Disclaimer: With the exception of the unfortunate Dr. Darryl, I own none of the character or settings mentioned herein.
Dr. Darryl Birkett, therapist of cable channel renown, was well aware that he was a man of many faults. There were his qualifications for a start, most of which had been purchased via an exceedingly dubious looking advert that landed in his e-mail in-box sometime during the summer of 2001, and the fact that he routinely diverged from the truth when declaring his annual earnings to people of an Inland Revenue persuasion, not to mention the time that he had removed several dozen pint glasses from the Student's Union pub during his days as an undergraduate sociology student(1). He was quickly coming to realise however that his main flaw was not dishonesty or even an occasional tendency to acquire things that didn't rightfully belong to him. No, his main flaw was what one might call 'blind optimism': the persistent and unfounded hope that, contrary to all prior experience, Dukes Hastur and Ligur wouldn't show up for their Thursday morning appointment, or that Mr. Fell would healthily vent repressed frustration about something other than the state of books in public libraries these days, or that Mr. Crowley would one day cease bragging about his predilection for causing frequent civic chaos. Thus, when he saw the names Raven Sable and Albus 'Chalky' White listed in his appointment book there was a part of him that doggedly strove to hope that their problems would be of a normal, or at the very least earthily abnormal, nature.
Alas, it was not to be, and he could instinctively tell, heart sinking to hitherto unplumbed depths, from the moment that they walked through the door that they were going be 'those' kind of people.
The first thing that struck him was the acrid and worryingly toxic smell that seemed to drift in the wake of the pale, white-haired youth with the blissfully spaced-out expression, the second was the sudden gnawing hunger that assailed his stomach as the slim, raven-haired man with the immaculately groomed beard gave him a small and slightly unsettling smile.
"Er, Mr. Raven Sable and Mr. Albus White?" he enquired, valiantly trying to resist the urge to let slide fifteen years of conscientious veganism and devour the partially eaten Burger Lord Flame Grill Special that now inexplicably lay next to the waste paper basket.
"Dr. Sable, actually," said the dark-haired man, as he took the seat to the right of the desk.
Darryl felt a mild surge of panic and inferiority; if this man had actual, bona-fide letters after his name then the chances of his own credential creativity being recognised was probably far higher than usual. He took a sideways glance at the certificate on the wall reading 'Honorary Doctorate from the University of Camford' and hoped that the printer paper and non-existent institution weren't too easily discernable.
"May I ask where you heard about me?" he asked, feeling extremely perturbed by the faintly amused appraisal that Dr. Sable was giving his formerly pristine consulting room. White, for his part, seemed to be staring out of the window; enraptured by the traffic going down the main road outside. Darryl inwardly heaved a heavy sigh of resignation; clients with obvious substance abuse problems were always the hardest to work with.
"You were recommended by a colleague of ours. You'll probably remember her, most mortals who live to tell the tale do."
Darryl paled as, completely unbidden, visions of a red haired woman with a very dangerous smile, strolling in from the carnage that had been once been a waiting room, flooded into his head. He couldn't help but recall how the armed police who'd later arrived on the scene had told him, in no uncertain terms, how very lucky he was to have avoided arrest and prosecution for inciting acts of extreme violence. "Er, you don't mean," he shuddered, "Ms. Zuigiber, by any chance?"
"She said she'd never before felt quite as in touch with her inner nature than she did after coming to see you."
"Oh good," he said weakly, trying to ignore the faintly orgasmic gasps that White was making every time a car with a faulty exhaust drove past the building. "And what it that you both feel the need to talk about today?"
"I'm sure you're aware, Doctor Birkett," said Dr. Sable, who seemed to put an almost imperceptible ironic twist on the word 'Doctor', "that working alongside somebody you're involved with in a – how should I put it - a more personal sense, can cause a certain amount of friction."
Darryl felt his stomach growl with unprecedented violence.
"He's just annoyed because I got to a few small African nations before he did," said White, momentarily pulling himself from his state of daze, before heaving an ecstatic sigh as an overflowing litter bin across the road was overturned by a sudden gust of wind.
A look of acute irritation crossed Dr. Sable's ever-so-slightly gaunt features. "It was a childish act of petty revenge for a brief period during which, unbeknown to me, one of my factories in Indonesia started to recycle its waste."
"Er, right," said Darryl, feeling utterly lost. It was a sensation to which he was of late becoming uncomfortably familiar with. "So you feel that workplace competition is leading to interpersonal conflict?"
Dr. Sable nodded. "Conflict's more Red's line of work, but you've pretty much hit the nail on the head."
Outside there was the sound of brakes screeching as a motorist swerved in a futile attempt to avoid hitting a low flying pigeon. This was quickly followed by a loud crashing noise, as said car proceeded to plough into an articulated lorry carrying several tonnes of industrial waste.
"So wonderful," murmured White, as the lorry's caustic contents spilled out onto the road.
"I don't suppose that there's any chance that the two of you could work in a more co-operative fashion, is there?"
"We've tried," said Dr. Sable, "but these days they're too eager to give him the credit for my work. It's always global warming that's causing the crops to fail, or acid rain that's ruining the soil. You can't seem to have a famine without 'environmental factors' anymore."
Darryl nodded in what he hoped was a completely neutral and non-committal fashion. He knew instinctively that this line of discussion, if pursued any further, was likely to lead to places that most human minds really didn't want to visit. "I notice that there seems to be a rather wide age gap between the two of you. Do you think that this might be a contributing factor to your erm… issues?" What he really meant was 'your boyfriend looks like he's barely legal, don't you think that getting involved with men who're clearly half your age is possibly, you know, on balance, a rather bad idea', but diplomacy, professionalism and a recently honed instinct for self-preservation prevented him for saying as much.
"He's older than he looks," said Sable.
"Oh, I wasn't suggesting anything like that," said Darryl hastily. "I was just asking if er… the gap in er… life experience was a source of tension."
White snorted with what would under normal circumstances have been rather amusing petulance. "He's always comparing me to Pestilence."
"Pestilence?"
"The one that came before me."
Darryl grasped the only branch of logic he could find in the sea of disorientation in which he was currently being forced to tread water. "Ah, I think I can see what you're saying. You want to be respected for the individual you are, rather than being constantly compared to his ex-partner; though I don't think that referring to them as Pestilence is very healthy."
"But he was disease itself," protested White.
"I can see you dislike him very much; but in any relationship have to learn to accept each others pasts and move on. Start looking to the future. Maybe you could start by…." For a few moments he tried desperately to think of something. "…by doing something together that neither of you have tried before."
"That might be more difficult that you'd think," said Dr. Sable.
"Well," said White, suddenly looking decided alert "I don't think that either of us has been on a space shuttle before."
A look of intrigued speculation settled on Dr. Sable's face. "If freeze dried MEALS were the official rations of the next mission it would do wonders for sales."
"And," said White, face blissfully glazing over once more, "I hear that they're thinking of dumping toxic waste up there."
"Thank you Dr. Birkett," said Dr. Sable, "I believe that you have might just have inspired the start of a bold new venture."
"Glad to have helped," said Darryl in small, rather lost, voice. Any relief he would have otherwise felt at the fact that the couple seemed to be making a move to leave was offset by the frighteningly desperate craving for food – the greasier and less environmentally sound the better - was now assuaging him. "It's disgusting the way those fast food people treat animals," he murmured as he found himself unable to keep from staring longingly at the discarded hamburger next to the bin.
"I wouldn't worry," said Dr. Sable with another of his disconcerting smiles, "I don't think you'll find any sort of animal derived nutritional content in that burger."
(1)Though in all fairness he had, ten years later, sent an anonymous letter filled with twenty pound notes to the proprietor, following a spontaneous fit of guilt induced by an ill-timed encounter with an over-zealous arch angel out for an evening stroll amongst creation.
