You'll Catch The Crazy

That particular wall which Nemo had deemed worthy of being stared at for the entirety of that unpleasant afternoon had been painted such a shade as to accentuate every fleck of crystal blue within his irises, and thus effectively giving his lively eyes the appearance of that of a storybook oracle. He likely would have found it amusing, had he been made aware of the effect. Instead, he remained were he stood, jumping repeatedly from the polished hospital floors. He no longer held any true control over his being as it squirmed around him; his hyper consciousness simply would not allow it. So he jumped, twisting his wrists in unorganized rotations at his sides.

While he'd resided within the Psychiatric word only for the duration of the day as part of the ‘follow up’ that the healer who had come to his aid at the dawn of the month had insisted, he truly belonged in his setting. No longer was he a blatant smudge of orange across a canvas of pastels, but a suiting grey - and it made him unbearably anxious.

Cue: A Healer

Khaat was making rounds and doing her best to take over for healers that just weren't able to work because of the aggravating illness that caused that frustrating itch.

Brian usually accompanied her in certain sections of the hospital, and this was one of them. But today, he had been called down to the Emergency room because of someone who had taken some very bizarre little illegal potions that had made their magic completely out of control. She let him deal with the wonky magic issues and she went about her rounds. Rarely did the patients make trouble, so she rarely felt fearful.


She went into the psych ward's nursing station and made a check on who was there and who was not. She picked up Nemo's file and read his record while she sipped on her mug of french roast. When she finished catching up on the file, she went to see Nemo. She opened the door and went in.


"Hello," she said casually. "I'm Khaat. I know I'm not the healer that worked with you. I'm taking over for her today. How are you feeling?"

Amongst the ordinary objects that blurred and whirled around his field of vision, Khaat appeared to materialize before him in that small room. Nemo spied the woman's familiar face and paired with it what he knew of her history. His thoughts were quick-moving; carrying throughout his mind a surplus of both useful and tedious information. Chief Warlock. Lupin. Heavy influence on the Ministry. Holds a position of high power within the hospital (though could not recall precisely what rank she had been given).
Baribe, he decided, pinning the nickname to Khaat, just as he had with all else whom he came in contact with.

He continued to jump in place, never slowing his pace, though he would occasionally lift his right arm to rake his fingernails across the hidden flesh of the side of his diaphragm: a patch of flesh which had become almost unbearable in the way that it itched. But he had paid it no further mind than a good scratch or two. He had far more important things to rid of; such as the damned followup appointment.

"Mortimer," Nemo greeted her, but did not turn to meet her eyes. Rather, he jumped.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled. She wondered where the devil he was getting the energy to just keep jumping. The staff said he had been at it for quite awhile. He made her tired just by watching him. She wasn't even sure he was aware he was doing it., in all honesty. There was something about it that made it seem like it was more of a compulsion than a voluntary action.

"Mortimer," she said thoughtfully, "I see you have one of our rather plain rooms. That must be a bit boring. Tell me the sorts of things you like so that maybe I can get it for you." She was hoping there was something he was interested in. And right now, she didn't care if it was an old muggle movie. She knew that was generally forbidden but if it helped him to settle a bit, it would be a plus.

The careful, calming tone which she'd refereed to him with had not gone unnoticed by Nemo. It was a method that one often utilized when speaking to a child, or someone particularly temperamental. Being the latter, Nemo did not take offense; it was merely another of the unnecessary details that he'd noted and stored away that afternoon.

In response to her offer, Nemo shook his hands out at his sides,and turned his head a fraction towards her, as though he feared it would be considered his forfeit, should he provide her with his undivided attention. And from his parted lips did spill the list of things which he desired and had thought up at the mention of making him comfortable, "Liquor, sedatives, a deck of tarot cards, any vinyl Foriegner album, my wand," he gasped for breath, before elaborating on of his requests in particular, "the healer who revived me confiscated my wand because of Ministry 'protocol', and I haven't been able to duel in a month." Pained reluctance rang clear as he'd explained that he'd had to go without his outlet.

With no means of releasing his energy, it had begun to feel as though someone else entirely had been locked within his body and had taken hold of the wheel. "He said if I passed the test I could have it back," Nemo added as an afterthought, moving his fingernails across his t-shirt clad torso once more.

"Hm," Khaat said, the list truly amusing her. "The only difficult things on that list might be the Foreigner album. And your wand. Much as they won't like me for it, I could do the others." She sent for her assistant, and much to the dissatisfaction of some of her own healers, her assistant went off to follow through with Khaat's specific instructions. Hopefully, her godfather could find the LP without much difficulty. If there was a muggle who still owned one, he'd get it.

Hannah brought a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses, a deck of tarot cards, and a dosage of sleeping potion. One that was not going to collide with the firewhiskey. She also had Hannah bring her a bottle of lotion to stop that infernal itching for him. She knew how maddening that was.

"Well," Khaat said, motioning Hannah to leave them alone. "Three out of five isn't bad. For now. Will firewhiskey do?" She poured one for him and one for herself and handed him one.

He was astounded by her extensive compliance. It was not often that anyone in any position of power higher than his own paid him such care as to provide him with all that he starved for. Even those with whom he'd become closely acquainted - some may have called them friends, but he had not yet grown comfortable with the title - had never met up to his demands in such a manner.

He stopped in place - or rather, his body halted, for he no longer possessed any true control over his manic personality - and collapsed heavily in the chair nearest to him. It appeared that the promise of relief from his discomfort had provided him with at least some form of calm. However, the toes of his boots proceeded to drum noisily against the floor, unable to remain entirely still despite his decision to sit.

Nemo made no effort to reply to Khaat's inquiry of his beverage preference, for in truth he would have consumed anything at the time that contained alcohol. His fits of thirst were quite like those of a heavy smoker; ever present in the absence of his next fix, and squirming within his core; coiling around his every vital organ. Instead, Nemo reached for the glass that he had been offered, and immediately set to work in draining it dry. An action which, in all likelihood, did not support his cause.

She was glad to see the excessive mania start to drop. She refilled his glass and took a sip of her own.

"You know," she said, sitting and gracefully crossing one long leg over the other, "you don't have to live with this sort of extreme in your life if you don't want to. You have advantages the muggles do not. We do have a potion that works on body chemistry imbalances that will help restore a sense of balance. It isnt' a cure all, but, it does stop the extremes." She had had a few patients that preferred to not take the potion because they truly enjoyed the extra energy when they had "up days." No amount of explaining seemed to help, not even knowing that it didn't make anyone numb to emotions but merely kept the extremes from being quite so extreme.

"Oh, and by the way, you don't have to have that aggravating itch without end either, if you'd rather be without it. I can't get rid of the rash, but I can stop it from being nearly so annoying."

Though Nemo (nor those whom he antagonized with his antics on a daily basis) had never thought himself a reserved being, the discussion of his psychological disadvantages never failed to inflict that dreadful feeling of unease upon him. While he knew not of the boundaries of others, and often made a point that he cared not for such knowledge, he avoided over-sharing for the sake of his own personal privacy at any and all opportunities.

He withheld from those who pestered and pried all information about the workings of his mind as was possible, but it was under such circumstances as these: time spent in a psych word in St. Mungo's Hospital amongst a fellow Ministry employee, that he found himself with no other option than to conform - even if he fidgeted and squirmed as he did so. "If you've taken a peek inside that," he gestured towards the file with the hand with which he did not loosely hold in his grip his renewed glass of Firewhiskey, "you'd know that I gave that option a try when I was a student at Hogwarts. My professors insisted, but it didn't turn out exactly as they'd hoped." Nemo recalled with a vague sense of detachment the effect that the treatment for his disorder had had on him, and his first, and perhaps most successful suicide attempt to date when the sensation of having been numbed had grown too difficult to bear. "I jumped from the Owlrey tower." He shifted in his chair, so to utilize the armrest as a method of relieving himself of the itch that continued to tear through his side.

He had thought he'd been discrete about it - nay; in truth, he had given the plausibility that Khaat had noticed his excessive itching no thought at all, but had he, he surely would have assumed himself capable of being at least somewhat secretive. He paid the rash a brief glance, having skirted his fingertips across the hem of his shirt and pulled it upward a few inches. It had begun to take on the appearance of green road-rash; which he would not have minded too terribly, if the itching would cease. "You got some sort of magical anti-itch cream?" Nemo asked, as sarcastic as was typical of the lad. "I would ignore it if it were f'ckin' possible," he added, speaking to himself. Nemo adjusted his shirt, pulling it down over the rash to conceal it once more.

"Pass me those cards?" He asked with a beckoning motion if his hand, and he took another large gulp from his glass. His ability was beginning to grow increasingly more powerful as he basked in the afterglow of his earlier attempt to kill himself. It was always so pleasant: that need to put his sight to use, simply because he could and it was present.

She tossed him the tarot cards. She'd never liked them much, personally. She remembered her divinations classes and how much they were touted as being valuable to seers. Pish tosh. She much preferred a pensieve, herself, but then again, a pensieve looked backwards. Tarot looked forwards. Khaat had enough to deal with in the present, let alone looking forward. She saw no point in it. But if he liked them, that was fine with her.

She was about to speak when she heard a rapping at the door. She opened it, and a small box spun into the room, entering by spinning in endless circles. She almost laughed. Her godfather had his own style entirely.

"Stop," she commanded the box. It slowed its spinning but did not entirely stop. "I said stop," she repeated, getting up. She drew her wand and flicked it at the box. The box resized itself and opened. A howler of sorts flew out of the box and began to speak.

"Vinyl does you no good without something to play it on unless you've taken to collecting it," It was Michael's voice. "You didn't ask for one, but I sent you a vintage muggle stereo. Speakers are built in. Oh, and psst. Don't tell your father if you don't intend to take it all back when you're done. He'll know soon enough when he gets my bill." She looked in the box as the howler disintegrated.

"Two Foreigner albums," she told "Mortimer." "Their self titled album and Double Vision. And one magically modified 1970's vintage turntable." She looked on the bottom of the turntable and found that it had had a Department of Muggle Artifacts seal at one time. She was sorely tempted to laugh, but when she saw the same stamp was on the backs of the albums, she did laugh. No laws broken. Artifacts merely borrowed.