Friday's session in the Yellow Room didn't work out from the start. First Ass was late, then distracted the psychoanalyst by the fact that he did not even bother to smell a hospital robe and lazily fell apart on the couch. Then came complaints about disgusting food, staff, a ban on drinking alcohol and smoking in the infirmary - "and she sits down with this tincture hawthorn, and beats it, and beats it!" As an exception, he had to be allowed to smoke in the room.
Half an hour later, Harley discovered that the first task scheduled for today would not work. The method of "drawing a nonexistent animal", chosen at random from the book, was able to provide a psychoanalyst with some grey hair and a couple of new phobias. Therefore, despite the Phantom's dissatisfaction, Harley handed him a bubble of ink and dense, like parchment, paper. Moodles called it the Rorschach test. He himself was sceptical about it, as he constantly saw images in blots on the sheet, which were classified as typical for schizophrenics, but decided to give the test another chance.
At one point Ass stopped smudging the blot and took a hard look at it. It smelled like burnt paper.
- Well, is there anything? - Harley asked about it, moving the resulting picture closer to him.
- Just as there was ink, there was," Phantom licked his dirty finger and grumbled:
- Cheap. Probably Moodle's. The paper is nothing, ministerial.
Harley took a deep breath, and after returning the patient and understanding expression to his face so quickly that no one noticed his disappearance, he made another attempt.
- What do you see in this drawing?
Ass snapped and cleverly took away the leaflets from the psychoanalyst. I carefully studied her backside, not dirty with ink, and frowned.
- I see that Ryukzachini is throwing protocols all over Pervers! - the investigator punched the table with his fist and wriggled: he must have underestimated the power of the blow.
- Yes, I did! I'll go deal with it.
Harley was worried. His plans for such a turn of events did not include such a turn of events.
- You have a session of this... Therapy... We'll finish, then discuss the pressing issues. Yes. And what to do?
The phantom wasn't a good fighter, but he didn't get up from the couch.
- Therapy? And why haven't we started yet?
Amazed psychoanalyst stared at the patient in all eyes. And drawing? Projective techniques? What do you mean, they didn't start? Having coped with himself, Harley said cautiously:
- Do you have suggestions?
Ass measured him as if he had been treating himself, and not for the first year. And then he pulled Harley by his collar and strained it:
- Like last night. Remember?
It is good that the psychoanalyst sat down, otherwise a beautiful and rapid flight to the floor would not have been possible to avoid.
- Yesterday...
In front of him at high speed, there were shots of the motorcycle flight, and behind them... Harley covered his eyes and was doomed to look at yesterday. Yesterday was full of empty bottles, motorcycle parts and a lot of frightening details. And he managed to go to bed, apparently, only at dawn. And three hours later the professor was already conducting mahobiology at the first year of study and was so absent-minded that he paid almost no attention to the description of all the dangers coming from the green stones.
- He changed,- said Phantom, with a poorly concealed complacency.
- What? He asked me automatically.
- The voice changed. That's how you pretend to be.
- Still,- Harley leaned over him, so they almost touched his forehead. The look in front of him was serious and a little blurry.
- What did you see?
The phantom, a little frowned, suddenly turned his eyes away. And clearly, he deliberately gave up:
- What am I, Fora Tuna? Stop talking.
Harley smiled and, as if by chance, noticed:
- It was like a cloud. И... - He took a piece of paper off the table and handed it to Assa.
He reluctantly accepted his creation. Slowly and surprisingly, he circled the top left of the ink stain with care. With his fingertips.
- And on the... Who? - the professor gently clarified something that looked like a human profile. Then I saw a wide lubricated line. It looked as if the person whose profile they were studying had quite long hair. Harley thoughtfully pulled himself by the broken strand... And then it finally came to him.
But he didn't comment on it anymore.