Thread: Bringing Him Back {Gypsy and Alan23}

Astonished by his final statement, Delilah did stand up and pull her skirt down, yet she didn't walk away. Instead, a sequence of disgraceful events unfolded. The assistant, in her plight to regain her modesty, staggered back from the picnic table. A horrifying dbcle ensued soon after in which one of the heels of her pumps was wedged in an inconspicuous crack on the cobblestone path, afflicting her equilibrium, which gravity took advantage of. Before long, she descended rapidly on a nearby flowerbed not far from where the picnic table was located after emitting a shrill shriek. If that wasn't enough, her fall had unraveled Delilah completely. Her pencil skirt hiked higher to reveal a generous view of her pale thighs, her coiffure came undone and relinquished ebony strands to frame her abashed face. Her spectacles was knocked off the bridge of her nose much like how one of her shoes which remained hinged on the ground. Why she received such treatment from the universe baffled her, and for a moment, she contemplated how cathartic it would be to cry. Yet the assistant was an adult, almost twenty four, and it wouldn't be fitting for an adult to sob just because of an untimely crash. As an alternative, she shifted to a supine position and stared at the nebulous sky, attempting to regain her dignity, her pride and her bearings whilst biding her time. Blaming it on Noel's constant slew of pretty Delilah and other flatteries would be highly unprofessional. Though whenever he employed it, it threw her out of homeostasis. It was impossible to face her patient in these moments, yet what he imparted was a consuming distraction compared to her inelegant spectacle. The story was unlike any chronicle Delilah heard. It was laced with revelations and intrigue. Most of which orbited around Monsieur Noir. Mister Black and his villainous secret. Whatever knowledge he possessed tainted and ruined Noel, cursing him with misery and delusion. Though what it might be eluded her, it couldn't have been so drastic as to render Noel stark raving mad. Let's not forget Noel used drugs liberally. One of the many contributors to the deterioration of his sanity and the distortion of reality. His psychosis never left him until now, yet it had fortunately gifted him with a functionality that astounded psychologists and psychiatrists alike. In the number of months that Noel resided in White Lane, what he informed her of was precious information. It was the progress that impelled them forward from the impasse so many had encountered in this case. Dr. Walt and his previous doctors never reached this level of confession from their fallen author, but a young psychiatric assistant did of all people. To say that Delilah didn't feel a swell of accomplishment would be an outright lie. It was an endeavor fraught with plenty of trials and adversities, yet here she was, learning Noel Trent's story after a grueling attack of flushed cheeks. However, how she would utilize this knowledge was something she had yet to decide on. Delilah furtively rose to a sitting position, combing through her bedraggled locks and dusting wayward flora that adhered to her form. The flowerbed she fell on was flattened, and she knew the gardeners who tended to the courtyard would be irate to see a Delilah-shaped mold. Her search for her glasses needed to be executed in a delicate fashion, lost as it was amid the surrounding laurel. Noel, I think I think we should speak more of this later on. I'd like to hear more stories about Monsieur Noir when I'm I'm in an appropriate state. On our next session preferably. It was only then did she send him a transitory glance. For now, our time has ended.