Leo & Cammie, midday

[x-leosamson.livejournal.com]

A late lunch meeting of green haired individuals treads on slightly non-lunch topics.



Leo stared into the fridge with his eyes narrowed. Someone had taken his last Guarana. Someone would pay.

He sighed and grabbed a root beer. After an hour long group session with the Stepfords, he didn't think anyone would blame him for wanting an actual beer. But as he didn't drink, and as someone had taken the last of his other vice, the root beer would have to do.

And there should be food, yes? Leo glanced up to see that it was almost 1:30--definitely time for lunch. He eyed the fridge contents again, and grabbed the leftover spinach quesadillas he'd brought for lunch on Monday and never eaten.

He popped the container into the microwave and leaned back against the counter, massaging his temples slightly.

Cammie was starting to get on a normal schedule and that meant eating at a normal time. She wandered down to the kitchen, almost being able to taste the what she planned for lunch. Some more of the ripened frozen meat from the freezer. She brought that down with her to the kitchen, fully intending to sandwichify this into a meal that would include some rotten fruit she had put up in her room.

When she noted someone else in the kitchen she paused. And then did a double take, “What, is this the green haired persons’ lunch time?”

Leo laughed, and brushed some of his hair out of his face. "Apparently! Carmilla, isn't it? I don't think we've really had a chance to be introduced. I'm Leo Samson, the staff psychiatrist."

A head shrink. Headshrinks made her nervous. But that wasn’t the initial problem, “Okay, I’m going to start fining people whenever I hear my full name. I go by Cammie. No one’s called me Carmilla in years, not even cops,” she said simply. “Nice to meet you and all that junk.”

"Ah, my apologies. Cammie. And it's good to meet you as well." Leo glanced over at her lunch and blinked slightly before recovering. "I don't know if you'd be interested, but I brought an avocado for my lunch on Monday, and I'm afraid it's far past edibility for me." He looked up and grabbed his quesadillas out of the microwave, and then opened the fridge, proffering the avocado. "If you're interested."

“Sure, hit me up,” Cammie said, in regards to the avocado. “I’ll eat anything, well, I don’t eat sewage, but I think that part would go without saying.” Some things were even gross to her. “So. You shrink heads.”

Leo eyed her with a wry grin and handed over the avocado. He grabbed a fork from the drawer and perched on a stool next to the kitchen island, carefully stirring his black beans. "I haven't actually shrunk any heads recently, and to be honest, I care for that term about as much as you care for your given name. But yes, I am a psychiatrist, and I work with children and adolescents both in the mansion and in a clinic in Salem Center."

She took the rotted food with a simple ‘yoink.’ “Given the people in this place you must always have plenty of work,” she said brightly. After all, there were people here like her roommate who liked to walk around naked. Or people like her, but she was a different story entirely.

Leo cleared his throat, thinking about his session today with the Stepfords. "Well, it's true that there are a rather diverse group of people in the mansion, and they do experience events that are more than a bit outside the norm." He glanced over at her with a faint smile, "Most psychiatrists don't have clients who've been traumatized by dinosaurs or involuntary gender re-assignment," he continued dryly, "but there are many here who simply like a chance to talk. Aside from all the attendant difficulties of being a mutant, it's not exactly easy to be a teenager either."

“All things considered,” Cammie said with a grin, “I don’t think I ever was a teenager.” Still being nineteen had nothing to do with it. It was more what she had been through. But that was the way things rolled.

"Really," Leo asked, eying her curiously, "Why do you say that?"

She paused, wondering if she gave away more than she meant to and shrugged, “Well, you know. You’ve worked with street kids. You stay a kid on the street and you end up dead.”

Leo nodded quietly, memories of his own time on the streets flashing vividly. "Very true," he said softly, "But that doesn't mean it's fair. Or easy to deal with all of the time."

“Yeah, sure,” she said, and went in search of and produced bread. It wasn’t moldy but that’s what Tabasco sauce was for. It would a bit of a bite to everything. “Of course it isn’t fair. It’s never fair. Whining about it doesn’t change it.”

"Why do you say whining? Do you think it makes someone weak to talk about their experiences?"

“Sure,” she said flippantly. Oh, he was not going to get into her head in the fucking kitchen. “Why complain about things you can’t change?”

"Hmm, fair point," Leo replied, taking a sip of his root beer. "Professional hazard, I suppose--I've always thought talking about things helps. Nothing can change what happens in the past...but sometimes, it helps to talk. Sometimes, it makes you feel less alone."

He gazed at his now empty root beer and stood to get a glass of water, shrugging slightly to let the young woman change the subject if she chose. "But, mileage may vary, as they say." He glanced over at Cammie, now covering slices of bread liberally with Tabasco sauce. "You know, I bet my sister's girlfriend could find you some excellent hot sauces. I assume you like peppers? Nina's from Brazil, she can find the hottest peppers and spices New York City has to offer."

“Yep! I love peppers. Well, the stuff in them, I’ve been told. The chemicals that cause pain. I can’t taste anything else, but that’s public knowledge. I also drink drain cleaner,” she said cheerfully. Which she had found out during one of her fits as a runaway. “Poison, pain of the taste buds… doesn’t even faze me.”

"Well, you're on your own for drain cleaner," Leo replied dryly, "But I can definitely see what I can find for you in terms of peppers or spices."

“That will be awesome. Well, me and my sammich will leave you be now,” Cammie said brightly. “I have a date with rotted fruit and rubbing alcohol.”

"Ah...enjoy. Good to meet you, Cammie."