ArchivedLogs:Twin Agendas

Twin Agendas
Dramatis Personae Cornelius, Samuel	2013-06-07 Samuel Griffith visits Cornelius de Wit for psych eval.
Location Office of Cornelius de Wit
The interior of the wonderfully aged office building is finally past all stages of beautification. The end result still bears that fresh appearance of newness, the painted walls practically gleaming with the calming sky blue so unobtrusive, it's closer to white than blue. Still, what this enterprise still lacks is a secretary - the individual who greets Samuel Griffith is Cornelius de Wit himself. "Samuel Griffith?" The voice is a level, lowly purr with an undertone of gravels being smashed somewhere down below in his esophagus. The Dutch accent clashes with his British one. "I couldn't have asked for a more illustrious person for my first patient. Please, come in." The main office is immaculate, especially now that it is finished. There's nary a book placed at an odd angle. Perfectionism is clearly the dominant theme here the room looks like a stage in a theatre, with a blood red armchair and a muddy green one, both with ornate wooden feet and worn leather seats. Dark colours tightly grip the environment, although they are not strictly speaking ominous; rather the colours are hushed and calm. The occasional bright colours brighten the palette, such as the white bookshelves crammed full with both books and folders. There is a pitcher of water and two empty glasses on the table between the two chairs. Samuel takes a moment to glance around the room as soon as he's invited in. His features remain neutral. Almost guarded. He does however offer a warm smile to the man at his words. "Oh, I'd hardly call myself illustrious. Even if I have the ability to warrant the title, I'd like to think it would take more than a few years to earn it." His own accent is a soft english accent. He doesn't immediately take a seat, waiting for the offer to be extended. There is a small twitch at the corners of the doctor's lips. The door is softly closed behind Samuel, softly enough that the sound as it is clicked into place is barely audible. Cornelius himself then steps further into the office, althoug his path leads him towards his desk. An elegantly gentle gesture points towards the dark green chair. "Please, have a seat." Once at the desk, the psychiatrist browses through the many documents left atop it. Cornelius de Wit himself submits to a darker colour palette, his suit a dark blue. It conforms to each and every single rule regarding formal wear. The dress shirt is a dark green, matched by a black tie. "As I understand it, I was employed to make sure that happens," he notes, finally deeming a particular folder important and making his way to the two chairs in the centre of this room. "Psychological evaluation is never a pleasant affair, Mister Griffith," he announces wearily. "Especially for men who deem their time is better spent elsewhere." As he comes to stand beside the two chairs, he looks to Samuel with a neutral expression on his visage, the folder held open in both hands. "Do you feel like you belong here, or are you here because the shareholders prefer predictability?" Samuel moves to take a seat. His attention turns to Cornelius, he offers a wry smile. "Oh, I'd been promising myself that I'd spend more time out of the office this month." Of course he's keeping that by leaving his office. "Frankly doctor, I'm here because my shareholders don't like the fact that I'm working on things they're not fully familiar with." He chuckles as he settles back into the seat. "It's a sad truth that many of my shareholders are simply early investors in my company. They worry that they don't understand everything that's being done. And more importantly they worry I'm plotting to buy them out now that I don't need their money." He shrugs a shoulder. "Do I think myself the perfect specimen of mental health?" He frowns faintly as he considers that. "Wouldn't it be narcissism if I did?" The folder is gently placed on the seat of the armchair opposite of Samuel. The pitcher is firmly taken by a strong hand. Cornelius might be a learned man, but a fragile flower he is not. "My knowledge of the entrepreneurial is limited, but I've arrived to an understanding that shareholders prefer stability and security to innovation." Both glasses are filled a few inches shy of being full and are subsequently set down, as is the pitcher. Shortly after, the psychiatrist picks up the folder anew and claims the seat in front of Samuel. "There is no perfect specimen of mental health, Mister Griffith. If you thought that, I am afraid you would have fewer chances of passing the evaluation." That wry smile Samuel has shown earlier is now mirrored by the doctor, albeit it diminishes quickly afterwards. "But thinking yourself sane is not narcissism. Confidence and narcissism may stand shoulder to shoulder, but I assure you they are not identical." With a heavy sigh, Cornelius shifts his attention to the folder, skimming the pages as he continues, "I have overviewed your medical history and the supplemental material I have been forwarded ahead of this meeting, but I do not think it should come as a surprise that I have a few questions. If I fail to make myself clear, or if you have doubts, you are welcome to pose your own." The folder is closed and positioned neatly on his lap. "You had secluded yourself for a prolonged amount of time. May I know why?" Shrugging a shoulder Samuel looks at the doctor. "I have my quirks, but my sanity is sound enough." He arches an eyebrow at the doctors first question. "I had begun a new project, one of particular importance to me." He looks into the glass of water as he speaks, though his attention soon returns to the doctor. "I've found the seclusion allows me to focus more on my work." There is no judgement evident on the doctor's face, his weary icy eyes locked on the patient. Playing poker with the man is inadvisable. "Do you feel like the company is unnecessary weight? Do you feel like other people are an anchor that keeps your ship confined to port?" Both questions arrive one after the other, presented gently and on the proverbial silver platter. Sam seems a touch surprised by the questions. A faint tilt of his head the only real indication of either. He doesn't answer immediately. "I built my company. I'm proud of it. I like to think it's doing good work." He then laughs. "That would intend entirely on the person wouldn't? If for instance we were working in a field in which I have no experience in, wouldn't I be an 'anchor' slowing down those I'm working with?" He shakes his head. "But now, I have the highest respect for my team, I hired them because they're good at what they do. But invention's a funny thing Doctor. It's a creative endeavour, sometimes you find that someone else is looking at a problem in a way to compliments your work, other times they work at cross purposes or simply don't follow the trail of thought." The psychiatrist does not respond when Samuel signals his surprise. He only responds when his patient laughs - that's when Cornelius shows the hint of a subtle smile. As the answers are delivered, the doctor offers a nod to go with it, as well. "I ask because men may grow to loathe their creation as much as they may grow to love it. We may be proud of what we create, but that does not necessitate attachment. In fact, we may ultimately find ourselves looking for imperfections in our creations. You need not look further than God for an example of such cognitive dissonance. And since we are created in his image--" Cornelius trails off, wearily and slowly blinking. He silently examines Samuel for a short while, before another question arrives. "Are you a religious man, Mister Griffith?" Shaking his head Samuel. Studies Cornelius. "Why would I obsess over flaws in something that's always going to be imperfect. At best I can work to minimise them." He shrugs. "It's in the flaws that many things become interesting." He lifts his glass taking a sip of the water. "And no, I'm not a religious man." Cornelius de Wit is not only a man who is in full control of his facial features, but also someone who is in full control of his body. Any and all gestures appear meticulously measured, although at this time they are absolutely absent. The doctor is not unlike a statue at this point, or would have been if it weren't for the occasional relocation of his gaze. "Imperfections are like weeds. They start small, but they become hard to root out, and they spread very fervently." The ominous tone is replaced with a marginally more optimistic one. "But your garden seems very well taken care of. Griffith Solutions is a highly successful company." Another flash of a polite smile goes by as he shares what sounds like a jest. "If Wikipedia is to be trusted." The question of religion seems to have been knowingly abandoned. The folder on his lap is flung open, and he browses through a few pages, leisurely searching for the one he needs. "I have been told to approach this more subtly, but I do not appreciate attempts to form a veil between me and my patient. Your shareholders are in particular vexed by the lack of transparency on your part. Your most recent seclusion has left everyone in the dark. They want to oversee every single step of innovation you take." He pauses his leafing through the pages to look to Samuel again. "That is the hidden agenda of this meeting," he coolly informs the other man. "Putting your thought process to paper. Unfortunately for them, I already respect you more than I respect them." The doctor unclasps the binder's claws to separate the page from its siblings. It is passed on to Samuel. "We will need to schedule more meetings. For now, there is nothing keeping you from your work. Your mental health is exceptional." Samuel nods to Cornelius. His expression thoughtful. "I don't believe in perfection. Surely it's a concept rather subjective to the person making the observation?" He then shakes his head. "But I suspect that's breaching too far into philosophy for our purposes." He smiles as he looks over the paper. "I tell them what I know, when I know it." He nods at the suggestion of further meetings. "I take it that you'll be writing a report to the board to confirm that my mental health is acceptable?" He smiles faintly. "It may not make you many friends." As the two men briefly touch upon philosophy, there is what appears to be the first rays of amusement upon the doctor's face. He expertly brushes them aside on short notice. "A philosophical topic that I would gladly discuss with you at some point in the future," he comments. The paper is Samuel's trophy - it is the written guarantee that Samuel Griffith is indeed a mentally sound man who is fit for any job. There are a few quirks noted down, most pertaining to ease of distraction that justifies solitude when working, but none of them suggest anything out of the ordinary. "Shortly after your departure, yes, I'll get started on the report. Fortunately, I am not interested in friends." His eyes close momentarily again, a slow weary motion. When they open, his gaze is fixated on Sam. "/Exceptional/," he corrects his patient. Beat. "My mission is to benefit the well-being of my patients, not serve secret agendas of those who place them here. I do not intend to let them know anything you are uncomfortable with letting them know." The folder is placed on the little table with the pitcher. "Do you have any questions?" The paper getting a quick glance from Sam before he nods slowly. "I'm glad to hear that doctor patient confidentiality is so secure." He shrugs a shoulder. "I think that I'm good however. I assume that I can call your office to arrange an appointment once I've had a chance to check my own schedule?" "Yes, of course. You are free to call me to schedule a meeting or discuss any issue that is troubling you. I wish to be available at all times, but there is only one Cornelius de Wit," he admits with a faint smile of his own. "You will have the greatest luck in contacting me during my working hours." And so the doctor rises to his feet, extending a hand to Samuel. "Do not let the vultures prey over you, Mister Griffith. You possess a brilliant mind, not fit to be eclipsed by the envy of other men. We will talk again."