shadowsong (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} maiev) wrote,@ 2009-10-09 20:24:00 |
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THIRD PERSON AIM SCENE : therapist to the mob
"Yes, the doctor is in," came a somewhat breathless voice from behind, cutting off whatever the receptionist had to say. A placid smile across her face, Joan stepped into the room and let the door close itself, her free hand tugging at the thin scarf around her neck. She glanced briefly at the patient waiting and the clock at the wall. She was cutting it close with her lunch date, but the accidental run-in with an ex-patient was hardly planned and not exactly something that she welcomed. At least Mr. Bradford seemed to be doing well for himself, and she'd made it just in time for the appointment. "Forgive me for being a little late, I had an errand to run. Let me just get organized in my office a moment. Again, sorry for the delay." The brunette stepped past the man and ducked inside the room beside the front desk, closing it behind her.
their response
"No, no, it's fine," was the response yelled through the faux-oak (it was just a stain that made it look more expensive than it really was) door as Joan went to removing her coat and straightening the room a bit. The room was rather sparse and uncluttered, little else besides a bookshelf, some filing cabinets, a desk, couch and chair occupying the space. A small stack of papers, a notebook were lifted off her desk and tucked under one arm as she flipped through the open planning calendar to the side. "3:30 PM... Gavino, Daniel..." she murmured to herself, but paused, the corners of her mouth falling for a moment as she read the page again with some disdain, "Gavino? Oh, shi--" The buzz of the intercom went off and caused her to jump back from her desk, but Joan gathered herself before her assistant could say anything. "Let him in, Susan." Closing the planner, she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt before taking a seat in her black leather chair to wait, cool smile resuming its position.
their response
The notebook was propped in her lap as she watched the tall man enter the room, her free hand making a sweeping gesture toward the couch, though he really didn't seem to need her to offer it. Joan watched him settle down, doing her best to conceal her wariness about the whole situation. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Daniel. I know we spoke briefly over the phone," which was probably when she should've said "no" instead of having him sit across from her now, but she had clearly been too distracted to realize what was going on at the time to do so. Furthermore, it was her sister's insistance that she at least give the guy a chance that kept her from calling back and cancelling the appointment to give him a referral. But Joan sucked it up, tip of her pen already on the paper, and continued, "But again, I'd like to ask what made you consider beginning therapy."
their response
Typical. Another cynical man trying to make a crack about the use of psychiatry. Joan had to wonder if it was his mother or his wife who'd sent him, because he obviously wasn't here willingly. Still, she didn't let the facade of utter calmness crack as she stared back at him. It wasn't as though this was the first time she'd encountered ignorance in regards to her profession. "Not everyone has issues that stem from childhood, Daniel, though the way and by whom people were raised often reflects upon the way they behave in adulthood. We learn from what came before us, whether we agree with what's taught or not, but as children, we see them as examples and go from there." As for the second comment, she jotted something down quickly before looking back up at him again, "Laundry business. Is it a family occupation?"
their response
At least he'd dropped out of the denial phase quickly -- she'd only asked, despite knowing full well what his surname meant, not just to local society but to her own life, because she found it curious that he'd attempted to lie about himself. Joan nodded as he continued to talk, "Ah. Do you enjoy your work for them, or are you considering taking on your side project as a full time job?" Another test, just to see if there was any truth to it or not. Maybe he was actually working in laundry, maybe that was some kind of code, conscious or unconscious, that he wanted out of what his family was doing. But she waited for his response before jumping to any conclusions.
their response
The double-entendre to that statement was a little bit corny, to say the least, though she carefully refrained from rolling her eyes. "Of course." Though the opportunity to make his quip into an obvious question had arisen, Joan decided not to take the shortcut and be too blunt about it. "You mentioned that it's one of your most successful projects. How does your family feel about your attentions being on other things? Do you have a lot of responsibilities to uphold working for them? Are you close to each other?" It was a rapid fire of questions, but they were all related and it was easier to put them out at once than wait.
their response
The notion of family being at the center of daily life was something she hadn't grown up with. It was a fable in her world, as her parents and siblings had always been individuals stuck together by blood and circumstance. That being the case, his comment about his family almost seemed to be a dig at her, even if Joan realized that he didn't know anything about her. "I attempt not to follow stereotypes and make assumptions about the people I speak to, so forgive me for not coming to that conclusion sooner," she replied, though the phrasing was harsher than her actual tone. Upon realizing the unkindness in her words, she quickly tried to hide her discomfort and regain neutrality. "Your family obviously means a lot to you. You mentioned a sister. Any other siblings? Do you all get along well, or is there some rivalry between you?"
their response
"Human emotion has plenty of place here. But you're paying that two hundred to talk about yourself, not me, so feel free to express yourself in whatever manner you'd like," Joan replied as though it were a rehearsed reaction, and at this point in her career, it probably was. He wasn't the first client to have an attitude toward what she had to say, that it was often a battle to try and keep herself composed and attentive to their needs. "Is your brother older or younger than you? Not that birth order always matters, but it sometimes influences how parents treat their children. In traditional families, the eldest often has a lot expected of them to set an example, and the youngest is babied and the center of the parents' attention. The amount of attention each child receives isn't always intentionally distributed unevenly, but it sometimes happens. How do you feel your parents treated you?"
their response
"I see." Finally, an answer that wasn't riddled with sarcasm or ambiguity. It was easy for anyone to see that mentioning his parents had hit some kind of nerve, enough to make him take her seriously. It was in his body language that they were no longer playing word or head games. Joan, too, shifted in her seat a bit, sitting up and crossing one thin leg over the other while she continued to take notes on what he was saying. "Are you close to them, your parents? Or, were, since you refer to them in the past tense. You seem to admire them a great deal, and I don't doubt that they raised you well or that they loved you. You talk about your siblings' roles in the family. What about yours? Were you always comfortable being in the middle?"
their response
Not a native of the city by any means, Joan had only barely remembered the history of the Gavino family and did a quick calculation in her head. The death of Lorenzo Gavino had been well publicized and made national headlines for a few days in 1992, and she'd been more than old enough to remember the event. So this was the son who'd had his baseball game overshadowed by his father's murder. She didn't have an eidetic memory, so the first name was hardly a tip off, but Joan suddenly felt sorry for asking him the questions. But the pang of pity was brief: she was doing her job, and doing it right. Still, her expression softened in just the slightest of ways, "What did you find that those strengths were, or weren't?"
this log went unfinished.
"Yes, the doctor is in," came a somewhat breathless voice from behind, cutting off whatever the receptionist had to say. A placid smile across her face, Joan stepped into the room and let the door close itself, her free hand tugging at the thin scarf around her neck. She glanced briefly at the patient waiting and the clock at the wall. She was cutting it close with her lunch date, but the accidental run-in with an ex-patient was hardly planned and not exactly something that she welcomed. At least Mr. Bradford seemed to be doing well for himself, and she'd made it just in time for the appointment. "Forgive me for being a little late, I had an errand to run. Let me just get organized in my office a moment. Again, sorry for the delay." The brunette stepped past the man and ducked inside the room beside the front desk, closing it behind her.their response
"No, no, it's fine," was the response yelled through the faux-oak (it was just a stain that made it look more expensive than it really was) door as Joan went to removing her coat and straightening the room a bit. The room was rather sparse and uncluttered, little else besides a bookshelf, some filing cabinets, a desk, couch and chair occupying the space. A small stack of papers, a notebook were lifted off her desk and tucked under one arm as she flipped through the open planning calendar to the side. "3:30 PM... Gavino, Daniel..." she murmured to herself, but paused, the corners of her mouth falling for a moment as she read the page again with some disdain, "Gavino? Oh, shi--" The buzz of the intercom went off and caused her to jump back from her desk, but Joan gathered herself before her assistant could say anything. "Let him in, Susan." Closing the planner, she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt before taking a seat in her black leather chair to wait, cool smile resuming its position.
their response
The notebook was propped in her lap as she watched the tall man enter the room, her free hand making a sweeping gesture toward the couch, though he really didn't seem to need her to offer it. Joan watched him settle down, doing her best to conceal her wariness about the whole situation. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Daniel. I know we spoke briefly over the phone," which was probably when she should've said "no" instead of having him sit across from her now, but she had clearly been too distracted to realize what was going on at the time to do so. Furthermore, it was her sister's insistance that she at least give the guy a chance that kept her from calling back and cancelling the appointment to give him a referral. But Joan sucked it up, tip of her pen already on the paper, and continued, "But again, I'd like to ask what made you consider beginning therapy."
their response
Typical. Another cynical man trying to make a crack about the use of psychiatry. Joan had to wonder if it was his mother or his wife who'd sent him, because he obviously wasn't here willingly. Still, she didn't let the facade of utter calmness crack as she stared back at him. It wasn't as though this was the first time she'd encountered ignorance in regards to her profession. "Not everyone has issues that stem from childhood, Daniel, though the way and by whom people were raised often reflects upon the way they behave in adulthood. We learn from what came before us, whether we agree with what's taught or not, but as children, we see them as examples and go from there." As for the second comment, she jotted something down quickly before looking back up at him again, "Laundry business. Is it a family occupation?"
their response
At least he'd dropped out of the denial phase quickly -- she'd only asked, despite knowing full well what his surname meant, not just to local society but to her own life, because she found it curious that he'd attempted to lie about himself. Joan nodded as he continued to talk, "Ah. Do you enjoy your work for them, or are you considering taking on your side project as a full time job?" Another test, just to see if there was any truth to it or not. Maybe he was actually working in laundry, maybe that was some kind of code, conscious or unconscious, that he wanted out of what his family was doing. But she waited for his response before jumping to any conclusions.
their response
The double-entendre to that statement was a little bit corny, to say the least, though she carefully refrained from rolling her eyes. "Of course." Though the opportunity to make his quip into an obvious question had arisen, Joan decided not to take the shortcut and be too blunt about it. "You mentioned that it's one of your most successful projects. How does your family feel about your attentions being on other things? Do you have a lot of responsibilities to uphold working for them? Are you close to each other?" It was a rapid fire of questions, but they were all related and it was easier to put them out at once than wait.
their response
The notion of family being at the center of daily life was something she hadn't grown up with. It was a fable in her world, as her parents and siblings had always been individuals stuck together by blood and circumstance. That being the case, his comment about his family almost seemed to be a dig at her, even if Joan realized that he didn't know anything about her. "I attempt not to follow stereotypes and make assumptions about the people I speak to, so forgive me for not coming to that conclusion sooner," she replied, though the phrasing was harsher than her actual tone. Upon realizing the unkindness in her words, she quickly tried to hide her discomfort and regain neutrality. "Your family obviously means a lot to you. You mentioned a sister. Any other siblings? Do you all get along well, or is there some rivalry between you?"
their response
"Human emotion has plenty of place here. But you're paying that two hundred to talk about yourself, not me, so feel free to express yourself in whatever manner you'd like," Joan replied as though it were a rehearsed reaction, and at this point in her career, it probably was. He wasn't the first client to have an attitude toward what she had to say, that it was often a battle to try and keep herself composed and attentive to their needs. "Is your brother older or younger than you? Not that birth order always matters, but it sometimes influences how parents treat their children. In traditional families, the eldest often has a lot expected of them to set an example, and the youngest is babied and the center of the parents' attention. The amount of attention each child receives isn't always intentionally distributed unevenly, but it sometimes happens. How do you feel your parents treated you?"
their response
"I see." Finally, an answer that wasn't riddled with sarcasm or ambiguity. It was easy for anyone to see that mentioning his parents had hit some kind of nerve, enough to make him take her seriously. It was in his body language that they were no longer playing word or head games. Joan, too, shifted in her seat a bit, sitting up and crossing one thin leg over the other while she continued to take notes on what he was saying. "Are you close to them, your parents? Or, were, since you refer to them in the past tense. You seem to admire them a great deal, and I don't doubt that they raised you well or that they loved you. You talk about your siblings' roles in the family. What about yours? Were you always comfortable being in the middle?"
their response
Not a native of the city by any means, Joan had only barely remembered the history of the Gavino family and did a quick calculation in her head. The death of Lorenzo Gavino had been well publicized and made national headlines for a few days in 1992, and she'd been more than old enough to remember the event. So this was the son who'd had his baseball game overshadowed by his father's murder. She didn't have an eidetic memory, so the first name was hardly a tip off, but Joan suddenly felt sorry for asking him the questions. But the pang of pity was brief: she was doing her job, and doing it right. Still, her expression softened in just the slightest of ways, "What did you find that those strengths were, or weren't?"
this log went unfinished.