Mind Games
Log Title
Summary: Eve shrinks Nigel's head.
Date: 0 BCH (onoez)
Related Logs: None

Psychiatry Office Genesis - Deck 13
1 BCH 2235 Souls

This room is decorated in a deep, rich green color. Some plants are in pots here, including one climbing Ivy on a small trellis which stretches up the side of a wooden bookcase set against one wall, filled with textbooks. There is a desk in front of a few file cabinets in the corner of the room farthest from the door, while opposite the bookshelves there is a comfortable looking leather reclining setee with a large leather chair next to it with an unobtrusive table nearby with a box of disposable tissues on it.
----—< Condition 3 - Duty Area >-----
Contents: Eve Nigel
Exits: [O] Out

Eve is seated at her desk, a file open in front of her which she's scanning from behind a pair of glasses. There's a cup of coffee, still steaming, near at hand and a carafe poised in case of refills. As the door opens, she glances up over the top of the tortoise shell rimmed lenses.

Nigel ambles into the office, in his fatigues minus the outer shirt. On his fair face is a look of utter skepticism, one red brow arched slightly higher than the other over a pair of narrowed green eyes. He pauses just inside the door, clasps his hands behind his back, and says, "Lieutenant Sloan?" He stares at the woman at her desk, expression shifting to one of challenge. Typical post-adolescent hubris.

Eve peels off her glasses as she shifts to her feet. The smile on her lips is a warm one, despite the look she receives. "That would be me, yes. Please. Come in. Have a seat. You must be Crewman Stephanos." The file she was looking at, likely his, is closed with a nonchalant gesture. "Coffee drinker, Stephanos?" She motions to the carafe and an empty mug should he be so inclined.

"Yeah, with a splash of whiskey," Nigel returns, lowering himself into a flop on the setee, kicking up his feet and staring at the ceiling. "Just kidding." He shoots her an impish grin out of the corner of his eyes, folding his hands behind his head. "No coffee for me, Lt. Sloan. But thanks." He lowers his eyelids, crossing his feet at the ankle - but he doesn't stop talking. "So, I know why I'm here and I know it was stupid to break a guy's jaw. But I'm off the firewater, I've kicked the devil juice, I've stopped boozin' and losin' so. You can just sign off on my file and I'll be out of your hair."

Eve crosses over to the chair next to the seatee, easing down in it and setting her coffee cup on the side table. "You can call me Evelyn, or doctor if you prefer. As long as I can call you Nigel in return. Simpler that way. Less saluting. Mind if I take notes? My memory is horrid and I don't want to insult you by having to ask the same question twice.." No mention of his file, or any such signature being that easily forthcoming.

Nigel's eyes pop open, but they remain on the ceiling. "Take as many notes as you want, Evelyn," he replies, remaining fairly still. "They're going to be boring. I've led a pretty run-of-the-mill life. I like my family, I make friends easily, all that." He shifts then, propping himself up by his elbow as he faces Eve. "Unless you ask me about my sex life. Then the notes should be pretty interesting." He flashes his teeth in a broad grin.

Eve smiles simply right back at that broad grin. "Should I grab a second pad, Nigel?" She asks simply, but apparently the question was rhetorical, for she continues. "Its not my job to sit here and drill you for details that might inevitably point the big red arrow at the root of all your problems. The truth is, Nigel, we all have problems. I'm merely here as a more productive outlet than assaulting your crewmates. You're welcome to talk about what you like, if that is your sex life, then so be it."

Nigel's grin fades slightly, and he turns back onto his back, once again staring at the ceiling. "I was drunk. Stupid shit happens when you're drunk, Evelyn. I don't just go around punching people out willy-nilly, right?" He pushes a hand through the front of his regulation-short red hair. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do in a shrink's office."

Eve doesn't even balk at being called a shrink, she'd go blue in the face taking up the position that the slang for her profession is derrogatory. Likely, she'll even call herself that from time to time. "I guess that would depend on what willy or nilly said to you first. So what was the fight about to begin with?" She asks, dragging a pad of paper into her lap, then reaching for her coffee while she waits for his answer.

"I draw, right?" Nigel begins, folding his hands on his belly. "Realism, surrealism, dots and lines, all that shit. I don't go boasting about it, I don't go showing it off, whatever. Well, frakking Specialist Georgios gets a glimpse of one of my more abstract pieces, and makes this big thing about how it looks like a penis." He rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "I can deal with that, right? He's just an idiot who's pissed that I actually got a date with the new recruit he's had his eye on." Waving his hand, he continues. "But he just gets stupid about it. I mean, writing 'Pencil Dick' on my locker in frakking PERMANENT MARKER. Pencil dick doesn't even mean someone who draws dicks! I tried to keep my cool, Evelyn. And I never drink anymore, but - this guy had just gotten shipped a bottle of that real good Caprican whiskey, right? It was the first time I'd drank in a long while." That's a bald-faced lie, according to his file. "And then I hear Georgios is in the mess hall, spreading more bullshit about why I'm subconsciously drawing penises. So I get up, drunk as a frakking skunk, and shut him up. Literally. They had to wire his mouth shut." He actually grins at the memory.

Eve unclips the pen from her shirt pocket, making descrete notations on the piece of paper while he talks. Her other hand is busy, lifting the coffee cup to her lips that she drinks from distractedly. "How do you think you would have handled it if you were sober?" She asks, not even touching on the lie, for the moment. Her dark eyes seek his profile, studying the lines of his face silently.

Nigel shrugs one shoulder against the cushion of the setee. "I don't know. I probably would have held out a little longer before I punched him, and I probably wouldn't have punched him as hard." Reaching up, he rubs at his nose until it's red. "I don't think there's anything wrong with giving someone a black eye if they deserve it, Doc. I mean, they've gotta really deserve it, and Georgios did."

Eve leans back into her chair, her voice entirely conversational, as she switches topics a bit. "What is it you like about drawing, Nigel?" Its a light tone she uses, as if they are kicking back and playing the get to know you game, only its entirely one sided. The doctor asks, but never seems to answer.

"Well, Evelyn," Nigel begins, suddenly remembering that he's trying to be sardonic here, "I guess I would have to say it's all the tail I get for appearing sensitive and mysterious." He moves his hands back behind his head, folding them there to make a fleshy cushion. "Really, I don't know. I'm good at it. Lily's got her computers, I've got my art. Everyone needs a hobby." His tone is flippant, almost self-deprecating.

Eve can't crack a smirk at that, it would be unprofessional, but there is a spark of amusement lighting in her eyes. "We are all driven to do things, in effort to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex, if not, women would never subject themselves to high heeled shoes. But before you said you're never boastful about it. So you do it as an outlet. What makes it different then drinking?"

Nigel mulls over Eve's musings about women for a moment, a grin twitching the corner of his lips as he shifts his head slightly to regard her. When she asks the next question, he shrugs again. "I don't know. Drinking's kind of a social thing, drawing, not so much. Drinking gets me out of my head, drawing gets me into it." He puffs out his cheeks, letting go of a long breath of air.

Eve makes another scratch or two on the paper, likely if anyone were to get ahold of her notes, they wouldn't be able to read them anyways. "So the question becomes, what is it in your head, you're trying to avoid?" Its one of those poignat questions, that's so simply delivered it could very well be innocent.

"Hey, I walked right into that one," Nigel grumbles, turning his gaze away to stare up at the ceiling once more. "I don't know. I don't think I have anything too crazy rattling around in there, really." He frowns, but it fades swiftly as he comes up with another quip. "Maybe it /is/ penises."

Eve clicks the top of her pen, withdrawing the tip just as the man reclining before her withdraws once again. "I think that's enough torture for one day, Nigel. What do you think? I do have a bit of homework for you though. I want you to draw me something. Anything really, I'm not particular. But I want it to be something you're /proud/ of."

"Uh," Nigel says, flopping his legs over the side of the settee to lift himself into a sitting position. "All right, I guess. Sure." His grin is slightly sheepish as he stands.

Eve unfolds herself to stand as well, the pad of paper tucked under her arm with the writing obscured. "I expect I'll see you next time you're off duty, yes? Have a good evening, Nigel."

Nigel rakes a hand through his hair again. "Sure thing, Evelyn." Completely non-committal, but then, he really has no choice.

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