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Post by MILES VELLA on Oct 13, 2013 10:08:03 GMT
The waiting area of the office felt generic and strange. The walls were white, the lower half covered in a swirly type of wallpaper Miles knew was cheap just by the pattern on it. It tried to look fancy, but it wasn't. At least, not in Miles' opinion. The chair he sat in wasn't all that comfortable, the cushion a bit stiff and the fabric was a little scratchy when he ran his hand across it. It was a shame that the chairs couldn't have been of better quality. The whole situation had Miles in a terrible mood. He didn't appreciate his butler making this appointment. He wasn't crazy, Miles wasn't. It was rather rude, actually, what the butler was insinuating, Miles thought. He didn't belong here. There wasn't anything wrong with him. |
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Post by Deleted on Oct 15, 2013 2:29:38 GMT
| Click. Click. Click again. He repeatedly retracted the pen while rearranging his desk and taking sips of very sweet coffee from time to time. It was almost time for his next appointment. He was certain that a Miles Vella was sitting outside in the waiting room. If the kid was as vain as Homer had heard, then he was likely doing some vicious internal critiquing of the office wallpaper (and if he was as arrogant as Homer had heard, then that critique would be rather external).
Homer took a look at his watch. It was just about time. He got up and opened the door, and, as plain as day there was a blue-haired lad waiting to be evaluated. ”Miles Vella.” It was less a question or confirmation of identity, and more of a call to attention. ”Come in and take a seat on the fainting couch why don’t you.”
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LAIKA OF GANGNAM STYLE! |
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Post by MILES VELLA on Oct 15, 2013 7:18:09 GMT
The minutes seemed to tick by slowly as Miles sat there in the waiting room. The longer he sat, the more he hated the place, the people working at the reception desk, the carpet, the tacky wallpaper, the chair he was sitting in... absolutely terrible. His head turned towards the man saying his name and Miles glared, mainly from his sour mood more than actually hating the doctor. He didn't know the man to hate him, really. All he knew was that his butler knew him, somehow, he was a doctor, and he had an office. There really wasn't all that much to personally hate. Though, once he was told to come in, he did just that, sitting down on the fainting couch, his back rather stiff and straight. Suddenly, he was being overly polite, thought it was most likely because of his sarcastic emotions rising up to the surface. The doctor most definitely wanted him to relax, but he never specifically voiced it, so Miles wasn't going to do it. Not until he was told to. Mm... He was being very difficult, but he didn't care. As much as Miles didn't know of him to hate him, he also didn't know enough to respect him. PhD's weren't enough to gain his respect, either. So what if he spent years to earn that piece of paper? For all he knew, there was an asshole behind that mask and his respect wasn't going to be given to an asshole, just because he was legally allowed to prescribe pills. Oh no, he had to earn his respect just like everyone else. |
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