1963-09-02 - What's The Mening of Psychology
Summary: Sean and Janet continue their fashionable discussion
Related: What's The Meaning of Fashion
Theme Song: None
garrison wasp 

"Perhaps she was worried about how her husband chooses to accessorize and not the hem line itself?"

The grin that passed over his features was a wolfish insinuation of adulterous intentions, a casual shrug chasing the expression so as to defray its intensity. The clink of ice within his glass filled the quiet as he carefully restrained himself, lest further offense be unintentionally taken.

"Then again, what do I know?"


"Do you honestly think so…?" Janet, for all her want, finds she cannot outright deny Sean's points. It is a man's world, and more often than not, a woman abides by the demands of her man. It's just the way things are, but at least it's not as bad as it used to be. Women can vote and they can go to school, and get a job. Things are improving.

"I'll say you know your fair share, most men I've been talking to don't care much for fashion at all. I mean, they want a sensible hat, they want a smart outfit, but they don't pay it too much attention." She rises her glass for another sip, before askins Sean, "what's your favorite drink?"


The request for honesty caught him off guard, a slow turning so that he faced her and considered her a bit more equally as his lips quirked in a smirk.

"Absolutely. The only way women obtain power is by emulating men. The only way they are allowed to emulate that power is with the consent of men."

The way he relayed the information conveyed no sense of conviction; a neutrality in his tone that suggested the equality of genders held about as much importance to him as a gnat. After all, it was a human construct and society. He would always be more elevated than that.

A laugh coaxed up from his throat at her compliment before he shook his head,

"Don't mistake an opinion for knowledge. I'm interested in why a man thinks something is 'smart' or 'sensible', what makes him 'tick.'"

He articulated tick with a hard edge, as if carving the sound out of metal with his tongue. The intensity faded at her query and he tapped the leaded crystal,

"Old Fashioned tonight. And you? I could offer to buy you one if you don't find my company noxious."


"Fair enough," Janet mutters, though by the look in her eyes, she seems a bit disturbed by the thought. She offers no argument for the time being. "I guess that would go hand in hand with your interest in psychology, would it not? Do you think you know what makes me tick?" She offers as a challenge of sorts.

When Sean reveals his favorite drink, Janet in turn answers, "I usually go for rum based drinks, say a mai tai, or daiquiri. But if you'll buy me one? I think I'll try and Old Fashioned myself." She doesn't offer any input on what she makes of Sean's company though.


The attention of his blue eyes flickered to her at the question, a shake of his head as he weighed her before once again the smile lingered on his lips just a bit too long.

"I could find out, given enough time…"

He didn't elaborate. It was hardly necessary. Finishing his first cocktail, he waved off the willingness before ordering both their drinks refilled; his own a repeat and for her a Dark and Stormy. When they were delivered, he offered her a sip of his clean glass first.

"It is a different heat than rum. Not as thick and sweet. If you like it, you may have mine. If you don't, we have a back up."


"Ah…just how much time do you figure you would need?" Janet wonders, "say about two weeks for making a fine suit, something like that?" She wonders still at the comparison of fashion and psychology.

She grins at the manner in which Sean resolved her request to try a drink like his, "why that's a lovely though, thank you," she reaches to take Sean's glass, and tries a sip. Facial expression don't lie, and while she tries to play it cool, it's obvious this is not her drink of choice. She first reaches to wipe away any lipstick traces from the glass before pushing it back towards Sean, turning the definitely clean side to face him. "I'll keep to mine, it's certainly different, heat is a very good way to describe it. Somewhat bitter too."


Sean can't help but chuckle, even as he shakes his head and reclaims his drink. The Dark and Stormy is pressed into her waiting hand to hopefully wash down the taste, even as he takes a swig and leans back against the countertop at his back.

"Aye, one acquires a taste for it. Bourbon expects the palate to conform to what it presents instead of furnishing a mass appeal."

As the ice clinked and he swirled the liquor until it sloshed over the cube of sugar within a few times, he quirked a brow and looked around the bar. They were a suitable distance away from the other patrons, having taken up residence towards the center of the island.

"Three minutes, give or take. With your consent, I could make you tick and tock, wind you up and make you beg. My methods are considered unforgivable in this context though, so I wouldn't dare."


Janet is quick to sip from the sweeter drink, washing it about her mouth, before easing the expression on her visage. "That is silly…wouldn't it be better to appeal to most to be more successful?" She knows if she designs something far out, it means very little in the way of sales. Then again, the publicity is pretty neat.

"Three minutes!?" Janet nearly spits out her drink as she laughs uncontrollably, "that's quite an audacious certainty! I heard psychologists take months if not years to reach any conclusions at all. Are you saying you're the best in the business? Hmph…let's test the claim, shall we? Three minutes, ask whatever you like, let's see if you can make a good guess."e


The surprise is received with a broad grin, shaking his head as he intones politely,

"Hardly. I'm still in school. I simply have an aptitude for this kind of thing. People like talking to me."

The challenge issued, he wavered for a moment, obviously poised with indecision. With a clearing of his throat, he reached for a napkin and scrawled across it in quick pen a statement of consent to his services. Pressing it towards her with the ballpoint left on the counter for signing checks, he set down his drink and gestured towards a nearby table.

"If you please. Feel free to take your drink. I prefer to have my wits about me when working with the delicate human mind."


"I think you just might have a little bit of too high an opinion of yourself, no?" Janet muses, before immediately sharing, "it's okay, I have the same symptom."

She does raise a brow at the consent statement scribbled on the napkin and turned her way, "why would you need that? Is psychology actually dangerous?" Janet sounds suspicious, from all she knows, it's all about talking to some guy for 30 minutes or so and then nothing happens.

She does take another sip to ease her nerves, surely he just means to play games with her. It can't be dangerous. "So just what am I giving a consent for then? I thought this was just talk, no? And remember, you said three minutes!"


Sean smiling, the man shook his head slowly before offering, "You're confusing me with my father. My opinion of myself is honest. Perhaps yours' is as well. I understand the effect that I can have on people and adequately prepare."

Without his drink, his hands fold calmly in front of him after he takes his seat, gesturing to the other chair and settling the complete intensity of his gaze upon her. His eyes, even in this light, were an obscenely clear shade of blue.

"We're just going to talk but the way the conversation makes you feel could be upsetting. I don't want to ruin your perfectly good evening without your true interest in the practice. Otherwise I could jeopardize my membership here."

Smirking at the reinstatement of the time limit, he nods once and waits in silence for the signature. Although nothing in his posture changed, everything around them expanded to the senses, a settling enabled by priming pheromones saturating the air in a warm cloud of all that is comfortable and safe.


"What affect?" Janet looks a bit more suspicious at that precise choice of words, she has been exposed to some interesting affectations certain people seem to have, and by now she's not to sure if Sean is being playful or has some more serious secret he's hiding.

But looking into his perfect blue eyes, Janet eventually softens her concern, "I am interested in this practice, I'm not too sure what to make of it just yet, I suspect it's a lot of nonsense really." Nevertheless she puts pen to napkin and signs her consent, "fine…but three minutes, no more!" She drinks the rest of her glass and turns to look at Sean, "so what would you ask then?"


And just like that, something only faintly perceived slides into place, like a lock being turned on distant door. Sean's eyes soften, and the predatory glint of his teeth seems softer now, far more caring. Unclasping his hands, he offers both his palms as if to show he has nothing to hide before speaking in a voice only for her,

"Why don't we start simple? Tell me about your day."


"Okay…fair enough. I wanted to have some fun, I didn't want tabloid reporters after me, and I wanted class, so I came to the Hellfire Club." Janet explains how she got there, before musing and adding, "I was working on a design earlier in the day, a summer dress with intentionally clashing colors."


"Do you typically seek fun or have you been particularly distressed at work lately?"

He spoke to her without having to look at her, his focus drifting occasionally to a passing waiter, her hands and how they moved over the glass she held, the change in performers on stage, the subtle twitch of her lips. While the conversation was maintained at a carefully metered pace, he made similarly calculated adjustments to the mix of pheromones surrounding them. Anxiety was nudged into amplification as she spoke, winding up every syllable in a way that could only be attributed to nerves. After all, they were just talking. Weren't they?


"I like having a good time, heck, if you read the tabloids it's what I'm all about," Janet sounds a bit mixed on that, on the one hands she loves the glamour and publicity it afforded her being made so infamous, on the other, she didn't like how in more serious company her reputation was taking a hit. It's only halfway through her answer that Janet realizes she's starting to feel a little nervous, and she wonders why? It was just a few words, and there was no way he could find what makes her tick in three minutes. It was just a fun game with a nice looking guy she was sharing a drink with. The fact he happens to be from a similar state of affluence just meant it was risk free, so why the nervousness?

As she realizes she's getting nervous, she reaches for another sip of her drink.


Another drink, though of course he had left his own up at the counter with the disclaimer. There was nothing to insinuate he was the source of those nerves. Graciously, he masked a faint smile and a nod before clarifying,

"I don't. What do the tabloids say about you?"

The way he met her eyes conveyed concern instead of curiosity, that slight furrowing of the brows that encourages confidante. His voice was soft, as even as experienced climber offering her a hand up treacherous spire. He waited patiently.

The anxiety abated as he sent a fresh wash of primer to soothe and encourage the sensation of safety. Like the fox who knows where the rabbit sleeps, he was taking his time. Two minutes on the clock.


"Well, they're not very flattering…they say I'm a spoiled pampered little girl, that I just waste away my inheritance, that I have too many dalliances, that I…dishonor my father's memory," Janet seems to get more bitter and nervous as she describes it, wondering why she's even being so genuine with Sean in the first place. Usually she's all happy go lucky, and hides any shred of seriousness in her life. And yet in just a few words, mostly herself talking, and him asking a few simple questions, she's gotten nervous, unsure of herself, and is sharing far too much.

Then the more she answers, she starts to feel a little better, anxiety starting to fade away as she looks into Sean's eyes, starting to relax a bit. With her hand suddenly stopping to move, she realizes she was nervously playing witht he fabric of her dress moments ago.


"Do you think your father would feel the same way? That your actions degrade the family name and are those of a child instead of a woman to be respected?"

It wasn't hard; though Sean rarely allowed himself these indulgences. Especially not in this company, though he was being careful with the push and pull of pheromone exchange. Whenever too many sparked up with anger or frustration, a mental wave of his efforts soothed raised hackles and coaxed her deeper into his trust. Similar to bringing a dog to heel, he offered his ear for her words, his calm silence and beguiling as so many subtle strings were plucked that only he could see.

She was still being tuned, a few final adjustments to be made. Artists cannot be hurried.


Normally Janet would stress by now that the three minutes are up, if only to break from this line of questions, but as it were, she found herself swept by Sean's voice…or was it something else? She could not resist answering, and it felt wrong, and yet somehow, talking wound up making her feel better moments later, as she sighs after having emptied her glass. "Yes, and no, I am doing a lot of good things…but I mix them with some carefree things too, because I can't be serious like him, I'm not a scientist, and science can be so boring! I just want to be free, have fun, live life to the fullest…enjoy myself, you understand, right?"


Sean smirks at the question, silence meeting her query save for the low throb of jazz music from distant performer's instruments. Without further expression, he tilts his head to one side.

"Do you find that people don't understand you? Really, truly understand you?"

By now, every last word was like velvet and satin, everything soft and unnatural that keeps the body warm and feels so delightful on the senses. The last thirty seconds were driveling away and he did nothing but meet her eyes and promise security in a sentence.

The last press of modulator pheromones were put into place, though of course they would take another minute or two balancing against the pre-existing cloud of priming comfort. The relaxation the concoction inspired though was better than any drink or hit of bud that life held, and despite the challenge issued, Sean allowed himself to be swept under the sensation of such calming bliss.


"Maybe…" Janet answers noncommittally, thinking a moment, before adding, "maybe it would be better if the tabloids reporters didn't pretend to know me." She suggests, sighing, "they don't even know the truth. How can they know me? Nobody really does." She sums it up, and it seems like she won't be anymore open about that matter, Sean having elicited more than she was willing to offer, and she's still not sure how that happened to her.


A hand raises, a turn of his wrist, and the watch is tapped with a faint smile. Signaling that it's been the closure of their miniature session, he waits only a moment longer, and then the curtain of pheromones falls with the jarring effect of being plunged into frigid waters. Reaching for his drink, he lifts it to his lips and takes a sip while regarding her over the rim with a devious light in the corner of his eyes.

"Three minutes are up, m'dear."


"Huh? What?" Janet jumps a bit in her seat, as if being jarred awake from some reverie. "Oh…three minutes, right," she gasps, wondering what just happened. It felt like she was on auto pilot for the duration of the questions, rather than in full control, her eyes naturally avert to the three empty glasses of the different drinks she's had. Maybe she had a bit much? She's feeling so shaken, she doesn't even bother to ask Sean if he found out what makes her tick. She feels quite uncomfortable at the moment.



Interceding through the interior monologue, his voice trespasses. Reaching across the table, he patted her hand and mimed the concerned expression appropriate for the circumstances even as he continued softly,

"I'm sorry. I should have gone easier on you. You're here to have fun, and I hardly want to ruin your night. Please accept my apologies."

Quietly procuring a business card bearing only his home telephone and name - one Sean Garrison - he settled the thick paper into her hand before standing and rebuttoning his jacket.

"I'll leave you to your evening, but should you ever wish to speak again we can do so at your own pace, as acquaintances. I'm not out of school yet and therefore would hesitate to call what I'm doing as psychiatry, but I can promise my discretion if you should need someone to talk to."


Janet seems to snap back to reality when Sean touches her hand comfortngly, turning to look at him and nodding, "yeah, I am here for fun…but I didn't know psychology can be so…invasive," she words it out hesitantly, "I understand why you wanted the signature now." She takes the card placed in her hand and nods at Sean, "thank you, I'll think about it, have a good day, Sean."


The smile he flashed her couldn't be described as anything but charming, all dimples and bright blue eyes as he nodded and seemed to honestly offer up.

"You too. Look forward to hearing from you when the fancy strikes."

And with that, he departed, all custom tailored suit and finely shined shoes. Though she didn't see it, his smile darkened with every step towards the door to something twisted and self-congratulatory.

By the time he exited the club, it was hard to believe that the sadist was human at all.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License