Medicine & Melancholy

Chapter One: The Beginning

Logan took a deep breath as he stared at the haunting building towering over him. Part of him didn't want to enter, but inside, he knew that he had to. A look of worry wavered over Logan's stoic expression. He took a cold crisp breath of the October air, reigning in his thoughts before stepping foot into the dull building. He had spoken to Dr. Picani over the phone, he knew that things were going to be fine. He was going to be safe here. He walked through a thin, dull hallway before entering the inappropriately bright lobby. Among the blindingly bright furniture and decorations was a young receptionist sat behind a desk, seeming unbothered or even uninterested by her garish surroundings. She was chewing gum, scrolling through her mobile as the desk phone next to her rang and her computer screen flashed. It was clear she either didn't care or had completely tuned it all out. Logan thought it best for everyone if he said something, albeit it quietly,

"Excuse me? Ma'am? I think you're needed." He spoke, his voice timid.

The receptionist looked over her phone with dull eyes. She slowly picked up the desk phone, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with Logan, watching him uneasily squirm.

"Yes, Doctah Picahni? Yes, he just arrived, sir. Yeah, ya 2 a'clack is here. Jus' wahlked in, he's here in the lahbby." Her voice drawled on, monotone and unimpressed. She put the phone down, turning her attention back to the lanky man standing in front of her, seeming almost irritated.

"First door on ya left. He's in there waitin' for ya."

Logan gave a short, somewhat awkward nod, exiting the lobby and entering yet another dull hallway. After his brief, yet agonizing interaction with the receptionist from Hell, Logan's mind was racing with anxious thoughts. He had never met Dr. Picani in person, and he only had a vague description of what the man looked like. What if he said or did something wrong? What if he offended the Doctor by accident?

Soon enough, he came to two doors on the left side of the hallway. He stood shakily, looking between the two, unable to remember what the receptionist had said to him. It was the second door, right? That was Doctor Picani's office, wasn't it? He took a deep breath to calm him, reaching for the second door's handle and turning it. The moment Logan had opened the door, something collided with him, sending him to the floor and knocking the air out of him.

Gathering his thoughts, Logan opened his eyes to see a young man kneeling over him, face mere inches from his own. Logan couldn't make out his features very well due to how close he was as well as the fact his glasses had been flung from his face on his journey to ground.

"Ooooh, fresh meat!" From what Logan could tell, the man licked his lips with a deranged giggle. His breath stank of tomato soup and garlic. Someone soon pulled the man off of Logan's chest with a sigh as another helped Logan to his feet, handing him his glasses.

"I am so sorry! Are you alright? You're not hurt at all, are you?"

"It's quite alright. Physically, I am adequate." As Logan placed his glasses back on his face, he was able to see the three people around him. The one closest to him, who he could only assume helped him up, was a petite man with curly locks of golden hair and electric blue eyes, so bright they nearly glowed. He wore circular glasses, similar to his own, and was dressed in a sky blue polo shirt and denim jeans, a grey sweater over his shoulders. Slightly behind, stood a darker character. He was paler than an overcast sky, his cheeks sunken and darkened, presumably with the help of the black eye shadow circling his grey eyes, a similar colour to storm clouds and just as dark as the rest of his attire. His hair was black like coal, and judging by the glare he shot Logan, his heart was likely quite similar.

The final of the three stood next to the dark persona, staring manically into Logan's soul. His eyes were... odd to say the least. His right was a vivid green, yet his left was a deep, comforting brown. The contrast was similar to a tree's leaves compared to it's trunk. The bushy mess atop his head was near hazel in colour with a single silver streak running through it. The most odd thing about this already quite peculiar man was mostly how he was dressed. He was running around barefoot in a pair of black sweatpants. His torso and arms secured in a straight jacket, tightly bound at the sides. It was covered in stains, some fresher than others. Judging by certain bright orange stains, Logan could tell his tomato soup suspicions were correct.