----------

Thomas Ashford sat, his eyes shut, with his head leaning against the window of the carriage. His long arms and legs were both crossed in attempt to achieve comfort in the cramp, comfortless amount of space he was allowed in the carriage. His face was handsome yet unshaven and his deep brown hair was unkempt due to travel. A bit a drool peaked at the corner of his mouth and he snored, loudly.

“Sir… Dr. Ashford,” piped a nervous, bird-like man who sat across from him. “Excuse me, Dr. Ashford.”

“Huh? What?” Thomas exclaimed, waking to a start. He glanced around him and frowned. He had not realized he had fallen asleep. He wiped the bit of drool from the corner of his mouth and straightened himself up. He grimaced, remembering the dream he had just had. It had been severe and unpleasing; a dream about his father. It had left a bad taste in his mouth, or perhaps that was the drool.

“Yes, well, we seem to be arriving,” said the bird man, also the head doctor’s assistant.

“What? Right now?” Thomas asked, pressing his face to the window. He frowned. All he was able to see was a meadow surrounded on all sides by a dense forest.

“Doctor? It’s this way,” the assistant stated uneasily and pointed to the window at the other side.

“Oh.” Thomas scooted across the carriage bench and peaked out the window. He stared at his new home and workplace: The Evadale Asylum. The first thing Thomas noted, and was surprised by, was by how large it was. Apparently, the building had once been the estate of an incredibly wealthy man. In its time it must have been an incredibly fashionable manor and Thomas found that it had a beautiful yet eerie quality to it. He wondered if the manor had seen much excitement when it was privately owned. He wondered if the owner used to throw all sorts of extravagant parties and tasteful brunches. For some reason the idea made him shiver as he considered what the house was now.

He then wondered if this was a mistake. What if his father had been right? For his father, it was bad enough that Thomas had used the family money to study psychology at Oxford, but Thomas had committed social suicide by deciding to work at an asylum. His father had yet to disown him, but unfortunately they were still not on speaking terms. He did not quite understand his father, Lord Ashford. His father had been the one who had wanted him to go to college in the first place, but then he got angry when Thomas actually wanted to do something with the degree he eventually got after working so painstakingly hard. He supposed Lord Ashford had simply wanted him to get a college degree for looks and then coast through life like most other young heirs. Thomas found that idea incredibly boring. He was not the type of man to simply sit on his rump and do nothing.

Finally, the carriage halted and Thomas was forced to push away his reflections for another time. “We’re here,” the assistant stated so obviously that Thomas had to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

Thomas practically leaped from the carriage and stretched to his heart’s content. He had been trapped in the ridiculously cramped carriage, which had been traveling at a snail-crawl, for who knows how many hours and his ligaments were as stiff as a board. The assistant stared at him, shocked, but said nothing. Thomas could practically envision the assistant’s expectations of how he thought a nobleman acted fly right out the man’s own head. Oh, perhaps I should refrain from showing off my normal, crass attitude now that I’m here, he mused and chuckled. The assistant peered at him quizzically. It made Thomas realized that the assistant was most likely the type of man who judged people internally, but acted entirely sweet and subservient when speaking with them.

“So what’s first on the agenda, er…” Thomas began. He cursed mentally. He had forgotten the assistant’s name. He was certain that the man had told him what it was when they first met before the journey, but Thomas had forgotten it instantly after he heard it, like he usually did with most names. He raked his brain, but it was to no prevail. He let the sentence slide off, unfinished.

“Well, first I was hoping to bring you to see the head doctor,” the bird-like assistant said, unaware of Thomas’s internal dilemma, “But…” He trailed off and stared at Thomas, scrutinizing. Good. He didn’t notice, Thomas thought relieved, then noticed the assistant’s stare.

“What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Huh? Oh, er, nothing, nothing,” the bird-man said quickly.

“If you have something to say feel free to say it,” Thomas said, nonchalantly, “I won’t be offended.”

“Well, it’s just…”

“Just?”

“You’re a mess,” the bird-man blurted. Thomas blinked, surprised, then peered down at himself. Even without a mirror he could tell his appearance certainly was haggard. His apparel was entirely wrinkled and in disarray. He frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but the assistant cut him off. “It would be ridiculous if I allowed you to see the head doctor himself looking like that! What kind of an assistant would I be then? Surely you understand I have a reputation to uphold.” The man spoke hurriedly without taking a single breath, or if he had then he had inhaled too quickly for Thomas to have noticed. It reminded him of a tiny sparrow hopping around and peeping nervously. Thomas wanted to roar with laughter and it took his entire willpower along with the fourteen years of manner lessons (or “obedience training” as he liked to call it) his childhood boarding school had beaten into him to stop himself.

“I see. I suppose I should wash up real quick then,” Thomas said, trying hard to seal the laughter that tried to bubble into his words. He then departed and, after entering the building and turning down the hall towards his destination, he broke down laughing.

__________________