Asylum (Murdoch and Kristie)

First topic message reminder :

Nothing is easy when you're a patient at an institution for the mentally ill. No matter what you suffer from, there are troubles and tribulations that one must overcome in order to remain somewhat normal and in control of your own mind. Not to mention the fact that, at this particular institution, the treatments are radical and sometimes cruel and inhumane. As a new volunteer, your job is to interact with the patients and help them with their day to day tasks. So how will I, a patient, react when seeing you becomes part of my regular day? Will I dismiss you? Or will I let you get to know the person inside?
The setting, specifically, is a criminally insane asylum (or, at least, an asylum with a criminally insane section).


Myen Bioen, as they say in Germany, or as they call it, “Germanean”. Lol…

Name: Gregory Wilde
Nicknames: He was nicknamed “The Trickster” after his spate of killings in which the victims had been tricked out of everything they owned and then murdered, made to look like suicides. It took the police five years to catch up with him.
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Sexuality: Straight
Height: 6’9

Body Type: Gregory is tall, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. His muscles aren’t overly large, but are well defined.
Hair Colour: Natural? Black. But he’s dyed it purple.
Hair Style: Wild vertical spikes.
Eye Colour: A very dark green.
Facial Features: He has a somewhat squared, angular face with just a hint of curving.

Personality: Gregory is a tricky individual, being able to leap through loopholes like they were large hoops. He is intelligent and selfish, and does things just for the hell of it more then monetary gain. He is sort of arrogant, and views the entirety of life as a game in which the object is to cause as much trouble as possible.

Other: Find out.

History: Not much is known about his earlier life, and the name Gregory Wilde only appears six years ago, suggesting an alias that means he is not an easy man to work out the background of. He appeared six years ago, murdering 13 people after tricking them out of their possessions, and was on the run evading police for the next five years. He was thus nicknamed “The Trickster”. He takes immense pride in that nickname, and does his best to play up to that persona.

He raises an eyebrow at that, chuckling quietly as he does so; so, she has a topic she thinks she can do well on? They'll see about that...after all, so far the only information she's gotten out of him is what he chose to reveal...but that's because she isn't asking the right questions. She's asking standard-issue ones, and in his little game, you need to ask the right ones or you won't get anywhere, and Wilde will get bored. And once he's bored, you cease to make any progress at all. "We'll see, girl," he laughs again, and gives her a small wave goodbye.

OOC- I assume a fast-forward?

BIC-

Day one, I was told not to expose anything about myself to patient – I did. Day two, I was supposed to try and make a patient take medication that he was required to have for ‘progress’, and instead I accepted and hid the medication he swiftly denied. Now, on Day three of working at this institute and attending to Mr. Wilde in the mornings, I was smuggling a newspaper under my blouse and white coat. Well, if it’s not my Mr. Wilde hand, it’ll be by Karl’s that I get booted from this place a little earlier than originally hoped.
“You’re walking funny.” The first comment by Karl in a silent walk down the hallway to Mr. Wilde’s room. He had a developing habit of walking me to his room specifically every day, but for the rest of the day I saw him maybe once or twice when he brought patients to the group therapy sessions. The first day I thought it was just because of the tour, but yesterday and today he did the same thing. Did Mr. Wilde’s reputation really frighten him that much?
“You’re watching how I walk?”
“You look uncomfortable.” Damn. I was hoping to throw him off a bit with a comment suggesting he’s staring at me, but the lifeless tone he responded in crushed that idea.
“You always look uncomfortable.” I snapped back, no hostility in the tone though.
“So, now you’re watching how I walk?”
“Point taken. Key, meds?”
“No meds. You weren’t exactly forceful with them yesterday.” He said, holding he key out in front of me, but moving away when I went to take them.
“How..?”
“I noticed the small bumps of them in your pant leg yesterday during group.”
“Oh, so you ARE watching me?”
“No.. I, just..” I cut him off when I grabbed the key from his hand, him well distracted by the need to stutter he felt this time around by the comment. I turned away and unlocked the door to Mr. Wilde’s room.
“Goodbye Karl.” I opened the door and walked in, making sure I closed it quickly before he could say anything else. Truth is, I just wanted to get into the room before he noticed the rustling paper sound that I’d been trying to hide by the click of my heels. “If only you were that easy to distract Mr. Wilde; it would save so much hassle.”

Wilde laughs. He had been napping before she came in- precious little else to do here, after all- but he is a light sleeper. He wakes up at the slightest suspicious noise. Probably would be a problem on the outside, but in here it is useful. He woke up the second she walked in.
"He's easy to fluster then? Don't let the success go to your head." he spies something poking out of her jacket; even though he's just woken up, he is far from groggy. "What is that, girl," he asks suddenly, "Poking out from under your jacket?" He smiles innocently.

I looked down at the bottom of my jacket, seeing a good inch or so of a page sticking out. I sighed deeply, “Well, there goes a well planned surprise.” I said, making sure to put in enthusiasm with sounding disappointed in the early unveiling. I undid the buttons of the jacket that was compressing the paper to me, it would have slid right out with just the blouse, and holding onto it would be idiotic if I was trying to sneak it in. So, as expected when I undid only a couple buttons the paper loosened and I was able to yank it out from under my blouse. I set the think on the table and leaned onto it with one hand. “And yes, very easy; for a doctor he doesn’t respond well to unexpected situations. Made it a lot easier for me though, so I won’t complain.” Which reminds me, when I leave I’ll have to make sure I ask Mr. Wilde to hide it somewhere till I can dispose of the thing tomorrow.

He chuckles. She says that partially in jest, but at least some of it may be true; she got the paper past him, after all...that's a little information on the man behind his nurses, the man he has never been able to talk to, never been able to gather much intel on. "You don't seem to think particularly highly of him," he says, smiling, "why is that, I wonder? Is he not that good at his job?" He chuckles again, longer this time.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned my head towards the door, "He doubts me is all, I have no problem with Dr. Seger. He's good at his job according to a textbook, but.. his people skills.. could use some work, especially with humour. He stays for the group sessions, even when he doesn't have to, but never speaks or comments on anything; he just watches. He's a very sh-" I stopped, my mouth hanging open. Did I really fall for it that easily this time? Why would he ask my opinion on something if it wasn't important? Well, now I'd given him characteristics about Karl, absolutely wonderful. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?." I asked rhetorically. I sighed and shook my head, looking to Mr. Wilde, "Has Dr. Seger never introduced himself to you?"

He laughs out loud this time. She actually fell for it?! He thought she was mildly intelligent. If she gives away information about her employer this easily, should she really be in the cell with him? She guards herself well enough, but not others. Would she sell others out as quickly? Not the time to find out; her defences will be up even more this session. He'll get stuff, but not as much, and not as quickly. Still, it was worth it to see the look of shock and horror on her face as she realised what she was doing.
"No," he says, still smiling, "but I don't think he needs to...maybe he's scared of me. After all, I've ripped through shy people in a day before." He laughs again, crueller this time.

“I highly doubt that. No doctor or nurse is scared of his or her patient, Mr. Wilde. Intimidated, but not afraid – In my opinion that is.” Thinking about it, actually, that could be the exact reason why Karl has never come into this room, but he knows all about him; he’s watched how many nurses run from Mr. Wilde? It would also explain why he dislikes me being in here. I can see it in him every morning, like he KNOWS I’m going to run screaming from this room one day.

“While the question is still fresh in my mind.. The three days I’ve been here, and you haven’t appeared at any of the group sessions. Does isolation really excite you that much, or do you just not play well with the other children at recess?”

Wilde smiles, his lips curling upwards into a cruel smirk. He has been told to remain in isolation, away from the other patients, since what happened last time. "Bane," as they call him, isn't the most passive of patients and is very quick to lose his temper. Around someone like Wilde? Well, it was never a good idea, and the doctors quickly learnt that. He never found out what happened to that patient that Bane got stuck in the vending machine, but that's for the best; it gives him a chuckle to imagine what might have happened to him.
"You've spent three days with me...are you honestly telling me that you can't understand why I'm not allowed in the group sessions? What about what happened last time?" He laughs with cruel glee at the thought.

“I understand why you wouldn’t be allowed, but I was curious as to if it’s because you aren’t allowed, or by choice.” I would pity, eventually morn, the nurse who had to run group therapy with Mr. Wilde. A dozen patients pouring their life problems and realizations onto the floor, detailing every bit that they could about themselves – It would be a play ground for him. Especially at the end, when patients are allowed to converse for five minutes about what they’ve said, or learned about each other. And with direct information like that, five minutes is all he may need. It would set patients back months of progress to be tormented so, perhaps years, or worse.

“And, what happened last time you were in group session, Mr. Wilde?”

His smile broadens as he watches the realisation dawn on her face. That's it, he thinks, you've got it now. Honestly? He can't believe she didn't figure it out before now. Seriously; she's been his nurse for three days...that should be enough time for her to know how much he enjoys what he does, and just how much he can get out of a single sentence. He chuckles again, something he does a lot of whenever he is with someone like this. "Hilarity ensued," he says cryptically. Well, it did for him.

It was frustrating. He was frustrating. Yes, it’s only been three days, but he was never even specific when we were discussing things other than him directly. I wasn’t about to let it get to me, but, still, the annoyance was growing larger and larger in the back of my head. Hell, getting, ‘A patient ran away’, would have been a better answer, or at least a more helpful one in some way.

“I guess these walls don’t bore you as much as they do me.” To think, if he could keep his mouth shut for only 30 minutes, it would be 30 minutes outside this room, talking, or just listening. Anything could be better than staring at bleach white calls for 18 hours out of the day. “But it’s not important. What’s your opinion on Shakespeare, Mr. Wilde?”

He shakes his head ruefully. True, he gets bored sometimes, but his memories keep him company. He can relive the good old days, his moments of triumph, without the hassle of being caught. He isn't entirely sure how they caught him...possibly, he just spent too long playing with his last victim. Ironically, that was to be his last one for a good month or so. He was going to let it die down before striking again. Unfortunately, it proved to be one too many. Oh well. The police got lucky...it won't happen again, when he gets out of here.

But she doesn't know that. She obviously hasn't read all the files on him, or she would be fully briefed on the...incidents he has played a part in. She is trying to insinuate that he is to fault for him not being allowed in the group sessions? She is right, of course. But those morons, whining about their feelings...it annoyed him, after a while, and he had to do something to liven it up. Bane certainly did that.

But he is intrigued; why the sudden change of tact? Likely it is some ploy to attempt to get him to slip up, or the beginning of some battle of wits. He's curious, despite himself...he'll bite. "No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing!" He smiles innocently.

“King Lear.” I said, nodding my head in, approval I guess. I half expected him to snap back with something as to why that is at all relevant to anything, but this I found was a much better angle to go from. I loved Shakespeare, and although I haven’t fully read all his plays, I admire what I have read. King Lear was one I never finished, but the quote rung a bell, so hopefully I was correct on identifying which play it was. “I would have guessed you more of a Macbeth person, Mr. Wilde. Not the character himself, though, he was an idiot.”

The thing I loved about Shakespeare, was that no matter what play, of those I’ve read, you were reading, somehow in the end you could always relate the characters to people in your own lives. It would be the smallest characteristic linking the people together, but once you finished, and tied the people together, you saw the genius in his writing. It was sad for the people who labeled his work as meaningless because they couldn’t understand deeper into the play. “Which IS your favourite, Mr. Wilde, and why?”

He's read Shakespeare, sure, and he likes it. He has no favourite as such, instead merely enjoying the struggles and woes of the characters involved. There is no doubt that Shakespeare was a great wordsmith, and highly intelligent, but how intelligent is not always appreciated...he mocked love quite often, and his masterpiece of that- Romeo and Juliet- is ironically held up as an example of a "Great Love". That fact makes Wilde snigger sometimes. He supposes that the stupidity of the characters, the vanity and the stereotypical teenage-style love, the lack of connection that Shakespeare wrote in...it all contributes to make it a massively cynical play, and yet no one else seems to see it. He supposes that makes it his favourite.

But he isn't about to tell the girl that. Likely, she thinks she can figure out what sort of person he is from this. The line of questioning has caught him off guard, but he has caught onto her; she thinks to judge his characteristics and his inner personality by the choice he makes, or some tripe like that. Well, no need to seem completely uncooperative.
He smiles, "You would be correct. I enjoy The Scottish Play. I suppose it just illuminates the hungers and desires that lie in all our hearts..." he smiles, but it twists into an evil thing, devoid of warmth, "...whether we know it or not...."

No. It was too easy. If I was able to assume what his favourite Shakespeare play was, I’d probably be able to guess a lot more correct, which I wasn’t doing. So, no, he agreed because it’s what I want to hear; that I got something right. It did however, give me a couple more points to the ‘He’s lying’ debate running in my head, but it still wasn’t 100% yet. He had a talent of hiding the usual tells of false and truth under the dark tones of his voice and the way he enunciated his words, as if he planned out how each letter should sound in his head before saying them.

“As creepy as you did make it sound, I completely agree. Now what about characters? Personally I favour the Three Witches, but what about you?” I’d wait till he answered this last question, than I’d start to drift off from Shakespeare. His writing was just a gateway I thought would ease into what I want to talk about, which I suppose I could still do, but it didn’t matter much - We would get there eventually.

He does like The Scottish Play, but it isn't his favourite. From the look on her face, she knows he's likely not being straight-up with her, but can't decide how dishonest he's being. Good. Make her guess. Maybe he should add some truths in there, just to confuse her...oh well. He supposes he could play along for now; he is curious as to where this will go.
"I must say, I like Lady Macbeth," he says, "She just proves that you shouldn't underestimate anyone, no matter their appearance or manner, for anyone could be a manipulative schemer." He smiles innocently.

"She was nothing more than a coward who hid behind her gullible husband, whispering wicked things into his ears. I'd of been much more impressed if she'd escaped alive, instead of taking the easy way out." Funny he should pick Lady Macbeth. A thing she, and the Three Witches shared was their words that poisoned Macbeth's mind throughout the entire play, but in the end, the Witches were the ones laughing away while Lady Macbeth died, never seeing what her doings accomplished.

"However, this is probably boring, so we'll move on a bit. What, Mr. Wilde, do Romeo and Juliet, and A Midsummer Night's Dream have in common? One word, very simple."

Wilde allows himself a small smile. He thinks he can see where this is going, but he will let her do the work. After all, she's probably either trying to trick him or trying to get him to open the conversation she wishes to have. The answer can be one of two things; one is interesting, the other soppy and wet, and he thinks the latter is more likely. He isn't going to answer, of course, since there's always the risk he'll be wrong. What would that do to his reputation? It's like the Spartans; they tried to avoid battle because there was a chance they would lose and their myth of invincibility would be shattered. So, instead of answering, he just gives a small, sly grin.
"You tell me, girl," he says, "I'm sure you're dying to."

Oh come on, that was simple enough for anyone to guess. Unless he's purposely not answering to bug me, I may have actually confused him for the first time. Although, the chances of that are highly unlikely, so I can probably assume it's just to bug me because I was expecting a flat out, easy answer. Fine, let him play stupid, "I'm dissapointed Mr. Wilde, I would have thought that'd be an easy guess for you. But I suppose you can't know everything, can you?" I said with an accomplished smile on my face - For once I got to mock him, even if he did know. I turned away from him, and lifted myself so I was sitting on the table, ontop of the newspaper I'd placed there earlier. Knowing this won't be the easiest, perhaps the most diffucult, conversation, I might as well get comfortable for the long road ahead.

"When was your first relationship, Mr. Wilde? Just an age please."

He shakes his head, allowing a small, smug smile to stretch across his face. She actually thinks that he didn't guess? Is she stupid? Does she think that this pathetic mocking will make him bristle, get him indignant? He is far above rising to assaults on his pride, and when she has gotten extremely little out of him and he has gotten everything out of her, she should really save that little smug look for when she actually deserves it. He scoffs scornfully, and gives her a look that suggests heavily that he is just laughing at her pathetic pride.

But her question...that's what she was building up to. He could have some fun with this; he has a few guesses about her, and he is going to unleash them. She mocked him? Well, he's going to take the bait, but not in the way she hoped. He has some history, true, but he won't tell her. Let's see how she handles personal attacks. Hey, he didn't want to...he's only playing her game back at her, and he has far more ruthlessness than her, and a little more than her on what to mock her with.

"You want to talk about relationships?" he asks, leaning forwards, "Why? Hoping to discern something about my mental state with it? Hoping to understand if I'm good with the ladies, or whether I was a shy, awkward person? Trying to figure out if I had something horrible happen to me to make me despise human company, or if I'm a textbook psychopath, only viewing others in relation to myself?" He laughs, short and scornful.
"Girl, why do you care so much? You claim it's because you want to help, but you must see that I don't want your help. You must see that nothing you can diagnose me with is going to change the fact that I love whatever is wrong with me. No...you know that..." he smiles nastily, "No, what you really are afraid of is failing. You want to walk in here and be the first to cure me, to fuel your precious pride. You want to prove that anyone can be cured with enough talking, and you want to be held up as the person who showed the world!"

He cackles, standing up suddenly. It's the first time he's stood up in front of her, and the additional height means that he's looking down on her. He enjoys that. Maybe, when he gets free, he'll hunt her down and force her to get lower than she is now. It's certainly a possibility, and it makes him smile.
"The truth is, girl, you are not as selfless as you seem to be. You just want to prove to people that you can do it...maybe then you can help your brother." He folds his arms, raising an eyebrow.

The whole time he talked, anything he said, I just bit down harder and harder onto the inside of my lip. Right, wrong, right, right, wrong, really right; it was the pattern that was going off in my head every time he said something about me. Most of what he was saying, specifically about himself I already knew. If I thought he was a regular psychopath, I wouldn't still be in here. He doesn't want help, I've known that since day one. Why do I keep helping? He was.. catching on I suppose. I couldn't fail with Mr. Wilde, not for my 'precious pride', or because I want to help Randy. I can't fail, because I never could. He thinks I'm here to boost my own ego about what I can accomplish, fine, let him think that. He's not getting a rise out of me today, or any other day. I've been blamed for the majority of MY life for what happen with Randy, because I could never help him, because earlier on I never chose to. No one could ever help him because he was beyond anything doctors over there had ever seen - People just gave up. I gave up. Mr. Wilde can say whatever he wants about me, it's not what he's saying that's effecting me right now even. What about right now is terrifying me, first, is that my original conclusion that Mr. Wilde was NOT a violent person physically, only verbally, was cracking down the center the more time he spent standing up. Next, was if he knew that his last sentence would fire off something inside me, but didn't actually know why.

"Are you done, Mr. Wilde?" I had to push something out in the middle of my thoughts. I wasn't sure whether to stay in the room and continue to let him pick at what I say, and let him pound out everything he's got, or learn and give him even more of a satisfaction. He already knows he's won something over me; knowledge, but not how MUCH he has. He could be fishing, and I wasn't biting. I stood up from the table, turned, and faced him on as much as I could without taking too much notice to the height that again, wasn't comforting. Put on a different face, shorten him a couple inches, and it would be the deja-vu I've been waiting for since I met Mr. Wilde. "Is this the part where the nurses run out? Because you've been able to intimidate me with something personal? Because you're winning our little game? Or is it because you're going to scold me with my past? You can sit down now, Mr. Wilde, unless you'd like me to leave until tomorrow's discussion." I had no tone, no expression, just flat words pouring out of my mouth, some of which I wish I'd phrased differently.

He cackles suddenly at her forced calm. He can see from her change in demeanour that he's hit a sweet spot; she has frozen up, gone rigid and calm and cold, and he can also tell from her insistence that he sit down that she is immensely discomforted by him standing up. Maybe she has something about people being higher than her, he isn't sure. But he can see how she tenses up when he mentions her brother, and that is the tell he was looking for. He wasn't sure before, but now he is; she has a brother in a mental hospital, and she wants to help him. Which also begs the question...why now? Why become a doctor so late on? Why pursue this obviously futile case so doggedly? Maybe...maybe she was blamed for her brothers condition? Extremely tenuous, just a theory, so he's going to keep it in reserve until he's sure. He'll lose what he's gained if he says something wrong now. He doesn't sit down, though.

"What's the matter, girl?" He asks, "you seemed so smug a second ago...have you realised that you have nothing to be smug about?" She's going to leave anyway...might as well add insult to injury and humiliate her as she goes out. The other nurses lasted a week, tops, and it isn't because of his blunt attacks. He attacked them bluntly, so they guarded against that, and then wormed his way inside their heads...but this time, he has another plan in mind. He picks up the newspaper, and folds it under one arm. He retreats to his bed, lies down on it and opens the paper, saying absently, "We're done for today. I'll see you tomorrow."

The first thing I thought of was not to leave. He didn't suggest I do, he demanded it, and it was the exact inferiority he wanted me to feel. I wanted to stand there and be as stubborn as a five year old when her toys are taken away from her, or when she's asked to clean her room. I wanted to, because that's how I react when someone specifically demands something of me, because I feel like they're treating me as a child. I mocked him, barely! And instead of doing his usual laugh and chuckle, he reacted with hostility. He through Randy in my face because he knew it would tone down the feeling that I supposedly had that made me think it was acceptable to mock him. It's how he CHOSE to react, and I was glad he did. He wasn't a psychopath, I'm almost positive that he's completely sane as well, he's just an exaggerated form of something we all grow up knowing well; a bully. Putting me down makes him feel better, that's all it was - At least I hope so. It all was just theories, but to me it all made sense. A bully is exactly like a gun; it has a single trigger that fires out its bullets, but multiple people can pull that trigger. In a person's case, their trigger is their method of power over someone, and the person pulling the trigger are the things that tick them off just enough to lash out. He never lashed out until I said something that said he was wrong, or wasn't able to come up with the right answer. It could be purely coincidental, but it was something finally; Mr. Wilde, doesn't like to be mocked, even if it's a tiny amount of it.

"Keep it hidden, Mr. Wilde." I said, in a tone as though I was speechless for words. I left the room, being sure to slightly slam the door closed on my way into the hallway, unsure if I did it intentional, or to make sure I looked as upset as I should be. I am, partially, but because of the memories with Randy in my head. However, if what I think about Mr. Wilde is true, I had the first puzzle piece that I could now build slowly on.

"I need to visit him soon." I whispered, and left the hallway to my next patient.

Wilde watches as she slams the door and stalks off down the corridor. Only some of that is feigned, unless he misses his guess. Yes, he hit a sore spot, but she won that one. It isn't something he likes to admit, but she did win. She got exactly what she was looking for; a rise. And now she has something on him that she can use...that was always a weak point, his temper...maybe he should have taken the therapy instead of killing the psychiatrist. This nurse is different to the others, and if he wants to get her to do as he wishes, he'll need to control himself better. That much is for certain.

Still. He got a newspaper out of her, and he likes it. There's not even anything particularly interesting, not really, but it's nice to do something other than think. He settles down and turns the page.