Look at him, all high and mighty. I think I'm gonna puke. Is that a sweat stain?
So maybe Killian Jones was a touch judgmental, especially in these situations. You know, the situations where at least 20 people were staring him down, silently insisting that THEY WERE BETTER THAN HIM, THEY WERE BETTER THAN HIM, WE ARE BETTER THAN YOU, ESPECIALLY WITH OUR FANCY SUITS AND WE ARE JUDGING YOUR SKINNY JEANS YOU WEIRDO.
Frankly, it was exhausting, all the silent judgement radiating from the close-pressed bodies violently invading his personal space. Then again, apparently he didn't even get an opinion, so there was no point giving them all annoyed glares. A good decade or so in University for, what, a diploma of being the smaller man? Yeah, thanks a lot, government.
Before him were at least thirteen people, all dressed up in their fancy black and white suits and dresses, shifting to cover up the coffee marks that they'd not been bothered to waste precious dollars on getting rid of. And – oh, look! Have I mentioned that the big boss has a giant, dangerously obvious sweat patch covering both of his enormous armpits that was spreading down towards his ass?
Anyway. Enough about the lack of hygiene of the people he was to be trapped in a miniature room with for the next who-knew-how-long.
Sounds like a fun pastime, right?
He knew none of the people in this room – Of the good fifty beings that he'd actually made an effort to make friends with (an effort! Would you believe it?!) absolutely none of them had actually made it into this humid, The Borrowers-size 'meeting room'.
Queue the surge of pride that he was finally better at life than eighty percent of the people he knew. What an achievement. Level up!
And queue the surge of self-deprecation that he was less important than thirteen of the self-conscious buggers sitting around, sipping at empty mugs and giving embarrassed glances when they realise they just had a good swig of fresh air.
To be honest, Killian didn't actually know why he was a lesser man in comparison to these big-headed dwarves. He was the world-renowned psychologist, specialising in psychosis and general insani- er, mental illnesses, having designed the brain function plan and likely outcomes for the entirety of this oh-so-important-experiment. He should be seated with the Bored Keyboard-Knights of the Rectangular Mahogany Table, sipping 'chamomile tea' – aka hot rum mixed with water and a heavy dose of tasteless camomile to 'cover' the whole alcohol smell (spoiler alert; it didn't do shit) – and laughing inwardly at the sight of the miserable people slumped on the Seat of Losers.
He'd bet a twenty that one of those top-dogs was just a crafty janitor with good slight of hand.
Oh look, more important people – Wait, no. Only three women, wobbling into the room on their unnecessary tall stilettos and wearing dangerously restricting pencil skirts, and only two of them took a seat at the Rectangular Mahogany Table, the other plonking their ten-kilogram purse beside them on the Seat of Losers.
Ah, one of my kind.
Blah blah blah, Stiletto 1 and Stiletto 2 take second glances at him, and he runs a hand over his face to make sure no ketchup remnants had made their way onto his face…. Blah blah blah, most of the low-lives - who really didn't look like they wanted to be there - poured themselves oversized mugs of coffee, the necessity for their favourite caffeinated beverage mirrored in their gaunt, overly-makeup-plastered features.
Mister Top Dog, sitting up from his overly-comfortable-looking black spinning chair – Oh how Killian would have loved to spend hours feeling sick and vomiting all over that mahogany table of important-ness – and showing off his dangerously prominent bald patch that he had somehow missed in his browsing for judgement-inducing features.
" So, ladies and gentlemen, " He called out in a voice that seemed far too feminine for such a male looking person. Killian gave a small chuckle to himself, and watched one of the Stilettos give him a sidewards glance. He closed his eye in a wink, and she blushed an ugly blush – one can only look so elegant in so much foundation – and turned away.
" As you will know, we are currently undergoing the beginning of an experiment based on patients of severe psychosis, and particularly those who are swiftly and easily manipulated, both in lies of another source and of their own. This experiment goes under the title of Experiment 7, or Experiment Storybrooke. Once again, mentioning this experiment to any other source outside of those working on this project will not be tolerated. " His droning, light voice was enough to make Killian feel sleepy, his choice of words automated and practised. Top Dog couldn't even improvise.
" Experiment Storybrooke focuses on the belief of the patients that they are living a second life, and were previously famous fairytale characters in the 'Enchanted Forest'. Some patients, such as Regina Mills and Mr Gold, have been undergoing flash cards and other forms of stimulation for several months now, have the 'memories' of their previously life, and are currently in the belief that they were highly influential in the transportation of our patients to the 'World without Magic'. "
Some of the patients already had memories? It was Killian's assumption that, for as far as he knew, the experiment was reasonably new, and no preparation apart from the town's construction and light testing of the patients – including the insistence that they had lived in Storybrooke for as long as they could remember - had undergone.
" Of course, as you know, we are not leaving the patients inside to roam about with every ability to remember who they are and their previous memories. We have a few agents inside the experiment, instilling and reinforcing the beliefs into their heads. Graham and Henry will be major agents, with Katerina, Estelle, Amy and Noel as minor agents. " Top Dog gave a wide smile to everyone surrounding him, heaving a heavy breath.
" Our experiment will begin in- "
" So, we're brainwashing them? I wasn't told this. " Killian interrupted, perhaps a little rudely, frowning heavily.
" Yes, we are. Do you have a problem with that, Mr Jones? How else did you expect us to instill it into the patients? " Top Dog fixes him with a harsh glare, as if daring him to say anything else that would cause his colleagues to ask similar risqué questions.
Killian's mouth bobbed open and closed soundlessly, as if a goldfish, before he gave an annoyed huff and sat back in the seat with a pout on his lips and narrowed eyes. His vain mood disappeared in the blink of an eye, and embarrassment settled on his shoulders.
A long minute of silence where nobody dared to utter a word passed awkwardly, until with a loud intrusion, a woman's alarm – sadly not a Stiletto – blares angrily. Top Dog turns his head to her expectantly, his bushy eyebrows raising, and she gives a burdened nod. " It's time. "
He turned around, grasping the remote and jabbing at a red button with a fat thumb. The flat-screen behind him flickered, and in an instant an image appeared before them all. A collective gasp fluttered around them, surprise and giddiness sending sparks through the air of the mini-room-that-really-should-be-large-for-its-importance.
On the screen, a young boy of about nine or ten stands in a hallway, his eyes focused on what appears to be his watch. In a manner of seconds, he turns to look up at the camera in the corner, flashing them the thumbs up with a toothy grin, and racked his knuckles on the door before him.
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Again, thankyou!
- Cap'n