Flowers for the King

3

    9.25.16 Update: I have met the infamous George Fredericks. He's tall, 6'4"— taller than Washington himself, which is quite the feat. Blond, flawless pale skin, blue eyes that can probably stare into your soul, if you have one. His British accent is prominent as hell and his voice seems a little... Off from what one would expect when seeing him for the first time? He's... Sassy. But nice. Nervous, silly. Extravagant, definitely. An okay combination; I suppose.
      When I entered the room, he looked a little like he hated life but once I gave him the roses, he seemed to perk up. He asked about a "Sammy" and I assumed that was the man who had taken him here earlier in the morning. I gave him the note, explaining that this "Sammy"/"Seabury" person would come in about an hour. He grimaced, but nodded.
      We conversed for a few minutes. Nothing too tell-me-all-your-dark-secrets personal, just the simple basics. Favorite color (purple), favorite song (some musical thing.. You'll Be Back?), favorite movie (Heathers. Cult classic, bless his soul), hobby (acting at the fifth avenue theatre), etc. I gave him the same information about me. It seemed only fair. (Red; the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, if it counted; anything from Laika or Tim Burton; and, as awkward as it seemed, dancing.)
     After a while of this, I told George I'd give him a test. He got pale. It wasn't anything too serious. Just a normal Rorschach— "inkblot," I clarified— test. I love these kind of tests because I mean for once it's a test on your own mind and imagination?
    and not like, I dunno: a crab walked up the side of a house for seven days at a rate of thirteen pancakes per tabletop calculate and find and solve for the area of purple.
Either way, George seemed to panic a little. I tried to assure him it would be fine. He didn't listen. I got out the first card and asked him what he saw. He said he saw ink.
    "What else?" I asked.
    "A card." He replied.
    So, right off the bat I could tell this was going to be a long session—

    "Uhm... Mr. Lee?"
    Charles looked up from the journal in his lap that he had been scribbling in. He glanced to the tall man sitting across from him and to the card abandoned on to the other side of the table.
    "Oh.. are you done?"
    "Uhm... yes."
    "What was your final answer again?"
    "Ink, sir. And a card, if that makes my score any better."
    Charles blinked slowly and stared at George for a few moments, as if to register that he was actually serious, before simply deciding to move on.
    "Okay okay. Use your imagination now, Fredericks. What do you see?"
     George narrowed his eyes at the blobs of ink on the card and Lee could hear his foot tapping anxiously against the wooden floor that was under the hideously yellow rug. He could practically see the other's nerves spike up as his lips parted and he stuttered over words.
     "It uh.. it's.. it's.. no no no, dammit that.. that's wrong..." George bit his lip and continued to stare at the marked paper. "...it... ink? No.. no that.. that's stupid.. that's stupid..."
      "Just tell me what you think of when you see it..." Lee said softly, carefully wording the sentence. "There are no wrong answers, Fredericks."
     "No wrong a-answers..?" George blinked and bit his lip. "I see ink. On a card. Can we move on? P-Please?"
     Charles sighed. "Fredericks, don't think of it so literal. What does the ink remind you of-"
     "It reminds me of a pen that holds ink, sir," George said, quick and firm. It was obvious he was getting a bit frustrated or upset, though Lee couldn't fathom why."And the card reminds me of a card made out of paper. I don't understand what this 'test' is supposed to do, Mr. Lee. I know my score will be low and I'm probably getting everything wrong but please can we just move on?"
     Lee blinked and sighed once more, taking the card back.
     "Mr. Fredericks, there is no reason to be so.. frustrated with a simple test–"
     "If it is simple, I do not see why!"
     "—the test is just to show me what your mental state is like. There is no wrong answers; or right ones, even. They're just ink on a card intended to stimulate your imagination."
     At that, George paused and seemed to get even more worked up at that. "It is not stimulating anything but how anxious I can get over a simple card, sir! I don't understand what you intended for me to do and I.. I do not well appreciate that you'd not trust that I am mentally okay, because I assure you, sir, that I am! I am unless you do something like this and—"
     "George!" Lee said quickly, reaching out and stopping the other as his eyes watered. "George, calm down. Calm down, please. I didn't mean for this to upset you as much as it did. Let... let's just... forget about it, okay? No more tests. Okay? Not today, at least."
The blond man blinked and took a shaky breath, moving a hand to wipe his eyes. He took a shaky breath and slouched back against the chair.
     "..promise?"
    "As your trusted support--"
    "I have known you for two hours, sir."
   "--I promise."
George emitted another, low, sigh and rubbed his temples.
"I apologize, Mr. Lee.. I... do not usually get that... worked up over things..."
"It's okay it's okay. I get it. New place, new random guy in glasses yellin' at you to use your imagination like this is spongebob or something," Lee joked a little, attempting to lighten the other's mood. He saw George crack a smile and a weight lifted off his chest. "I stressed you too much. I will keep in mind that you get extremely nervous, if that's okay with you?"
There was a short pause. "...it's the truth, is it not, Mr. Lee?"
"I'm sorry."
"It is okay."
Lee quickly took note of George's anxious habits on to the clipboard and glanced back to see the other looking to the clock.
"...Mr. Lee—"
"Charles, if you will."
"Right. Charles...." George bit his lip lightly. "C-Charles, it.. it's 4:05. Didn't you say Sammy was going to come at four?"
Lee blinked and gazed to the clock. "Oh? Uhm.. yes, that's what I was told." He looked to his papers for a moment before shifting his focus to George. "Mr. Fredericks—"
"George, please."
"Right. George, our session is done for now, so if you would like I could walk you out to the reception area out front and we could see if this 'Sammy' person has arrived to pick you up yet?"
      George bit his lip harder. He weighed the options of going alone and plausibly getting lost like he had earlier that morning or letting this kind of untrustworthy man lead him there like he was a child.
       Getting lost was a little more embarrassing.
       "Okay..."
      The two stood, Lee slightly stumbling as he made his way to the door and opened it for George. The taller of the two laughed softly, giving a small 'thanks' before walking out into the hall.
       The good thing about his office, Charles figured, was that it was basically around the corner from the front waiting section. Which meant A: when his shift was done he could make a quick run for the door and avoid everyone else, and B: the walk with George in an awkward silence was only a mere few minutes long.
      "Ah, Charles, I see you've finally met your patient," a certain Aaron Burr's voice rang through to Lee as he entered the waiting area. Charles rolled his eyes a little, admittedly smiling as he turned to face the receptionist.
      "Why, yes I have met our new guest, Burr," Lee pushed his glasses up. "You saw me running in with his flowers."
      Aaron rose a brow. "Flowers? Charles you know unprofessionalism with patients could go horribl—"
     "They were for calming purposes."
     "I love white roses," George spoke up from behind Lee, causing the other two to jump a little in surprise.
     Burr's gaze shifted to look to the British man and he smiled. "Do you now? I personally am more of a lilac guy, but to each his own."
      The two chuckled.
     Lee was confused.
      "But anyway, Charles, there was someone in here from earlier looking for you? I tried calling but you didn't answer so he's just been... sitting around over there. Some... Samuel Seabury?"
      Charles blinked and looked around at the half-filled room of chairs. "Samuel?" his eyes landed on a red headed man sitting near the door, scrolling through his phone as he waited.