Insidious [DisgruntledCute+Ringmaster]

Throbbing, repetitive, dull pain plagued the blonde as he rubbed his temples in a vague attempt to tame the migraine that was quickly making itself known. He gazed quietly out of the plane's window, watching clouds pass by slowly, gently...a stark contrast to the sensations in his head.

He didn't ask for this trip...in fact he would have far preferred to stay home with a nice glass of iced tea..four ice cubes, and a lemon, thinly sliced.

He returned to his thoughts, wondering why exactly he had been the one to be born into a oil tycoons family, and decided (against his better judgement) to be a representative for Greyson Oil and Petroleum. Perhaps because it was lucrative...? Or maybe he'd been bored at the time. Either way, he regretted the decision now, especially at seven in the morning, flying through the US to attend a dinner for charity. No, this was not how he'd planned his weekend...

The sun lazily sat on the horizon, casting pink and orange light against the fat heavy clouds hanging overhead. The air was thick with muggy summer heat already, the dew on the grass quietly evaporating before it could even be disturbed.

Inside a little brown stone cottage, sitting off by itself amongst a smattering of trees, a man moved through the darkened house, mechanically preparing for the day. Slender fingers pushed the knot of his tie firmly to his throat. The snug feeling of the silk constricting around his neck was a daily comfort, promising another day of doing what he loved.

Dr. Caine glanced in the mirror, confirming his usual appearance. Slits of light stripped over his long pointed features from the open blinds. He lightly ran his fingers through his cropped dark brown hair. Hints of male pattern baldness pulled the hairline back in little dents above his temples. He was dressed in his favorite charcoal gray suit with his glossy blue tie.

Caine quickly lost interest in the mirror and let his eyes wander down to a small bit of stationary sitting on his dresser. His jaw tightened a twinge as he remembered his responsibility that day. Picking up the thick cream colored paper, he reread the invitation.

A charity dinner, what fun.

Caine, being a good staple of the community, would of course be attending. A good cause was a good cause.

A small smile played on his thin lips. It was Friday, that meant he'd be seeing Jeremy, one of his favorite little paranoid schizophrenics. As he made his way to his 2007 BMW sedan he couldn't help but whistle.

It was going to be a good day.

Thomas turned pale blue eyes to his wrist watch as the stewardess' dainty voice announced to the passengers they would soon be landing. Four god forsaken hours of cramped spaces, stiff legs, cheap wine and crying children, complaining about their popping ears. At least he'd had the window seat.

He was out of his seat in a flash as soon as permitted, quickly striding out of the plane and anxiously making his way toward luggage pick up. Before he'd boarded, he'd been told that all the space on the plane was taken for luggage, that he'd have to pick up his things at the luggage claim.

Of course he argued this fiercely. He sure as hell didn't trust these sleepy employees with his things...but after being told several times that he'd have no choice, and a suggestive eye toward a security guard, he knew he would have to submit.

And now he found himself staring intensely at the treadmill of luggage and bags, almost daring the whining, whirring belt to not give him his things. They did indeed show up however, much to his relief.

Quickly he was away from the crowd of passengers, flipping open his phone and giving all of his concentration to it. He roughly calculated how long he would be here. He'd been promised that if he attended, he would be receiving a lovely nugget of money, and a decent hotel. This of course was after some shrewd discussion and competitively icy stares with his father. He was not about to fly all the way out to a charity he didn't give a crap about without any benefits. What kind of idiot did the man think his son was...?

Whatever. He dialed a few numbers onto the phone, a taxi service to take him to his hotel so he could unpack his things and get ready.

(sorry about the length of the post, I swear it's only one page in a word doc)

Ellis Plaza was a great glass block sitting at the head of a cluster of similar buildings. Dr. Caine’s office overlooked uptown from the eighth story. From his east facing wall of a window he could see the expanse of the city below. His office was spacious and comfortable with his desk sitting across from the door and a set of comfortable chairs near the window.

His patients found the view quite soothing (usually).

The lobby to his office sat comfortably in front of the elevators, his secretary’s smiling face being the first thing patients would see as they came in. As usual, Dawn Smith sat prim and ready at her desk by the time he arrived, a Starbucks cup sitting on the edge of the counter. Dr. Caine strolled out of the elevator, his long legs carrying him across the expanse of the room in only a few strides.

“Morning, Doctor!”

“Miss Smith,” he returned cordially, picking up the coffee. He smiled down at it for a moment, “Doc Caine” written in sharpie on the side.

“So…!” she said, filling the momentary void, “Uh, it’s Friday,” he already knew this, “So your first appointment is with Riley Parker, then Mrs. Banner,” Dr. Caine nodded, half tuning her out, “uh and Arty Nixon cancelled so I bumped up Walter Haneke and this should get you out of here before noon so you can get to the clinic early!”

She beamed up at him like a child, waiting for approval.

“Miss Smith,” he said, indulging her with his most charming smile, “what on Earth would I do without you?”

“Let’s hope you never have to find out.” She replied, cheekily.

He nodded, almost more to himself at the thought; yes he really should keep this one around for a while. Then Caine began his day, despite his passion for his field the man learned long ago the most lucrative patients were the ones you simply threw pills at. Different brands and combinations, most days they brought Him the prescription they wanted filled, and through this rather shameless exercise he had become one of the most established psychologists in the state.

After sending Mr. Haneke on his way with a fresh Prozac prescription, Caine drove across town to rather less savory hospital where his real work was done. The people he treated there were very, very sick, a sharp contrast to the over-whelmed house wives he worked with most days.

There were very few things more empowering then knowing someone truly needs you. He could stare them in the face and know that only he could save them from their own minds. The only thing that was better was the choice. Choosing to help or to bury them.

Jeremy here, had been a perfectly normal boy but in his early twenties the schizophrenia that had laid dormant in his mind all these years began to make itself known. And here, only a few short years later Jeremy sat huddled in the corner, his hair tangled his eyes wide and searching as he muttered a mantra of protection.

Caine smiled down at the boy kindly.

He had made his choice as soon as he laid eyes on the lad.

He would see the boy in a coffin yet.

(Don't apologize for being less lazy than I am.)

The hotel was far less than the blonde had expected, but it wasn't horrid. It was a Cosmopolitan suite, in decent shape. It wasn't the hotel he'd booked, but he wasn't about to pay the cab driver extra fare because he was too stupid to tell between a Double Tree and a Cosmo.

Either way, his requests for the room were quickly made, and luckily enough he got the last room of it's kind in the establishment.

He had already settled with a drink, a thirty dollar bottle of tequila to accompany him and ease the headache already attempting to plague him before the charity dinner. He wasn't looking forward to shaking so many hands, providing so many fake smiles and trying to shove business cards into so many people's faces. It wasn't human interaction...it wasn't charity. It was a contest to see who could boast their money. It was an advertising clusterfuck, and he had to be a part of it.

He sipped the drink gingerly, feeling it's burn as it hit his throat and slid down, warming his chest. It was a pleasant, all too familiar feeling that he was growing fonder and fonder of as each day passed. The haze it provided was comforting...distracting in all it did. He couldn't drink as much as he would have pleased...he had to be somewhere in only a hour, but it was pleasant to stretch his legs and consume something to take the edge off this obnoxious meeting.

Caine stopped in the doorway turning back and calling out, “I will see you at our next appointment, Jeremy, do try to have a good week.” He added pleasantly, closing the door on the man’s wilting sobs.
A passing attendant caught Caine’s eye in the moment. For a brief second he considered off handedly saying “Poor boy’s having a particularly hard day.” Or some such rubbish.

Instead he inclined his head, smiling. There was no need for words. This man here didn’t deserve to know anything about his doings. What passed in that room would stay there and there would no expectation otherwise.

All for the privacy of the patient, of course.

The attendant returned his nod and continued on his way.

Caine checked his watch as he walked down the hall, it was only midafternoon but he was finished here, he could end his day early and retire home. As Caine walked the length of the building he couldn’t help but be aware of the chipper Christian music that droned on in halls and lobby at all times. He could argue it was only making his patients worse, how could anyone expect to heal a broken mind when this was their environment?

As the male singer crooned about Jesus’s gentle touch deep inside of him, Caine planned his evening. Go home, take another shower, maybe a quick drink to take the edge off a night of pleasantries and head out.

A nurse whose name escapes him called out a farewell. Caine gave her a curt wave and escaped out of the doors to the blessed peace of honking horns, sirens and nobody singing for the caress of a deity.

Thomas threaded his fingers through his hair upon reaching the entrance to the dining hall. He'd halfheartedly picked up a itinerary for the night, to have some vague idea of when would be an acceptable hour upon which to escape, and of course of when to pick up another drink. The help seemed disorganized and poorly directed, as a good majority of the guests had already arrived, clustering around the bar to quell their boredom with alcohol and dull conversation, while the employees still managed the tables inside.

His pale eyes scanned the area quietly, darting downward unto himself a moment to assure himself of his appearance before trying to find someone of some interest. Until then of course, he'd tuck away behind some decoration, people watching until food would be offered.

((Super sorry this took so long. ))

Caine arrived with a fair sized tide of guests. He already recognized a good amount of the gala regulars. Good hearty people who politely kept their skeletons in the farthest corner of their closets. The Greens, a pleasant, if tedious couple in their sixties smiled at him from across the room. Caine crossed to the bar, he’d need a better buzz if they were planning on zoning in on him tonight. After ordering a single grain scotch Caine amused himself for a short while, watching a bumbling server girl up end a tray of water goblets and the desperate scurrying that followed.

“Oh that’s simply awful!” said Janice De Luca, approaching with her standard glass of Malbec.

“Yes, all those ruined glasses.” He agreed watching what he assumed to be the management hissing at the clearly humiliated girl. Caine gulped down the rest of his drink as De Luca began prattling at him. As he turned back to the bar, his attention was caught by a glimpse of intensely blonde hair. His eyes followed with mild interest.

Thomas directed his attention to the small folded paper, running his eyes down the list of names. Representatives from different companies and corporations, all showing up to offer a small, insignificant amount of money to help people that need far more than the pity of folks more fortunate in health and income. And then Thomas, here to represent an oil company that needed to look better, for all the environmental damage they did, or at least what liberal accusations painted. Greyson Oil had made efforts to include ethanol into their product, though it made little difference in the end. People would always find something to be angry at.

He skimmed the list more, coming across only one representative for a psychologist's establishment. Dr. Sirus L. Caine. It caught his attention briefly, wondering why a psychologist would be at an event like this. Perhaps to bring more business, or to make friends with new faces. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Make friends with a good few big wigs, and reap the benefits of the mentally threatened soon after.

“Mm.” Caine murmured in agreement to whatever it was that De Luca just said. He found himself distracted by unfamiliar face. The young man appeared to be no older than thirty and here he was with the blue haired lot.

Interesting.

Caine could feel the sharp edge of his business cards poking through the fabric of his charcoal slacks. The underlying tug of near giddiness at the idea of a new client made Caine smile to himself. Getting to know someone new was always a joy. Especially finding if they are worthy of his special attention.

“Mrs. De Luca, if you’ll excuse me…”

Caine took his crystal glass and crossed the expanse toward the young man, a casual smile playing on his lips.

Thomas' eyes were quick to flick up to the approaching individual. He'd done this a couple times now, wondering if he'd need to converse with someone making their way toward the elevator behind him. This time the person actually seemed intent on putting himself in front of the blonde, and judging by the friendly smile, talk to him. He quickly directed his attention back down to the piece of paper, hoping if he didn't make eye contact he wouldn't have to bother with talking to somebody.

Caine caught the apprehension in the man's expression but ignored it. Even better if he's socially anxious. That would be a good place to start. Still it was probably more reluctance than actual fear. Shame, that.

"The festivities are a bit slow to start, aren't they?" he began casually. His gaze darted to where the shamed girl once was. She had been replaced with two other vested girls placing mismatched goblets around the tables.

Once he was sure he'd need to make conversation he looked up and stood straight, quickly offering a gentle smile. He wasn't about to look like a sulky boy in front of a large group of important people.

"Yes, well what can you do? They're trying hard, and I doubt they get paid well." he said, folding up the piece of paper and pocketing it, taking a quick moment to smooth out the front of his vest before holding out his hand in preparation for a standard business greeting.

"Thomas Greyson, of Greyson Oil."

"Greyson Oil? My, my. Near royalty among our humble midst. Shame about that oil tanker. From what I read your people did everything in their power to prevent it. But alas, accidents do happen."

He grinned his Cheshire smile. And gripped Thomas' hand giving it a firm, manly shake. He applied just enough pressure to establish virility, same old dance with every new male. Human behavior was the same old dominance dance that it's always been since they clubbed each other.

"Dr. Sirus Caine, pleasure."

"Royalty? Oh please." he absorbed the compliment immediately with a pleased smirk, quickly following up with the standard response regarding the oil spill.

"I assure you, we're doing everything in our power to get it cleaned up as soon as possible." he said returning the handshake with what might be considered excessive force.

"Of course." he accepted the pressure and let his hand fall away, resisting the urge to flex his fingers.

"So Mr. Greyson, I haven't seen you at any of the recent events. New to the area or just maybe a particular interest in fighting childhood obesity through the arts? The F C.O.T.A. foundation really is quite remarkable.

Oh, looks like they're ready to seat us." he watched the staff begin to heard the milling crowd towards the tables.

Thomas' icy eyes darted toward the herd of hungry, half drunken guests moving into the hall and decided to wait patiently instead to follow behind. He didn't want to get caught in the middle of all that chaos. With any luck, Mr. Caine would wander off with the rest of the crowd, wanting for food and drink more than than the blonde's company.

"Nn, yes. The..." he paused to remember. "The F.C.O.T.A. is a...remarkable organization. They're surely on the way towards making a dent in this problem. Healthier children are the step towards a healthier future." he simply spat out pure garbage. It was what the public wanted to hear from Greyson Oil, and he wasn't about to see hell from his father because he was sour in conversation.

Dr. Caine couldn't help but chuckle genuinely. He grinned and stroked his goatee smooth.

"That is so true. Its a real pleasure to get the chance to help out in our own small way." If this man could be full of shit then so could he.

Caine's eyes swept across the younger man's features. The dull expression irked him a bit. He could see the underlying sharpness, and in his lightly buzzed state he found the urge to challenge him overwhelming.

"Do you have children, Mr. Greyson? Is that where your clearly avid interest comes from?"

The question made Thomas pause a second, opening his mouth to speak but seeming to have lost the words to respond. He quickly gathered himself, responding with haste to cover up his moment of discomfort. He regretted not researching the actual event and not the people, he'd might have been more prepared for that question.

"No. But I deeply consider myself a humanitarian." he remarked, picking up his own spirits it seemed, with a touch of mirth in his eyes at the words.

"And yourself?" he quickly turned the spotlight back on the doctor, wanting to dominate the conversation. "Children of your own?"

The pause didn't escape Caine. He stored the thought for later.

"Heh, oh no. No. None biological. But I do have more than a few finger paintings on my refrigerator from some of my more creative patients at the clinic." He chuckled and took a slip of the clear brown liquid, enjoying the quiet burn of the scotch.

"So no children yet, but married I see." he inclined his head down, indicating to the blonde's ring finger, "Did the Missus come along?" He glanced about looking for a woman who could match Greyson among the party goers.

Now he's just fucking with me. Nosy man...

Thomas gritted his teeth slightly at the question, forcing himself to smile pleasantly, with some degree of dignity.

"Deceased." he finally spoke, his voice lacking a certain luster to it that it had before. "My child as well." he added, hoping to sate the other man's want for information. "Isn't that interesting?" Thomas remarked, hoping the sardonic tone in his voice would tell the doctor he was stepping in delicate territory.

He swallowed down his voyeuristic glee. Yes, that certainly was interesting. He could do with the gory details, if this man was feeling generous.

"Oh my." Caine said, "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something so painful. Ah! Let me buy you a drink, I insist." He turned and motioned to the near by bartender.

Upon the offering of a free drink, Thomas immediately put aside any trespasses the doctor might have made at that point. He took care not to appear eager, but he definitely wasn't about to pass it up. The blonde followed the other man over to the bar, his eyes already running over the colorful bottles, trying to figure out what his drink of the night would be.

Caine reached the bar and immediately leaned an elbow on it, facing Thomas.

"Mr. Greyson, if you please. What'll you have tonight, a scotch on the rocks? Maybe a gin and tonic or martini? I must admit, I've never been down to Louisiana myself. What is it you lot drink down there?"

Oh alcohol, truly it was one of his favorite social lubricants. Much more convenient then trying to force pills down the throat of a stranger.

Then again that's really not to terribly difficult.

"What choo want?" asked the bartender, sloppy tattoos peaking out for below is rolled up sleeves.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at the offhanded response of the bartender, but ordered anyway.

"Tom Collins." he finally decided, looking back over at the doctor, with a far better attitude now that he was receiving a drink free of charge.

"If you went to Bourbon Street, you'd discover we drink everything." he responded watching at the drink was put together. He leaned over the counter, watching over the crowd again.

"So I imagine you're here for business prospects."