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[ferrisbuellean]

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[slightlyoffchilt]

I don't have time to watch movies, because I have a thriving career and social influence.

[Chilton leaned back in the plastic, utilitarian chair, and crossed his arms.]

So you've basically just admitted that this character's control of his bizarre mental condition is a pure fiction?

[ferrisbuellean]

[Rude, but it's pretty much the same thing Jeff would say to his TV addict friends, so he'll allow it.]

Pure fiction is bullshit around here. Everything exists. It's just basic logic, isn't it? You lose an arm, you learn to adapt without it. You lose your temper and turn into someone else? You learn to work with it. I could do that, right? I could learn to control my ego...

[And then he'd be truly perfect, mwahaha. ... Is thinking that egotistical? Shit.]

You must have... ff... faul-- limitations that you've learned to live with. [Can't even say the word fault, because it's such a dirty word.]

[slightlyoffchilt]

No, not particularly. I've worked around barricades, because none of my limitations [see, he avoided your trigger for you] were of a psychological impediment. There's something to be said about fighting your own brain, Jeff. And behavior is both a chemical and environmental product.

[ferrisbuellean]

[Thank you, bro, for avoiding triggers.]

So are you saying I'm screwed? I can't live my life flipping tables every time I get an appreciative look. I mean, have you seen how pretty my face is? I get those kind of looks a lot.

[slightlyoffchilt]

You have two obvious options, Jeff. [Said Chilton, in his calming therapeutic voice.] Either submit to psychotherapy on a regular basis to address techniques in tandem with medication, or find someone who could painlessly castrate you.

I'm guessing the hormonal imbalance begins with your testosterone, but that could be more trial and error.

[ferrisbuellean]

Castrate-- yeah, very funny.

[A sulky gulp of his coffee and then shoving it away like he's done with it. Or done with these suggestions, either one.]

My hormones are just fine. Even my oestrogen levels are considered perfect. They're not the problem. [His ego is the problem, he just can't admit that because, y'know, ego.]

Look, if I do that psychotherapy crap, can you promise me you'll actually be able to help it?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Of course, Jeff. My success is tied into yours, after all.

[Which is quite the lie -- but doesn't it sound reassuring?]

Think about it, won't you? And get back to me with your decision. I'll find the time to schedule you in.

[ferrisbuellean]

[That sounds just like the sort of reassaurance Jeff has given to clients in the past. And then gone home and rolled in their money.]

Fine. I'll think about it. I can't guarantee I won't smash your place up though.

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Jeff smash"? How appropriate.

[He stood -- with a smirk and a wink, because Chilton could wield pop culture in his pretentious way, just as well as any psychiatrist! He took his leave with a swift, masculine nod.

A balance to his blip of humor.]

[ferrisbuellean]

Hilarious, nerd.

[Nerds are so gross and not at all something he approves of, obviously. Because he totally wasn't talking about comics and stuff only minutes ago.]

I'll be in touch.

[For now, though, he'll stay where he is. Spend just a little longer with a college that isn't quite his but enough of a reminder of something from home.]