` unraveling truths., { vicki vale }

[Donovan McVane]

[ short, i know xP ]

The pen drummed the desk in quick rat-a-tat-tats, though Donovan's eyes were hardly focused on what his hands were doing. He was on edge, certainly, but then most of the psychiatrists at Arkham were on edge these days, what with the minor detail of a mass breakout glaring them in the face with every corner turn, every empty cell that wasn't supposed to be empty. They were all hurting, all sporting some part of the blame, though it was impossible to pinpoint which member of the staff could predict such a disaster. It was the worst case scenario for every asylum and Arkham was no exception.

Why had he agreed to this? Glancing yet again at his watch, Donnie still couldn't fathom the answer. There was a part of him that needed to do this interview, if only to ease his own mind. But he knew that giving his perspective on something so close to home that he might have been able to stop if he was really on his guard (the breakout had to have been planned weeks in advance. At least.) wasn't going to be a walk in the park. The people-person part of him wanted to handle the damage control aspect, if only to show that he could handle it. That he was capable of functioning at the level he tried to convince himself he could, despite his own personal traumas- that he was already far past. Of course.

A knock at the door, and he cleared his throat- "Come on in."

He rose from his chair, maneuvering around his desk to greet whoever it was, running an anxious hand through his hair, tugging at his white lab coat. Was he ready for this? He cleared his throat again for good measure. Sure, of course, yeah. Right. Ready as he would ever be. Though, honestly he would have been all for this sort of thing before he had started up with all of the insecure, 'what the fuck am I doing?' business he had picked up in recent months. Hell, he might have even looked forward to it- looked forward to representing the asylum with a confident smile on his face, all the right answers up his sleeve.

Hopefully he didn't fuck this up.

[Vicki Vale]

When the editors had approached Vicki about perhaps covering the most recent in a string of breakouts from Arkham Asylum, even the intrepid reporter had been a little bit unsure about the assignment. After all, if it was so easy for the inmates to escape so frequently, it couldn’t possibly have been a safe location. As always, though, she managed to talk herself out of worrying about security, and the adrenaline began to kick in. Of course she wanted the assignment! Over the course of the past few days leading up to the day of the interview, Vicki had been doing as much research as she could on psychology, just so that she could understand whatever the doctor might say using clinical terms. Before she knew it, the day she’d arranged to head to Arkham had come, and the blonde’s small coupe had pulled up outside of the slightly creepy building.

After killing the engine and climbing out of her car, Vicki couldn’t help but take a furtive glance around, as though she was looking for any left-over crazies who might have returned to wreak havoc on the place which had locked them away until they’d managed to escape. She knew that it was mildly stupid of her – what kind of crazy would risk getting locked up again, even if it was in Arkham, which, once again, seemed pretty easy to flee? – but it was really just something she couldn’t avoid doing. For all of her life, even when she’d driven past the asylum, she’d done so as quickly as she could, without even looking at the building if she could manage it. Part of it was probably because her younger brother had managed to tell her some pretty out-there stories regarding the old building, and she had to admit, some of them had gotten under her skin.

When no lingering lunatics had pounced her as she made her way up to the door, she decided that the atmosphere was pretty much not at all dangerous. Tugging the huge door open after the buzz which followed her flashing her press credentials in front of the antiquated-yet-apparently-operable camera lens, the reporter entered the foyer, briefly consulting the ‘you are here’ type map which dictated her path to the office of one Donovan McVane. The halls were eerily silent as she moved through them, devoid of any howling coming from the heavily-secured rooms which lined them. Okay, so maybe she was thinking in terms of stereotypes, but really, what did anyone expect her to do? After all, they were called insane asylums for a reason, right? Soon enough – though when the trip was as quiet as hers had been, it had seemed to take much longer than it had – she stopped in front of an office.

Checking the notes she’d made against the nameplate alongside the door, to ensure that she wasn’t going to be surprising some doctor who hadn’t had any idea that there was an interview occurring today, she knocked quietly, and waited for admittance. Not even five seconds after she knocked, there was a voice from inside, beckoning her in. Gently pushing the door open, she peeked her head in, a small smile on her features. “Dr. McVane?” she inquired as she stepped fully into the room, though she had recognized his voice from the phone conversation from which this meeting had resulted, “I’m Vicki Vale, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” The tone of her voice was light, jovial; she was doing her best to make this at least a comfortable, if not pleasant, experience for all involved. “Thanks so much for agreeing to talk to me, I know it’s probably not exactly fun to be the one who has to deal with the press on such a sensitive topic.”

The blonde knew better than anyone how cutthroat the press could be, and the expression on her face was intended to reflect that. “I promise, I won’t bite,” she added, a silvery laugh escaping her.

[Donovan McVane]

What he had expected to walk through his door was a red-haired woman with sharp, angled spectacles to match a sharp angled nosy nose smacking on bubble gum, and already scribbling things down on a notepad at a frenzied pace. He didn't know why, though it probably had something to do with his percieved stereotype of a newspaper woman. As if that wasn't old-fashioned enough for you. When Miss Vicki Vale walked through the door, knocking back the checks on his preconceived vision of her one by one it was all he could do to keep from blurting out- 'Oh, your hair isn't as red as I expected. Or frizzy. And look at that! Your nose isn't big either! What was I thinking?'

It all came down to one thing. Nerves.

And Donnie wasn't normally the type to get flustered in front of a crowd, much less one single solitary person, seeing as it was in his line of duty to speak to solitary people day after day, session after session. He supposed the nerves were due in part to the idea that what was to be said in this room would leave the room, and wasn't confidential by any means. Not only that, but he would be at the receiving end of the questions rather than the other way around, and he wasn't exactly used to having what he said analyzed, taken down, broken down and reprinted. But hey, he was the one who signed up for it in the end, so there must have been some part of him convinced that he could handle an interview. Without fucking it up, preferably.

Ms. Vale introduced herself (seemingly nice enough, though he wouldn't have been surprised if she held him at pen-point if she didn't receive the answers she wanted to hear. Hopefully, it wouldn't come down to that, though the paperweight on his desk was quite heavy and he would use it, if it came down to a physical battle.) referencing their phone 'conversation'- aka his 'Yes, I would love to do an interview for the paper. Let's meet at the asylum where I...work.' Paranoia flashed through the back of his mind, as he wondered what it was she expected him to be like in person, but that was where the notion remained, reaching nowhere near his eyes much to his relief.

“I promise, I won’t bite.”

He laughed, but the sound was a little too nervous for his liking, having heard that promise many times before from patients who weren't exactly that keen on the truth, and so in order to smooth that one over he intended to do what he always did when he was nervous: Blah, blah, blah!

"You don't know how many times I've heard that one- honestly, I've got the marks to prove it. And, it's no trouble at all. With the breakout, the number of missing patients, which were mostly mine, has given me a lot of free time...unfortunately, of course. See, it's a lot easier for me to sleep at night when I know for a fact that the patients are under lock and key, not running amok on the streets, messing with the hobos' cardboard boxes and whatever it is they do. Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk that was usually reserved for his patients.

Realizing this, he made for his own chair with an, "Excuse me," and pulled it around the desk (quickly, courtesy of the wheels fastened to the silver legs) until it was to the side of Ms. Vale's intended chair. With one twist of an arm he had her chair facing his, and seemingly satisfied with the arrangement, he took a seat, expecting her to do the same.

"So," he started again, on a much more serious note, made so by a clearing of the throat, "What is it you need to know?" His elbows rested on the black leather arms of the seat, intertwined fingers twitching subtly in his lap as he waited to be questioned. A bizarre experience, if anything for Dr. McVane.