I lied. I was busy last week with camps and extracurricular (Gah, music theory). But this week, I'm free. :3
Thank you to MihAela-Selene, Loki Hatter, rana 2001, roxifoxi, Meow-chan-15, Hewia, Runa, the most amazing Fluehatraya, Yuu3, Toko Kyotaro, Guest (Hope you'll revisit :)), and Alex Elvan, ILoveFanfiction-AnimeAdik for your reviews. They encouraged me to write this quickly.
Meow-chan-15 and Fluehatraya suggested Gin and his pals. I thought it was genius! So, here it is:
Session#1- 13/7/13- Diagnosis
Diagnosis-
The next group on the schedule seemed to be as unique. Not only did Ms. Dubose receive the appointment schedule by phone with a voice-distorter and a threatening choice of words, but even their names stood out- all seeming to be types of… alcohol?
Gin, Vodka, Chianti, Bourbon, and Vermouth.
She tipped her head up. There they were.
The first was a man with a long, bleached mane. A broad-brimmed hat obscured his face, disallowing her from seeing any more than his beak-shaped nose and his overbearing scowl. Like a viper, he sat stoically, a seamless robe falling around him, ready to strike at the slightest disturbance. His cigarette smoldered as he crumpled its end against the ash tray, pulling out another one.
The other man possessed a wide jaw and chiseled features- his eyes shielded by tinted lenses and his forehead shadowed by a matching hat. He seemed less certain of himself, glancing at the other man nervously… as if he was his subordinate hoping to please him.
The first woman sported a peculiar short hairdo- tinted vivid orange. A scowl and a deformed grimace adorned her face, as well as a thick, black eyebrow arched into a menacing frown. Her lashes were also conspicuous. They had been extended with dabs of purple mascara and contrasted well with her somber outfit… the right pocket of which protruded suspiciously.
Vermouth, the last one, was also woman. She wore her silver hair up in a bun, loose curls left tumbling over her shoulders, seeming to possess a certain sense of self-satisfaction. Her smirk never wavered.
Surprisingly, among these frightening people, a bright young teenager was present. With dark skin, blond hair, and the absence of a cowlick- thank goodness- he seemed much more cheerful than his companions. He had actually greeted her as she had entered the room. But a certain air of cunning- mischief- emanated from him.
Another thing struck her. Not only were they all black-clad, they were also…
No, just no.
They were almost like copies of Haibara; their eyes cold and piercing, their expressions cynical- sardonic.
"Geez, they call us out on a mission, sending us to the therapist instead. It's not like we need therapy," the red-head called out obnoxiously.
Vermouth purred: "Are you trying to defy orders, Chianti?"
Orders? Are they all from the same company, sent here as a group?
"It seems we're peculiar… even by the organization's standards," the teenager yawned insouciantly.
Organization? This reminded her of a conversation she had had before with a little boy. Someone with split-personality disorder… ah! Now she remembered. Conan's mature facet had spouted some nonsense about an oppressive organization which he had to destroy.
Could it be?
Could it be he's actually talking about a real company? An organization which has mistreated those close to him?
Ms. Dubose smiled. Of course not. It was nonsense after all.
"Good afternoon! We're all going to introduce ourselves, alright?" Ms. Dubose managed to pronounce her welcome enthusiastically.
Five pairs of eyes fixed her. They did not seem in the mood for such affairs.
Like crows… A murder of crows…
This was the second time today that the therapist was feeling intimidated. Weak, helpless, dumb. The first situation had involved a little girl... now it involved four adults and a teenager.
"Well, might as well get rid of her and get out of here," Chianti sneered, reaching for the bulge in her pocket.
"No. Not now."
The long-haired blonde raised his chin and his cold cerulean eyes were finally revealed. Eyes devoid of everything save ruthlessness, calculation, and contempt. They bore through Ms. Dubose… and she couldn't help but quiver.
"Not now Chianti," his gaze swung sharply towards the woman. It was then that the therapist realized that all the people present possessed a prominent bump in their clothes- one like Chianti's.
What… what is going on? Ms. Dubose's eyes widened ever so slightly.
Amusement flitted across Vermouth's face and she leaned further into the couch.
The bald man looked at his partner uncertainly: "So… what do we do now, bro?"
Bourbon interrupted: "Introduce yourself."
He protested: "But-"
"Do as told," Gin pronounced nonchalantly, though with an assertive demeanour.
His subordinate swallowed, turning towards Ms. Dubose: "Vodka."
"Nice to meet you! Could you tell me what spurred your parents to give you such odd names?" the therapist answered with excessive enthusiasm. She was genuinely curious as to why they were all named after alcohol- were they aliases to protect their identities? Did they all form a group like Alcoholics Anonymous?
Gin sighed inwardly. He would be honest. After all, she would no longer be present to divulge their secret when they left… He sneered coldly. She would be perfectly silent.
"Codenames. They are codenames which we use to refer to each other."
His companions seemed startled. Even Vermouth's eyes flickered open momentarily before closing once more, a smile returning to her face. She crossed her arms as if defying him: Impress me.
Ms. Dubose was completely oblivious to the meaning of his words: "Wow, codenames! You mean you play games together?"
Vermouth's lips curled up into an amused grin: "Yes. A game. One much more severe and momentous than your brain will ever comprehend."
For once, Chianti agreed with her words: "That's right, dumbass."
Ms. Dubose was insulted. She definitely requires an anger-management program, she resolved, answering with poise: "Now, now. Swearing is disrespectful."
It was then that the therapist remembered. Upon attending the National Psychology Conference in Dubai, she had been introduced to an activity which she had wanted to test out. Perhaps...
"Instead of introducing ourselves normally, let's do something which will allow us to understand ourselves more thoroughly," Ms. Dubose explained, "through the eyes of another."
Their stares became suspicious.
"We will form two groups due to our uneven numbers," the therapist pursued, "In one group, we'll have Chianti and Bourbon. In the other, we'll have Gin, Vodka, and Vermouth, alright?"
A few nodded faintly, the rest shrugged, one of them shooting a particularly scorching glare.
Ms. Dubose bent over to reach a small notepad on her desk. Holding two pieces of paper between her thumb and index, she peeled them off in one smooth, uninterrupted gesture. Handing them out with pencils, she detailed the procedure: "Each team will make a list of what they know about the members of the other team…"
"And please. Be considerate."
Adding this quickly, she folded her hands over her lap with her ever-present pen still lodged between her second and middle finger.
Their lists took a few minutes to complete. Whereas Chianti's group was peppered with malevolent snickers, Vermouth's was completely silent. Again. What an… interesting group of individuals.
Ms. Dubose adjusted her glasses and brought the papers into the dim glower of a lamp. She read them out loud:
"Chianti. She is loud-mouthed, unbearably hot-headed, impatient…"
"Damn you, Vermouth," Chianti snarled, after which a slew of indecent terms ensued.
Inwardly, the therapist snorted. She had guessed that much.
But outwardly, she kept up her façade: "You shouldn't assume that Chianti. As for you," she addressed Vermouth's whole group, "didn't I tell you to be more considerate?"
Sighing, she decided that she would review the rest to avoid redundant provocation.
It continued for a very long time…
… Unnecessarily flashy, and ugly.
Ms. Dubose shuddered: Thank goodness she didn't hear that.
She continued to read.
Her only asset is her skill in sniping.
Wait… what?
The therapist's eyes became increasingly agape: "S- sniping?"
"Ya, I like sniping. Got a problem?" Chianti chewed maliciously.
"You… um, are in the army or the police force?" Ms. Dubose tried to be logical. That's what it meant, right?
Chianti smirked: "Neither."
The therapist frowned: "Then you must hunt for a hobby."
"She hunts," Vermouth conceded, watching the therapist's features loosen, "for people that is."
"Virtually?" Ms. Dubose became fretful, "As in a video game?"
The red-head shook her head with an unnerving grin creeping onto her face: "Nope."
What… what does this mean? Who are these people?
That had been the second time that month she had asked that to herself.
Gin confirmed her fears: "We're killers."
Ms. Dubose stood up. She didn't exactly know why, but there was one thing she was certain of: She did not want to remain in the midst of a room full of psychopathic killers.
"Well, I'm also a detective," Bourbon added casually.
"I'm an actress in my free time," Vermouth said, waving her perfectly manicured fingers towards Ms. Dubose. They looked sharp. Like they could slice open her chest and mutilate her guts.
"We're killers."
She couldn't stand it anymore. The therapist swung the door open, and launched herself outside. It swung close again with a bang.
The room was silent once more.
"Shouldn't we go after her?" Vodka asked his partner.
"No." was his answer, clear and concise. But he did not explain why.
Silence. For several minutes, the only notable noise was the smooth whirr of the fans blowing a dusty breeze.
"Umm… bro?" Vodka attempted, seeing the man lift his head towards him, "what did you do? I mean, before you joined the organisation."
Gin's cruel expression seemed to soften momentarily; just for a small moment before hardening again.
He lowered his head: "I majored in arts."
"You wanted to become an artist?" Bourbon and all the others were taken aback. They did not know much of the man's past.
After Vermouth regained her composure, she added: "You still paint, don't you?"
The assembly chuckled softly. Yes, with blood.
Gin agreed: "I still consider myself an artist."
All of a sudden, the door creaked open again. Heads swivelled to see… a little boy? Yes, a tiny boy with a red bow tie and huge, inquisitive eyes.
Silver bullet- kun? Vermouth blinked.
The boy skipped inside with a carefree attitude, calling out: "Komenasai! I forgot something!"
Five eyes scrutinized him carefully- suspiciously, before someone finally answered: "Hey Conan-kun."
Bourbon waved to the boy as he said this.
The boy looked up for the first time. Noticing the occupants, his jaw fell to the ground: "ah… um… hi."
He did not know what amused him more- the fact that he was experiencing such an opportune moment to capture five of the most important members in the organisation, or the fact the black organisation was at the therapist.
He pressed a hand against his mouth, stifling a giggle.
"Pffft…" was the sound which escaped.
Raised eyebrows. Silent smirks. Conan stumbled outside, still laughing, forgetting to retrieve whatever he came there for. The ray of light from outside thinned and dissipated.
Thump. The door closed.
They shrugged, unknowing.
Glancing up from a cellphone, Gin spoke: "I believe we are no longer obliged to get rid of Ms. Dubose."
"Huh?" Vodka inquired.
"It has been accomplished already."
Ms. Dubose was still pressed against the door, eyes darting around frantically.
Hanging on to their every word.
"What happened to her?" a man asked, sipping on his coffee, "She only lasted two weeks."
The other answered, sliding his mug onto the desk before him: "Dunno. She started screaming about how there were assassins in her room."
"What?" he peered sideways.
"There was no one in her room. And no appointment for anyone either," he shrugged, "they sent her to an asylum."
"Tough job, huh?" he yawned.
The other nodded: "Tough job."
The report was filed to Anakota the next day.
Vodka: Low self-esteem and inferiority complex to Gin. He feels he must rely on him for everything, never making a decision for himself. To learn the value of his own abilities, he should be praised regularly.
Chianti: Anger management issues. She is very sensible to put downs from other people, especially her peers. Although she may act though, she just wants to belong.
Vermouth: Perfectionism. She expects everyone to perform and act as well as she does and is not afraid to inform them of their shortcomings. Vermouth also prefers to wait and sway events in her direction, often withholding information from those who wish to help her.
Gin: A cynical sociopath who enjoys manipulating…
The last part was scribbled frenziedly:
WHO AM I KIDDING, THEY'RE ALL FREAKING PSYCHOPATHS!
Anokata's chair swivelled gently. The first part was nonsense… but the last was spot-on.
There goes another one.
I guess I'll stop when the number of reviews decline.