicious than they used to.

She heard a loud crashing noise. This buffoon was more hyperactive than any child she ever saw.

She closed her eyes. So... right. Killing would be trouble (and everyone know knew that "cardiac arrest" (as Darren called it) for a wizard was quite possibly a result of something else). Poisoning would be obvious.

Bloody hell. Ah, yes, there was that option.... As the nurse, it was her duty to issue depressants as necessary. Potions were her specialty. Not depressants as to "make one depressed" necessarily but to make one sleepy or calm down. Darren would go on a rant about autonomic nervous this-or-that mumbo jumbo, but results were all that mattered.

As the sound of many things crashing and clanging to the floor abruptly reached her ears, Doneele's eyes popped open.

"Dr. Schmitt," she said suddenly, jumping to her feet as her eyes quickly searched for him. "Please, let me get you something to calm you down." As in, he should give her permission before she stuffed something down his throat. "Most certainly, if you run around with such robust energy all day, you won't be able to stay awake past supper!" As if she cared.

Her heels tapped moderately against the stone floor as she shifted her posture, raven waves rippling heavily over her bare shoulders.

[Doctor Schmitt]

Schmitt's train of thought was a disjointed and complex jigsaw of impulses latticed with intentions and a hint of his formal training. The second he heard Doneele's voice, he stopped in his tracks, and ended his enchantments on the walls and such, the following silence rather deafening in comparison to the cacophony he'd been creating. A quick gesture of his staff replaced the chamberpots he'd been using for the percussion, and another drew out a table and two chairs from the side to rest infront of him. Preparations were important, after all. Pad of paper, quill, hat! - Wait, no hat. Not needed.

The long and short of it was that when Doneele rounded the corner to find the Doctor, the tall German would be sitting quite comfortably and silently at a small end table, with a seat open for her with a sheet of paper. His spindly fingers were laced together, and his bright expression focused on the dark, buxom nurse. His face of course held his wide "the world is fan-diddily-tastic" smile, and his cigarette was freshly lit and wafting its fumes....well...directly upwards. No strange little shapes or something like that.

No no, he was waiting. Some little bout of clarity had popped its way into place, and now that it was just the two of them - Morgan being gone, delightful as she was, this was the prime time - he thought it best to have a little chat. Though he was cheery as ever, there was something different in his eyes. The fool was gone - that 'eye of the storm' she'd encountered in the Headmaster's Office was back in full force. He could dro the act, at least for a little while. Though, it was less of an act being dropped and more of a time for seriousness. And it was less of a time for seriousness and more of a necessary encounter. And it was less of a

Focus.

"Righto - appreciate the concern Nurse, or Ms. Monolayre, or Doneele, really the formality's up to you. But now that it's just us, I think we should talk. Really quick and all that - no need for me to try and pry all your secrets out into the open. Yet. I'm sure most things you'll tell me in due time. Or not at all. BUT to ease along the move in process, I think we should get to know each other, hm? Please, have a seat. Or stand. Or hop. Up to you. Either way, let's trade words."

With that, he reached into a robe pocket and drew out a pair of rectangular-framed spectacles, slipping them on easily, while taking a drag from his cigarette. His smile withdrew slightly - the sudden change in demeanor would be, to most people, quite unnerving if they were familiar with the Doctor's antics. Mind over matter and all that - when he needed to be serious...well...he became serious. He looked right at home in a library or other sort of lounge, ready to analyze and prescribe.

And for the moment, Doneele was his subject, voluntary or not.

[Doneele Monolayre]

Ah, he calmed down. Doneele was visibly relieved, even though she traded the manic buffoon for the serious interrogator.

Interrogations, she could do.

The important thing was that he finally stopped being a nuisance--and she had scant to do but ask a question!

He smiled at her a little freakily, but it did not quite stroke his eyes. This was serious Schmitt.

"Doneele, please," she said politely, sitting down at the chair opposite him.

He wore spectacles... Peculiar. He was done being childish. He may have made a mistake by suggesting she could ask questions as well, but... she would save that card for later.

"You look like you have something you want to ask me," she stated coolly, turning her attention back to him as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled.

[Doctor Schmitt]

"Ja, indeed I do."

After that affirmation, he was silent for a few moments, and watched her. He was not precisely still - now he brought his fingers up to pinch his cigarette between his middle and index finger, taking a puff every few moments. He was evaluating her in earnest now, without fear of Morgan's prying eyes. He'd already accepted her aesthetic value - it was something she was well aware of - given how she carried herself and acted. It was almost certain that she used her beauty as a weapon - or a tool to her own betterment at the very least. Clever. And from what he had observed, she very much had the air of a wolf in sheep's clothing, in certain regards. A twinge of annoyance here or there, vague hints as to what she was thinking.

Finally, after moments of stoicism that might have lasted an eternity for all an onlooker might have known, he smiled. It was a grim, thin-lipped gesture, not really meant to put anyone at ease but rather a competitive smile. In his mind, a chessboard was laid out on the table between them, and he was moving the first pawn. His madness was quiet for a time, and even his Other was silent - it was curious as well. Schmitt leaned forward, picked up his pad and quill, and began to write, his eyes never leaving the ebon enigma infront of him.

"Vhy are you here, Doneele? I very much doubt zat being a Nurse has always been on your agenda - vhy are you here at zis school?"

Pawn moved, her turn. Schmitty was on break.

The Doctor was in.

[Doneele Monolayre]

Doneele paused in her movements, calmly frozen as she stared right back at the doctor.

His voice. A change in his voice pattern? His movements. Even his body language seemed different. She doubted the manic fool could act this well since he was so excitable, but perhaps the manic fool was the act...? How tiresome. That man had to have quite a bit of stamina.

It was as though water had been drawn from a dark well in him and had been poured over his obnoxiously sparkling soul.

She observed him as he observed her and waited it out, utterly relaxed.

He smile seemed most unlike the Schmitt she endured for the past hour or so. How peculiar. She coolly returned it and subtly shifted her posture to mirror his. He began writing without looking at the muggle parchment. Honestly, he would leave scribbled words everywhere if he did that.

An accent. How.... fishy. A heavy accent, too.

"I was looking for someone, and Professor O'Conner directed me to the acting headmistress. Since I planned to stick around, I figured a job would be good, and there happened to be a position open for me..." Her voice seemed to curl inward. If her words were a lie, then who would ever be the wiser?

"So, doctor," she purred, pausing for a moment as she contemplated her query. She had a pole (a position), a line (a personal meeting of sorts), and a hook (a question), so why not fish?

"What are you?"

[Doctor Schmitt]

Schmitt's inner competitive spirit rather enjoyed the chess motiff he'd established, gauging every word out of the woman's mouth. Evaluating, judging, estimating. They were testing eachother, and she had met him with....half-truths, if anything. There were little indications that her words were not without truth, but certainly not the whole truth. So he had to ponder what was truth, and what was fiction. That was something he'd deliberate on later - his conscious mind was focused on the woman, freewriting all the while. It was a good use of both parts of the mind, utilizing as much as possible. The working theory was that upon review, his notes might reveal something that he might have otherwise missed. Sometimes he caught something, sometimes not. Oh well.

Schmitt noted she was playing minor defense, mimicking him, working as a counter. His Other was grinning - he enjoyed her - appreciated her...moxie. If the game was to be half truths, then those would be the rules of engagement. His false smile showed some teeth now.

"Vhat - not who? Interesting question, Doneele. Very astute. I am a Psyciatrist and, admittedly, not entirely human, no matter how hard I wish zat were not true.. However, all you need to concern yourself vith is my interest in protecting ze children of zis school." She was not the only one who could play at half-truths and unspoken secrets. Perhaps verbal fencing was a better metaphor than chess, however his hand continued scribbling while he kept his gaze on her, rarely blinking.

It was growing cooler in the room. His Other sat on the sidelines, watching, miming bringing something to his lips and puffing in synchronous with Schmitt's slow ministrations on his cigarette, the smoke rising in slow, tired circles.

"Should I consider you a threat to zese children, Doneele? I am vell-versed in manhunts and ze damages zey can entail, but collateral damage is out of ze question when it comes to ze students."

[Doneele Monolayre]

Hook caught fish. Big fucking fish.

Doneele was actually really surprised by his response--she had not expected him to answer or else deflect it or say that he was a wizard and psychiatrist or something. She really had no idea that he was not completely human, but she supposed he could be part fae or something. Was he not too tall?

Well, now, she was curious.

Her expression did not even twitch, though. She acted as if she knew it all along, and this was the response she expected.

Perhaps part giant since he was so tall, but was he not too keen for that?

Well, she considered herself not entirely human, but she was a born witch, and that was a completely different story...

He smoked slowly. Was this a behavior to control his unsettled heart?

"I have no interest in the children, Dr. Schmitt." And no one would hunt her down. It had been over two centuries since she was wanted by any government, as far as she knew. Furthermore, that had all occurred in England.

Her turn.

"What are you after," she purred, voice low as she maintained an open posture, "Dr. Schmitt?"

[Doctor Schmitt]

The woman knew how to bluff. If anything, that made her even more dangerous. Anyway, yes, the poison bait had been tossed out. Hopefully that little trivia factoid would keep her more preoccupied with him than anyone else in the school. Given their forced proximity, and this little spat, hopefully he would make himself irresistible...at least in some regard. As for the manhunt...well...he didn't care if anyone hunted her, or who she might be hunting. If the students and bystanders were safe...well...that was all he cared about. Still, he kept writing, and staring....and smoking.

It was worth noting that his Other was liking her more and more. Warped bastard.

'Pace, love, und ze American Dream?" He chuckled, quirking a brow after her question and her emphasis on his title. She was looking like the cat who caught the canary. "But truthfully, my dear, I'm simply here to help. That is all I have ever been after."

Half truths and strange twists of words....his Other really did like her.

[Doneele Monolayre]

Perhaps he was part veela, although he honestly did not seem pretty enough...

It was true enough that she was hunting Teagan Monolayre in a sense, but she had already admitted to looking for someone. Not that it was any of his business.

He stared at her for quite a while, but she did not mind. She stared right back. One way to simulate love was to maintain direct eye contact, after all. More importantly, being the first to look away would peg her as being submissive to him, which was not her intended affect in this situation. Perhaps another time.

Speaking queerly more suave than before, he said he was here to help. What was he, part demon? Doneele figured that was her role.

She waited. He did not ask her a question, even though she passed the baton to him, as it were. The corners of her lush lips curled lightly, as if to become more seductive than before.

This was no longer an interrogation.... on his part, at least.

"You're saying you're here to help me," asked Doneele, slightly twisting his words, "Dr. Schmitt?"

[Doctor Schmitt]

"Well, I am ze school counselor now aren't I? If people come to me, I am obligated to help as much as I am capable." He never explicitly said that he was here to help HER, now did he? However, that might indicate that she could use an ally of sorts in whatever she was seeking. And her presumption of part demon was not technically horribly far from the truth. However, curiosity was the name of the game, a game he had no intention of losing. His writing slowed greatly though. His gaze maintained, even as he tapped out his cigarette - drawing out and lighting its replacement with one hand. Total autonomous control of his own body.

She was playing the seductress - he had suspected that was one of the masks she was used to wearing. In fact, that was one of the first conclusions he had reached: that this Doneele Monolayre was a woman who wore many masks. He would have to consult his records though...he knew the name Monolayre from somewhere. Possibly this school, or elsewhere in his travels. Could it be a relation of some kind? It was an interesting enough last name, certainly unique. He could deliberate about that once he had access to his records.

She was latched on - hook line and sinker. It was a somewhat masochistic way of trawling for information, yes, but better he play accomplice to this......well he didn't quite have a term for her yet, but butter him than the others. It was that creeping apologetic martyr complex...the abomination should suffer the slings and blows....

Tag out, Schmitt...give me the reigns eh? I'll get her screaming the truth. Don't care how much of a minx she is, you know my way with people. I can make anyone talk... The Other wasn't so silent now. This conversation could not go on much longer if he wanted to end on a high note...but, then, it might be the better outcome...oh a pain was building up in the back of the Doctor's mind, the Other rattling against its cage.

[Doneele Monolayre]

Haha. He side-stepped her trap. Cute.

Doneele watched and waited, remotely perplexed as the man slowed. The writing dwindled to a crawl, and he switched out his cigarette. Even his puffing seemed to slow. Was he trying to make some kind of decision?

Her monstrous long finger nails began rapping against a fleshy thigh as she waited.

The doctor seemed to be conflicted, but Doneele had other things to do today than flirt and tease and taunt. No, this was not the Apocalypse. She was employed, and it was legal, too. Besides, there would be plenty of time for playing later.

"Well, Dr. Schmitt," she said coolly, standing up from her chair as she let it move across the stone floor, "if you don't mind, I do have a Hospital Wing to familiarize myself with, after all...."

[Doctor Schmitt]

And with that, the inquisition was paused for now. It was a partial relief in a way - he needed to be alone to get a hold of himself and he had no desire for anyone to witness that sort of struggle, let alone this Monolayre. As she stood, Schmitt removed his spectacles and replaced them into his pocket, concealing his quill and notes just as quickly into the the myriad of pockets he had on him. His stoic expression was maintained until he stood up right, stretched once, and then as if nothing had happened, his wide grin was back, the chaos resumed in his eyes.

"Indeedy! Can't have you getting lost if someone comes in with tentacles on their hands! Or in their hair. Or teeth. Or ears. Or with a case of the Mondays - dreadful disease that, just awful. Positively terminal in some. BUT THIS - THIS was an exceptional little chat eh?! At least I think it was. Sort of zoned out there near the..ah...beginning. Or middle. Or before we even started. I could use a snack. Do you want a snack? DON'T CARE I'M BRINGING BACK WHATEVER I CAN FIND IN THE KITCHEN!"

And with a hop and a skip, the Doctor was positively prancing down the Wing, whistling 'As the Parade Passes By" from the acclaimed musical "Hello Dolly." He had just made a fantastic new Frienemy.

[Doneele Monolayre]

Schmitt gathered his things and then switched back into nutzo-Schmitt. Apparently, he consented to her plan. He jabbered away and even explained his queerer-than-usual behavior at the end as him "zoning out." As far as she could tell, he was most definitely mentally present....

Doneele just watched quietly as he shouted about, taking a note from Teagan's book and seeing that speaking would only be a waste of words.

She suspected this cheery behavior was the act rather than the serious Schmitt. If she was right, then she had power over him to a certain degree...

She would figure him out one of these days.

With a snort, she turned and sashayed over to the medicine cabinets. Pulling out her key (Who would dare leave such things unlocked, especially with children mulling about?), she opened all of them on one wall and stood back, memorizing the contents as she could.

As a curly dark lock of hair drifted into her eye, she brushed it back.

It looked like someone went through everything a couple of months ago, but there were plenty of expired medicines needing removal. And so, her long fingers deftly reached between her breasts (What? It was an excellent hiding place) and into a small pocket to pull out a wand much longer than a muggle could logically see possible.

Well, such was the beauty of charms and expanding the internal space of dwellings and bags.

She flicked her 15" hemlock-and-dragon heartstring wand at the innards of the poor expired vials, making them vanish (evanesco was one of the few transfiguration spells she could do) as she uncapped them.

This took a few minutes (she was rather concerned about what was taking Schmitt so long--Perhaps the food was located far away?--but quite happy for peace and freedom from him).

With a final flick, she shuffled the empty vials and lids over to the sink area.

She slipped her wand back into the pocket between her breasts and realized that, with the more modest attire she would have to wear (It was practically a sin to hide her assets), she would need a new hiding place for it.

Damn.

[Doctor Schmitt]

Hours passed. To try and detail all of the Doctor's exploits in the interim hours would require a full few tomes and countless police reports and psychological evaluations. Suffice it to say that a list of the immediate effects of this day's exploits would be:

The Kitchen Elves all now knew the entire musical score to "Into the Woods, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum," and most of the other Sondheim Broadway Musicals. They'd also been taught to dance.

A number of Moving Picture subjects had been gathered into a debate hall portrait and encouraged to discuss the merits and shortcomings of their respective artists.

A Panda-Painted Rhinoceros was performing Equestrian routines out on the Grounds, practicing without its rider.

A school ghost known for being a flippant jackass was now weeping in a girl's restroom.

But night was falling, and without a real apartment to go home to, the Doctor decided that he would make up his lodgings in the Hospital Wing. True to his word, he was humming along carrying with him a myriad of wrapped foods and drinks and snacks wrapped up in a sack tossed over his shoulder. He passed by the beds, stopped by the one or two children actually interned in some of the beds for whatever reason (dropping a sweet or two at their bedside tables entirely on accident) before heading towards the offices. Doneele was likely off wrapped up in some chap's sheets or somesuch and it would be good for an adult to be in the Wing at all times.

He.

Had.

No.

Idea.