Author's Note: Here's chapter 2...the beginning of the character's Utter Misery. Thank you to Just Me and Galadedrid for the reviews! Glad to hear that you enjoyed it. And er...I realize there's self-insertion here, but I didn't want any of the characters to be the psychiatrist, because then they couldn't get analysed...so, hopefully that won't bother anyone. Enjoy chapter 2!
Chapter 2: All For One, and One for Himself
Raistlin glared at Fizban mutinously, kicking his heels against his chair. They were sitting in the waiting room of the psychiatrist's office, and Raistlin was none too happy about this.
"I'm going to do this, you old fool! You can't make me! I'll lie about everything! I'll spit in your eye! I'll—"
Fizban turned to him, looking stern. "See here, Raistlin, this is for your own good, and you're going whether you like it or not!"
"I won't!" Raistlin shouted, sticking his tongue out at Fizban. It was terribly undignified, not to mention out-of-character, but at that moment he didn't really care.
"Er…please?" Fizban said. He was running out of ideas. "Come on—what would make you willing to go through with the therapy? Just name it, and I'll see what I can do."
Raistlin thought for a moment. Then a crafty smile spread slowly across his face. Fizban had a feeling he was going to regret saying that…
"There's just one thing," Raistlin said, cackling softly.
-o-o-o-o-o-
"We have to what!?" Dalamar cried furiously. He and the other characters were once again standing around in pre-war Solace for no apparent reason. Dalamar was starting to get seriously annoyed with the author.
"You have to attend therapy sessions," Fizban repeated, rubbing his temples. It was bad enough dealing with Raistlin, let alone his whiny apprentice.
"But why?" Tanis asked, feeling a mixture of comfort and irritation at Fizban's presence. It was nice to know the gods were watching over them, yes, but Tanis would have preferred they watched over him from a distance.
"Because if you don't go, Raistlin won't go, and he needs to be redeemed."
"Yes…yes, that's an excellent idea!" Crysania said, nodding her head fervently. Tanis wasn't sure whether she was agreeing because it was Paladine and she was his cleric, or because she was still hung up on Raistlin.
"Well, I'm not going," Dalamar said flatly. "I agree that Raistlin needs serious help, but I don't need therapy. There's nothing wrong with me!"
Fizban's eyes narrowed. "Oh really? You don't think you have deep emotional scarring from being exiled by your own people? Or being betrayed by…well, just about everyone? Or dying that time when Mina killed you? Or having Raistlin choose Palin over you—repeatedly? Or—"
"Aaaagh—shut up!" Dalamar cried, clamping his hands over his ears. He could hear perfectly well anyway, of course. Elves are just cool like that.
"See? You do need therapy," Fizban said, a look of smug self-righteousness on his face. "Now…are you going to come by choice, or will I have get forceful?"
Tanis sighed. Paladine was his god, Tanis reminded himself. Paladine had aided them in the past. They owed him one…
"…fine," he muttered at last. "I'll go get the others."
-o-o-o-o-o-
There was an awkward silence in the waiting room, mostly filled with murderous glares at Raistlin. He pointedly ignored them all. He didn't give a damn about their own little trials and tribulations. His plan was working perfectly….he rubbed his hands together and gave a quiet evil cackle.
Tanis sighed morosely, his chin in his hands as he leaned forward, looking around the waiting room. It was anachronistic in the extreme; it had a carpeted floor, some stylish chairs, a few modern art-looking paintings on the walls, and a table with outdated magazines scattered across it. There was a plant over in one corner; Tanis suspected it might be fake. Not that he knew what fake plants were, of course.
"Raistlin…why?" he moaned in agony, burying his face in his hands. "What did I ever do to deserve this…"
"Plenty," Raistlin said coldly, pulling his robes more tightly around him. "But that's none of my concern. All I care about is getting out of this."
"Oh, what a great plan you have," Dalamar said sarcastically. "In order to get out of this ridiculous—therapy—you drag all of us into it as well! I'm sure that's going to convince Fizban to let you go."
Raistlin smiled a crafty smile. In fact, it might almost be called a smirk. "How little you know the ways of mad old wizards, my foolish apprentice. Fizban is not our main concern at all. The one who has real control is…" His voice lowered to a whisper and he leaned forward conspiratorially. "The author. Fizban promised me that if I went to therapy, he'd make everyone else go as well. He's a god, he can't just back out on it. And that means Tas has to go to therapy. And we all know Tas is the author's favorite…"
At this point Raistlin subsided into irritated grumbling about how he was much cooler than Tas. Stupid author. Then Raistlin saw the weird looks everyone else was giving him and got back to the point. "As I was saying…once Tas starts complaining about doing this therapy, the author will of course let him stop. And then Fizban will have to keep his promise and let all of us stop."
Jaws dropped as the characters realized the full ramifications of Raistlin's plan. As much as they hated to admit it, he might well be right.
"Now do you see the brilliance of my plan?" Raistlin said, smirking. "Muahahaha….MUAHAHAHA—hack! Hack!" He doubled over, coughing.
Caramon rushed to his side at once. "Raist, how many times do I have to say it? Fizban said maniacal laughter is bad for your health!"
"I don't care what that old fool says!" Raistlin shot back, glowering fiercely at his twin. "Just get me my tea, dammit!"
Caramon sighed and shuffled off to brew his brother's tea. The other characters subsided into only the occasional grumblings of complaint. Dalamar started leafing through some of the magazines on the table.
"These stories don't make any sense," he commented, examining an article in Martha Stewart Living.
"That's because they're written in English," Crysania helpfully supplied. "We speak Common, not English."
"And that's a magazine about home décor," Tanis added. "I don't think matching sofas and new bathroom mirrors are really going to do much for your Tower."
Dalamar vented some frustration by throwing the magazine at Tanis' head. Unfortunately it fell woefully short, but before another argument could break out, the door to the therapist's office creaked open.
The characters all held their breath, gazing apprehensively at the figure that was emerging…but wait—there were two people standing there.
"Hi, guys! Isn't this awfully exciting? Subieko says we're all set to start counseling you!"
Raistlin slumped back in his chair and groaned. Just what he needed…psychiatric analysis from Tas.
It was going to be a long, long day…