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Okay...

You're actually doing lovely, if it's of any notation. Why did you clean the kitchen, is my question, though? I know what the answer is going to be, so you don't have to really go into detail with it but I'm going to want to touch on it when you come by for your appointment. Mostly you have me curious what you used the volleyball for. I'm almost afraid to ask.

"I just know by now how to tell a doctor from a patient," Mor’du mused, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, "Doctor Kafieri? I’m Mor’du," he nodded, trying her name out, sounding odd with his Scottish accent, "Martin Mor’du technically but, I go by my last name," he wasn’t overly fond of his first name, it didn’t fit.

"Mor'du it is," Soteria settled, pushing her back into the nearest wall and exhaling another puff of smoke. "You said I wasn't someone you remembered? So you've been here before, hm?"

"Oh good because it’s no’ mine either," Mor’du said, tossing her a lighter, "So you’re a new doctor then? Least I dunnae remember you from the last time I was here,"

Catching the lighter, Soteria took a moment to ignite the end of her cigarette and handed it back to him with a warm smirk, "That obvious? Actually ... you'd be the first person to guess it. Most think I'm a resident of the institution. Thanks, by the way." With a long inhale off of the first drag the woman gave pause, then let the smoke escape through her nose, "I'm Soteria. Most people call me Doctor Kafieri, though."

"You're too kind," Soteria murmured, plucking the proffered vice from his hand before pressing it between her tiers, "Got a light? Nn ... and I don't really like nagging anyway. Not my style."

I should probably go on about how smoking is bad for you and all of that but ...

I supposed, but like I said, I’m a bit preoccupied to think about something else. Actually I think my roommate is a serial killer, I think she said something about it, but my focus wasn’t so much on her at the time, but the things she was moving around. I liked that fact I got to pick my doctor, but now I’m a little lost as to who to ask for help…

The idea that the patients get to choose who they want is helpful, but until they get out and meet the doctors they will ultimately choose they are wandering around without receiving treatment. For some that's an exuberant amount of time which is more time they're here without aid. I doubt anyone actually wants to be here. So there's a flaw in the system. There are many, actually. But that's neither here nor there.

I don’t thing daddy would be too happy if he found out my sisters or I were sharing rooms with men, but I’m always to preoccupied with keeping things neat and in place to think about it… I’m not used to sharing either, in a house where there were seven of us I never had to share a room, though it never stopped things going missing, Arista always took the blame for that one. I don’t have a doctor since mine had to leave… I haven’t really been doing well enough since he left to leave my room so often, only to get food when I remember my promise to him of me getting better.

As pressing as the opposing gender is, I find the prospect of rooming with a possible serial killer more disturbing. Apparently the administration of the asylum doesn't have much of a care for the health and well-being of the patients, else they think we're doing a stellar job. Mmn, I'm no fan of the idea of choosing doctors, either. I understand it's to make the patients comfortable but I've got so few myself and there are so many people wandering around without one. How are you all supposed to get well if there's nobody readily there for you? Though the few times I've mentioned that I think I've been subject to being mental ostracized. Not that I much care. I don't like the idea of a popularity contest. I'd rather have my patients switch to another doctor if they're more comfortable, but be set with a pre-determined choice until then.

In all honesty I’m fine with it, as long as the other doesn’t touch my stuff, something this roommate has taken to doing… My old doctor would talk to the people I was roomed with. That seemed to help. 

If I were a patient here, I would be rather skeptical of sharing my personal space with a person of unknown mental capacity, perpetually of another gender. That's just me, and I've always had my own room so it's likely an isolated incident, but general consensus of grumblings say that a lot of other people feel the same way. Just the same, you should have your current doctor speak to them, as well. If it worked, or helped, at least.

Well if you’d like conversation you’re quite welcome to join me in my room. Though I will have to ask you don’t touch anything, or get in my way whilst I fix things… My new roommate has a horrible habit of moving things around whilst I’m not in there 

Think it'd be just a little odd to touch things in someone's personal space. Mmn, I'm not very fond of the system here for room mates. One of my patients was asking if there was something I could do about it. There are some people here who seem a bit too ... dangerous to be in a room with someone else. I think psychosis and gender need to be taken into account, as well as age. I'd hate to see a child stuck in a room with an adult schizophrenic.

Perhaps that isn’t the worst thing. I find leaving my room only causes problems 

I don't disdain conversation with the people in the institution, so I don't exactly see it as a good thing. I'm not the most social animal in the world but I do require some conversation every now and again.

He listened, agreeing silently, he knew he had fallen, and he had good days, and bad days like today, he just needed to learn how to lessen the bad days, but he couldn’t do it on his own, not right now, and he wasn’t too proud to admit it, “It’s tea, of course,” he said, “I always have time for tea, I’ve never had spiced pear though,” he was still a little panicked, not giving into the hallucinated mice and her distracting him from it had made them go away for now, “I hope you’re right,”

"Oh, spiced pear is lovely. It's one of the teas I think I don't have to put sugar in without being too much." While she was no connosieur for such things there was always preferences and room for tea. Still, she made no moves to quicken her pace and instead slowly floated down the hallway towards the opposite door that they came from. "You will be. You're already willing to accept help and that's good. If you can state that the last doctor was no good, then it means you want to be helped, too. That's the most important part of it, you know. Some people aren't even accepting of why they're here."

"Of course not, I don’t know where they came from…" he chewed on his lip rings a lot, to the point of cold sores coming up, "I drank before they came, but once they did yeah, the drinking made them shut up a little," he had been a hard partier, passing out in weird places and waking up only to start drinking again, he’d drank in here a few times, but wasn’t ready to admit it to a doctor yet, he’d bring it up later if something was said about it. 

"I never got rid of Doubt," Soteria acknowledged. With a soft sigh she fixed her eyes down the hallway, "Sometimes I let it come in. Usually when I'm alone. I was taught, as a girl, to be the best I could be. Smartest, bravest, strongest ... you understand. Doubt was a weakness, but sometimes we need to be weak. That's how you learn, you know." With a small shrug she started her slow pace again, "So this is the place where people have their chance to be just a little weak. It doesn't seem right, or fair, but we have to decline to ascend. Would you like to stop into the kitchens and get some tea? I'm in the mood for a spiced pear, if they have it." After a moment she turned to give him a reassuring grin, "You're going to be alright. I can feel it in my bones."

"I freaked out on everyone, started screaming about my parents causing the voices, and I’d had a few hallucinations at parties, plus I drank too much an’ after different interventions I think that sort of made them decide too..different things…" he shrugged, "I didn’t think I had a problem t’be honest, until I punched the mirror out in my room here, trashed it trying to make the shadow people go away, but no one else saw them but me," he sighed, "Then I decided maybe everyone wasn’t crazy,"

Patiently she listened, watching his mannerisms as he spoke: did he have tics? did he fidget more or less? how clear-headed did he speak? With each observation in mind she gave her usual small nod, "Do you think your parents caused the voices, or did they come on their own?" Reading through his file would fill in any blanks, though it seemed somewhat straightforward. At the mention of the alcohol she quirked her brow, "Have you turned to drinking often? Because of the voices?" She hoped she wasn't pressing too much, though she was sure he would let her know. Regardless she kept her soft demeanor, the gentle smile and understanding.