You'll Catch The Crazy

"Well, I've found that some can't truly identify which parts of themselves and their pasts - or futures - are best kept secret until everything has been exposed," Nemo replied with a sort of detachment that often accompanied his musings. His tone was not accusing, but distant, if not understanding.

A stray laugh fluttered free from his chest once more, having been left behind by its kin during Nemo's previous bout of glee. The sedatives had certainly taken their toll, a truth which was made most evident by the way in which his eyes had begun to flick wildly across the room before him, as if he could see something that was hidden to all else.

But he was shaken from his stupor by the mention of the habit assigning nicknames, an addiction that he himself had fallen quarry to. “F-ck yeah?” he asked in an inquisitive tone that did not at all suit his choice of words. His eyebrows neared his eyes once more to form an expression that betrayed his curiosity. “I’ve been told I’m guilty of doing the same,” Nemo admitted.

Thoughts of Michael made her laugh. She loved her godfather like few others in her life. "You should hear what he calls my father," Khaat laughed. "I think he just can't be bothered to remember names. I think he remembers them by what they do and not by what they call themselves." In point of fact, other than Khaat or her mother, there was no one else that Michael referrred to by their given name. "I rather like that about him. That and his incurable need for pranking.

"He's the only one I've met that accepts the weird as commonplace and gets uncomfortable with the ordinary." She paused and looked at Mort and flashed him a slight grin. "Oh wait, maybe there are two now--maybe. In fact, I would guess you'd get along quite well with him. Except that I'm not sure the rest of us would be safe if we put the two of you together. Letting the two of you out together unsupervised might not be so wise." She had visions of Mort and Michael trying to see who could outdrink the other. And she wasn't making wagers right now on one side or the other. They both looked like they could hold their own in most things.

Always quick to jump on the opportunity to let loose his sarcastic nature, Nemo responded without a hint of seriousness to Khaat's depiction of those she held dear, "An hour together and already you've brought up the fam? Damn, what have I gotten myself in to?"

"Maybe, eh?" Nemo echoed her as his head lulled from one side to another, eyes closed. "Good to know I may have some competition when it comes to the unordinary. Though, I've begun to think of them as a part of my species; those of us who can't quite pull off normalcy," he continued. "We're quite the group of people."

Nemo made to grab at his empty glass, having left it be for as long as was bearable for a man with his addictions. "There wouldn't happen to be anything left in that bottle of yours, would there?" Nemo asked in as innocent a manner as he could muster, with his head drifting featherlight above his shoulders.

"What can I say? I'm a cheap date," she laughed. "Give me another hour and I'll probably introduce you to the family. Oh, wait. You already know some of them, don't you? Good. That will make the engagement so much quicker." There were some patients she didn't dare bait them like this, but Mort was skilled enough at sarcasm to handle it.

"Oh, why not?" Khaat sighed. She motioned the bottle to refill his glass again. It was nearing the end of the bottle. Not every healer would have approved of her taking the time to get a patient in the psych unit comfortably intoxicated, but as she figured it, he wasnt' going anywhere. And he wasn't bouncing anymore. Mellow suited him far more than hyperactive.

"So tell me," she said. "What have you found that works best for you to get you up and running again? I know being here is not where you belong, and you know best what has helped you in the past." He had been so sure that the old fashioned potions would not help him. He hadn't gotten this far in life without knowing how to survive, and she wanted to hear what he used.

The laughter persisted, fueled by Khaat's humor. It had been far too long a month to have gone without such company; a being who was not so hasty to judge his behavior as to stunt the enjoyment of the conversation before it had even begun. Whether it be the poisons that drifted and twirled along the narrow tracks that were Nemo's veins, or Khaat's willingness to meet Nemo half way, he could not determine, but no matter the terms under which it had come to be so, Nemo was satisfied.

'Twas a rare occurrence.

He brought his glass back towards himself, reeling his arm in until his lips were greeted with the fresh sting of Firewhiskey. "Good luck hiding me on the way out. What's the plan, shove me out the window so the other healers don't see? Of course, you don't exactly have to answer to them though, do you?" Nemo asked, his words slowing in speed as his mania mingled with lethargy.

"Ah, I see what you did there," Nemo informed Khaat, simultaneously tapping his nose with the tip of his index finger before jabbing it in her direction. "Get me comfy, then you break out the big guns." He sighed dramatically before continuing, if only to make his discomfort towards the subject known, "The disorder intertwines with my ability. When my sight is all fine and dandy," he shrugged with his palms aimed towards the ceiling, commanding his hands to interact with his shoulders in the exaggerated gesture, "So am I. The depression is a product of my having gone blind. Which then leads to attempted suicide - or successful suicide in my later days, who knows.” The tone in which he spoke suggested that he was referring to matters as casual as the weather. “And then, voila! The damage done allows me to see again. It one big ol’ f-ckin’ cycle," Nemo concluded.

"You so need to find another way of jumpstarting yourself," she said. "I know what works for me when I get depressed, but we both know that what works for me might not work for you. I run. Or I swim. Or I hex the crap out of someone. Really tacky teacups or cheeky looking hats tend to be nicely passive aggressive."

She looked at him. "You don't strike me as the overly athletic type, though," she said. Then she got just a bit of sly smile to her face and a bit of mischief in her eyes. "But, I bet, given the right subject, you could be a tad competitive. How about a deal, then, Mort? You win, and I give you another bottle of firewhiskey. I win, and you tell me what, besides cards and music, you do for fun. As I see it, either way, you win."

She opened the door a crack and accio'd a deck of standard playing cards. Getting too dark and heavy did not appear to be good for Mort. "Unless, of course, you feel you could defeat me at a bit of 5 card stud. I'm afraid the only thing I have that we might find worth battling over would be a large sack of Bertie Botts on my desk. Otherwise, you'll have to just owe me when you lose."

Firewhiskey and poker. Hm. Not exactly conventional methodology. Oh well, what the hell, she thought. Mort wasn't conventional. It seemed to have a better fit than tradition.

"I would much rather prefer to die on such occasions," Nemo muttered at an octave so soft as to suggestion that he had not intended such a statement to worm its way past his lazily parted lips, before he poured from his glass another mouthful of whiskey. Should that have been the case, his thoughts evidently possessed the same unnecessary, sarcastic tone as that of his spoken word. 'Twas an exceptional smokescreen; one which had begun at Nemo's core, and had spread outward.

But it was just as Nemo had begun to return to those thoughts which he preferred to avoid in the nature of a plague, that Khaat drew him outward. Her statement elicited from Nemo a tauntingly disbelieving stare, and feigned offense as he next spoke, "You got all that from just looking at me, did you? I take part in duels on a regular basis, for your information," but he was not successful in remaining straight-faced for long before his giddy lips betrayed him.

"Texas hold 'em," he challenged her, "You chose the terms, so I choose the game." He was not particularly skilled in the art of gambling, but he had learned his fair share of slight-of-hand as a result of his wand juggling habit. So long as he understood the rules of the game (in truth, his selection had not been entirely due to preference alone), he assumed the odds would be in his favor.

"Two Seers playing cards? That sounds like a set up for a terrible joke."

"Alright. Done. You deal," she said, figuring her odds for winning this weren't incredibly weighed in her favor. She peeked out the door again. "Hannah, bring me that big bag of Bertie Botts on my desk please. Thank you." She closed the door and tossed him the deck of cards. She was accustomed to playing chess and cards with a seer, since her mother was a seer. And that did make it interesting. However, she enjoyed pranking her non-seer father immensely. She enjoyed teaming up with her mother to use their seers abilities to get the advantage over him in cards and chess.

Hannah brought the large bag of Bertie Botts and some large napkins. Khaat took them from her and spread the napkins out. "Just in case we actually decide to eat them," she said. She poured out a generous handful of the jellybeans for both of them and picked up one out of her handful and ate it. She wrinkled her nose. "Yuck," she said. "Fish. Definitely doesnt' translate well into a jellybean." She tossed a couple of jellybeans into the center between them as her ante into the pot.

A brief minute was spent on the identification of the deck of cards which he'd been handed; allowing the calloused pads of his fingertips to adjust to them before he set to work. By its corner he drew one card away from the deck with his first and second finger, and proceeded to flip the card from one knuckle to the next down his fist, much in the manner which he'd treated the tarots the moment prior. His eyes followed the card as he returned it to the deck, and he split the stack in two.

He flicked six cards to the center of the table between them.

"Earwax is my favorite," Nemo informed Khaat nonchalantly.

A smooth and indescribable slide of one ace to the top of the deck was followed by the addition of another card, one which had been chosen at random and held no particular value to Nemo. "Or was it the popcorn? I can't remember," He continued, punctuating his sentence with another ace moved atop the deck. He then dealt one card to himself - to Khaat - to himself - and to Khaat once more until each possessed two cards.

"The game is a go," Nemo announced at last, and drew from Khaat's stash of jellybeans an 'earwax'.

Khaat looked at her cards. Hm..6 of diamonds, 8 of clubs. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't stellar either. She tossed two jellybeans into the 'pot.'

"Call," she said. "Take all the earwax ones you want." She picked up a red one with black speckles and ate it. She immediately choked and picked up her glass of firewhiskey and took a much bigger gulp of it than she had intended. Her eyes were already running, tears streaming own her face. "That's just evil!" she was irked. "When the devil did they start making Ghost Pepper flavored ones? Damn!" Khaat considered herself to have a fairly good palate, and she did like hot foots but this was hot on steroids.

She cracked the door open and accio'd the bottle of top shelf quality firewhiskey from her father's office. When it arrived, she refilled their glasses. Firewhiskey wasn't likely to put out that sort of heat--at least until a certain point, anyway.