I talk a lot of shit about my overseers but everybody’s got redeeming traits. In the case of my onlookers that trait is their unique blend of uncaring distance mixed with concern over my unpredictability. It causes them to do things like show concern when I threaten to go into a fit of rage but at the same time make no real effort in fixing the problem.
That may sound hard to pull off but it’s simple really. Today a man with two
broken arms and legs showed up on my doorstep. I couldn’t help but laugh at that
poor unlucky bastard.
“Hello Doctor,” I snickered.
“I have a name you know. It’s F-,” he started before I socked him in the face. Then
he started yelling and complaining about a broken nose. I had to pull him
inside to keep him from making a scene.
Apparently it’s been determined that I need constant psychiatric aid to ensure
I don’t do anything unnecessarily stupid like trying to find and hurt Moriarty over someone I don’t know.
“So does that mean I’m not allowed?” I asked.
“It means good fucking luck with that you stupid tit,” he yelled back trying to
keep pressure on his nose with a cast on.
He went on to lecture me more on how impractical I was being and how incredibly
poor my reasons were, or rather he tried to go on to do that. It’s hard to
understand what someone is saying when they got a cast pressed to their face. But
he just kept talking like the broken freaking record he is. He couldn’t even
bother to change it up by saying it in different ways. Same stupid words over
and over again… probably. Like I said, he was hard to understand. I finally
started agreeing with him until he settled down and stopped talking. So for the
time being I promised to work on my list. So whatever, I guess its back to business
I’m told the good doctor will be with me until such a time comes when I can be
trusted not to do stupid things so he’s probably in for the long haul. As a
compromise for the inconvenience of have to drag around a cripple, I’ve been
permitted to give the doctor a temporary designation. I went with ‘Fracture’
because by the time all this is over I’m willing to bet there won’t be a bone
in his body that I haven’t broken at least once.
Shifting to the topic of my list, I spent the last two days looking for my
mark. I had no luck. This one is shaping up to be everything the last one was
supposed to be which leads me to believe this maybe another canned scenario. I
just don’t remember which yet.
So I got a mark to find and therapist that requires I spoon feed him every five
hours. I should probably get back to that.