Do You Mind?

"Well, the rule is more don't get into anything you can't get out of," Cait admitted, "And actually it's more of a guideline. Well, I always thought it was. But also: I really don't like tea. So there's that." Technically he'd also offered coffee, but ACF Coffee was sort of a horror all of its own, and not in the fun way. Just in the foul-tasting office resin sort of way. Except, occasionally, at L-9... but this wasn't there, and he really didn't seem the type to have that sort of coffee around.

She let him change the subject, probably just because he was changing it to magic, and that was one of her favorite subjects. "Oh, it's a blast." The word choice was likely to be far too appropriate for most people's comfort, at least, depending on where they were standing at the time. "I resurrected a frogs once."

Not a frog or frogs, but a frogs. It had started as a frog, and then there had been the resurrection, and then it had definitely been a frogs. And then Cait had been forbidden from trying that ever again, even by her own team, who were usually a lot more fun than that.

"What's the coolest thing you've ever done?"
 
"Oh, of course. That makes sense."
He nodded, then added politely,
"Don't worry, you can leave any time you please- I won't lock you in."


Not unless he had to, of course, but Cait seemed more the type to talk your ear off, rather than try to rip it off, and Alvis wasn't going to do anything that would warrant his own containment. He was careful with his tone, this time- speaking that last part too firmly would imply that he wanted Cait to leave, which he did, but he couldn't let her know that. It would be impolite. It would be unlike him.

"Frogs?"
He raised an eyebrow,
"What do you- oh, multiple frogs? Well, I hope they appreciated the gesture."


Though, he was almost certain they wouldn't- resurrections rarely went smoothly, from what patients had told him. There was always something missing, something different, something still dead buried deep within them, no matter how perfect things seemed to have gone. On top of that, the permanence of death, one of few certainties to most people, being removed in the blink of an eye... well, it tended to leave a few scars. Some became existentially terrified, constantly worried about 'next time'- would it happen again? Would it happen at all? Would they even want it to happen? Those people usually had to have a few more sessions booked with him, and he usually had to lie during them.

Others, however, thought this made them gods.

The kettle had boiled. He poured it into the mug, tilting his head to the side so the steam didn't cling to his glasses- someonee once said they didn't like it when they couldn't see his eyes, as they were the only part of him that really moved. Since then, he had made more of an effort to keep his body mobile- changing expression, drinking tea, shifting in his chair every so often to give the illusion of life behind the greyness- not around it. In that way, Cait's natural oddity was almost enviable. Almost.

"Oh, it's nothing as interesting as raising the dead, I can tell you that."
He shrugged perhaps a little too deeply,
"If I had to choose- hmm. Either getting my doctorate, or teaching someone how to knit- I find those to be pretty cool."
 
Dr. Holt decided to limit his mind, at least insofar as the subject of a frogs went. Cait decided not to correct him, because that would probably count as interfering with L-14's anomalies. Truly wrapping one's mind around the idea of a frogs took enough flexibility to bend over backwards. It was not so much doing mental gymnastics as bypassing that and going straight into mental contortionism.

Usually, it went bluh.

The psychologist made his tea, the movements seeming... stilted? That wasn't quite right, nor was performative. Still, there was something along those lines in there, as if he was practicing for who he was pretending to be. Cait wondered idly if he had an understudy, for when he just didn't feel like it.

Probably not. He answered his question, the motion of his shoulders just-not-quite correct, the answer patently boring, the word cool seeming out of place from the rest of the subject, the rest of the speaker. How do you do, fellow kids?

Cait was betting that everyone asked him about the doctorate. She nodded, amenably.

"Who all'd you teach to knit?"
 
He set the kettle back down once he was finished with it, and picked up the mug.

"Who did I teach, hm?"


The question made him pause- but he had been pausing this whole time. His body continued to move, stilted as it was before, taking the mug back over to the coffee table and setting the unfinished sweater down next to it. When he resumed his speech, his words seemed particularly careful.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I've covered most of the department, by now."
He smiled,
"Doctor Reed was the first- she picked it up quite well, made all sorts of things. I think it stuck with her for a while, even after I stopped. I think she learned a lot on her own."


He sat down, leaning back in the chair, glancing up at the ceiling as if it would help jog his memory- his perfectly, miserably clear memory.

"Doctor Eisenberg as well- once the staff file layout was updated to include more humanising details, we took note of each other's and I offered to teach him."


Alvis sighed.

"Though, I'm afraid, he didn't take much of it in. He seemed more interested in the social activity, rather than the lesson- which was fine, of course. We both found it worthwhile, in the end."


The tea was too weak to drink, still. A pity.

"There were others, as well. Doctor Crane, Doctor Barker, Doctor Hawthorne- that's who I'm making this sweater for, she's retiring soon. Eventually, I started running open lessons in my spare time."


He chuckled silently, taking his eyes off the ceiling to gaze blankly at Cait, smiling in that odd way he smiled.

"They were very popular- at least, back in the day. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone in this hallway I haven't managed to teach."
 
"Huh. Interesting. Does the methodical nature of knitting open people's mind to invasive influences? Or does it have the opposite effect?" Cait could see either working out, and thought it might have more to do with the mind in question than with the method. It was a bit like meditating, just done while holding pointy sticks.

Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Still, she was curious what Dr. Holt would have to say about that, not just because she wanted an answer, but because she wanted to know if he'd asked the question. You could tell a lot about people by the kinds of questions that they asked, Cait thought. That was why she asked all the questions - then people never knew what to expect.
 
"Oh, that's not the reason I taught them."


It also wasn't what she was asking. Alvis considered leaving it there, allowing his vague dismissal to stand as the only thing resembling an answer that she'd be getting, but... well, it didn't actually resemble an answer, did it? He picked up his knitting needles once more, slowly getting to work.

"Its therapeutic benefits are more noticeable post-anomaly."
He explained,
"As with the treatment of mundane cases, it can be good to introduce a task like this- knitting, like other crafts, has a moderate cognitive load and involves a repeated physical action. It puts the focus on the body, without causing too much of a strain. It's good for grounding, good for regaining focus- it's especially useful in the treatment incidents of possession, or anything involving loss of bodily control, but even purely cognitive issues, like anomaly-induced emotional dysfunction, can find some benefit from incorporating a task like this into standard treatment."


Alvis spoke as if he had studied this before, like he was summarising a paper he had written on the subject. Or a collection of papers. Did Cait want an answer this long? Most likely not, but it was the answer she was getting. He continued;

"As for active prevention, that's of course going to be a bit more complicated. There are too many factors for me to give a blanket statement on the matter; the type of anomaly, the type of influence exerted by the anomaly, the person being affected, things like that. I suppose... I suppose I can simplify it like this: would the influence operate on the subconscious, or does it require direct cognition in order to take effect?"


The questions were interesting to him, at least. He decided not to look at Cait as he spoke, not wanting to know whether she agreed or not.

"An example of the latter would be- hmm, ACF-2367. 'Earworm', I believe was the designation. The whistlings of an elder god that latched onto the minds of those who heard it, repeating itself over and over until they went mad. Repeating something else as a distraction could help delay the onset of that madness, and could keep a person in a better state for department personnel to sort them out. An example of the former would be myself."


He cast off another row.

"But, like I said, that's not the reason I taught them."
 
Ooh, a real answer. Cait loved real answers. It was so interesting to see how other people saw things or did things or what they were invested in. It was a good enough answer that she actually stopped trying to build a tower out of the coasters and mugs that had been on the coffee table with her and just listened for a while.

It wasn't really the knitting that interested her, but all the stuff around the knitting - the mind games, the possessions, the madness. He mentioned Earworm and Cait gave him a moment to finish his row and then whistled, some sort of otherworldly sound that should not have been possible to come from humanity, or at least should not have.

The whistlings of an Elder God, as it were. Cait giggled, amused. She might not be any good at human languages, but she had the Eldritch ones down - and she had a perfect phonetic ear. Reproducing sounds was easy, especially if those sounds weren't meant for humanity.

She didn't repeat the sound, though, because neither one of them needed to be driven mad. Whether that was because it was bad form or because they were both already there was someone else's problem.

"If you were going to possess a bunch of people again, what would you do differently?"

What? He'd brought it up.
 
She whistled briefly, perhaps trying to replicate the anomaly he had mentioned. Alvis couldn't tell whether or not it was a particularly accurate recreation; it had been years since he had treated those people, and the song hadn't quite stuck with him the way it seemed to stick for the others. Perhaps he'd remember if he read through the files again, but he had a lot of files he needed to read now that were a lot more important.

Her question--her final question--made him shake his head.

"You don't get many answers when you ask things like that."
He sighed,
"And, if you want an excuse to leave, you don't have to wait for me to kick you out. My door is unlocked."


He glanced up.

"We're not being contained."
 
Cait giggled, because it really was funny. It wasn't the first time she'd experienced the traditional Cait, go away - nor would it be the last. It was a victory of sorts, she supposed, in a very Strings-like manner. She'd learned from him, after all - poke it and see what happens, poke it until you get a reaction. Learn what you can, both from what the reaction is and when it happened.

And she'd definitely learned something there. Like, she'd learned that he didn't say he didn't know, and that was really interesting. She liked that quite a lot. She stood up from the coffee table with the fluid limberness of the under-twenty-five that made people wonder if her bones were made of jelly. They weren't, but there had been that one time a while back with that one viral cult-

Well, never mind that. We're not being contained, Dr. Holt said. She paused at the doorway, and flashed him a grin.

"Speak for yourself."

Cait offered a little wave before heading out into the hallway, leaving the door annoyingly open behind her so that he'd have to get up and close it again. Just a little parting shot. He'd given her a lot to think about, though.

For one, she definitely knew who to consult if she ever decided to get into possession.
 
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