Dr. Kinbott's little white cuckoo clock, with its light blue roof, hour, minute hands and swinging pendulum in the same colour (with the exception of the second hand in red, ticking away) displayed the time as 12:50 pm or ten to 1 o'clock.
Valery Kinbott stared ahead at what was arguably his awkwardest session to date. All five of them: Dr. Kinbott, (from the Doctor's left to right:) Pugsley, Mortician, Saturday and Gomez were sitting on the large, perfectly round grey carpet placed on the otherwise white floor in the Dr.'s consultation office, with its cream walls, white door, table, white window frames, white shutters on the two windows, small shelves for necessities like a lamp and various others, staircase railing and flaming fireplace, with a golden outer border and two golden small strangely shaped statues and a small golden fireplace brush on its golden stand next to the statues.
The room also had a lot of different sized pictures in mostly black and beige frames on the cream walls, along with some other strangely shaped ornaments all in muted colours, and near the door, a coat hanger on the wall.
Although all five of them were sitting on top of the large, circular grey mat, only chubby, cute little Pugsley was sitting on the floor, his head, with its floppy but neatly brushed back hair, pale skin, and his features were all just like his brother and Father; he was basically a cuter, chubbier version of his older brother, and an even younger duplicate of his Father, slightly bowed as he stared at the floor. He was still wearing his black coat (the same design as his brother's but not an overcoat) over his horizontally black and white striped shirt.
The other four were all on a seat of some kind: Mortician and Gomez were on two identical luscious white arm chairs with their eldest son Saturday in between them, on a small, white, stool- in the same collection as those luscious white arm chairs, in which Dr. Kinbott also sat on in this session, facing the Addams.
Mortician, ghostly pale, his waist long, sleek black hair neat in front of his ears but behind his shoulders, in his handsome, shiny, black tuxedo, neat black bowtie, crisp, long, white shirt, a black background pocket square with a neat white square pattern, long, elegant black trousers and polished shiny black leather dress shoes with neat, thin, horizontal black laces sat with his strong, pale wrists hanging over the arms of his chair, his long, lean legs crossed, one on top of the other, his back immaculately straight, while his wife Gomez sat with her pudgy legs together and her tan, black nail polished hands on her knees, her revealing, long, wide sleeved, body hugging black dress accentuating her round curves, her black short high heels hidden under her dress.
*Note: Gomez's dress would be a much larger size than shown in the image above.
*Notably, Gomez often totters on her thin, short heels because of her pudgy frame and Mortician thought that it was very cute of her, so she continues to wear them.
Saturday, with his short, soft and silky black hair floppy but neat, his long black overcoat over his broad shoulders covering the majority of his monochrome school uniform, sat with his back as immaculately straight as his Father, on the small white stool with his hands clasped neatly on his lap, and stared ahead directly at his Dr. and Therapist, his deadly pale face stiff and cold, his clever, dark, obsidian eyes intense but detached.
Misaki was still nowhere to be seen. Mortician wondered where she was. It wasn't as if there was anyone else waiting for her- although, smirking to himself, he was curious: if, perhaps, there was someone looking to meet her...what kind of person would they be? He already had an idea of what they would be like.
There was a stifling silence as Pugsley eagerly reached out and grabbed a weird looking chip-like piece out of a full glass bowl of the same strange, rare kind on the short legged white circular table in the middle of the group of five, and took a nibble, scrunching his eyebrows slightly after from the hit of undoubtedly strange flavour.
"So, who wants to start?" Dr. Kinbott began pleasantly, smiling as he nodded towards Saturday's family and then pursed his lips.
Mortician and Gomez's eyes instinctively move in Saturday's direction, both not wanting to speak first while their son utterly ignores them, not moving his lips (or any other part of his body) in any way. The boy had the ability to fully control his body at will. His Mother's lips were close to forming an 'O,' being slightly parted. Mortician blinked slowly, his face pensive, this paired with his authoritative way of sitting, gave him a regal look, adding to his already unmatched charisma.
"Maybe we can discuss what it's like having Saturday away from home?" Dr. Kinbott tried again, nodding his head in Gomez's direction, prompting an answer. The woman furrowed her eyebrows and looked like she was beginning to say something, but nothing came out of her mouth.
Mortician didn't meet the Doctor's eye, glancing sideways, but not exactly at his eldest son.
It was Pugsley that started the conversation. "I mean, for me..." the boy hesitates, "...it's been hard not having Saturday around." he narrowed his eyes, as if trying to think and articulate at the same time was uncomfortable for him in front of a complete stranger. He looked and made a hand movement in his brother's direction when he said: "Saturday."
Saturday glared down at him, his face still emotionless, cold and unreadable. This idiotic session was the least on his mind. His thoughts kept on switching to her and he couldn't stop himself no matter how hard he tried. The revelation that had hit this morning after her disappearance was like a flood storming through a worn down canal- it kept on flowing in monstrous strengths, it was unstoppable, and it destroyed everything in its path. Much like the word itself. A word that was so unfamiliar and so evasive to a coldly logical mind as Saturday's that it made the immaculate boy falter. But it would take a devilish Armageddon for him to admit it.
The eldest Addams son raised his head ever so slightly as he listened to his brother speak. The movement was like a skilled hunter stalking his prey. It was Saturday's way of being touched.
"I never thought I'd miss being waterboarded so much." Pugsley's childish voice confessed as his eyes landed on Dr. Kinbott for a moment before lowering his gaze to stare past the strange bowl of dried up plant pieces. His Father closed his eyes and smirked knowingly as the man nodded very subtly.
Dr. Kinbott looked at Pugsley strangely before switching targets. "Mortician, Gomez." The Dr. smiled broadly, charmingly flashing his straight pearly whites. "How have you been coping?"
Gomez looked like she was about to start bawling, she leaned further into Saturday's side and her face was puckered very intensely. Her husband on the other hand, looked as calm and composed as ever, not moving an inch from his position- arms still authoritatively dangled over the arms of his chair, long, lean legs still crossed, back still immaculately straight.
"It's been torture for us too." Mortician promptly replied, his deep, seductive voice held a longing ring. Saturday's eyes glared downwards.
"Fortunately, my brother Fester's rack fits two people." Saturday's flexible eyes darted to glare sideways at his Mother, who muttered the sentence half heartedly.
"Nothing like a good stretch to bring out the best in each other." Mortician mused as he and his wife stretched out their hands and he took her pudgy one in his pale, slender and strong one, as if he was proposing to her.
Saturday's eyes darted from his Mother, to in front of him, to sideways at his obnoxiously charming Father.
"Mi querido." Gomez moaned back passionately as Mortician leaned down to passionately kiss her chubby hand. The man was oozing sex appeal like a gushing stream.
"Um..." Dr. Kinbott cut in, frowning. The elfish blonde man in a neat grey turtleneck sweater was growing increasingly uncomfortable from the extremely public show of affection from the two adults. Saturday and Pugsley were obviously used to their parents' embarrassing and unashamed lust for each other.
Mortician's shining, lustful, obsidian eyes moved slowly to address the Dr. whose expression was one of a disgusted grimace as he moved his face back an inch. The man with long, waist length, silky black hair smirked at the elfish blonde man as he continued to softly kiss his wife's hand with his luscious lips.
"Enough!" Saturday's cold and sharp command made his Father stop reluctantly and lean back into his seat, but not before kissing his wife's hand one more time. Dr. Kinbott gave the family another grimace.
The young teenage boy swiftly pulls out a beige file from his open black slate placed neatly standing on the floor.
"I think it's high time my parents faced the music." he said coldly as he stood up and addressed the adults in the room. He turned around so he was glaring down at his parents. "It seems they've been lying to me." he says with contempt, his scorching glare directed undoubtedly at his Father.
Mortician's eyebrow made the slightest motion upwards as his head subtly turned more in Saturday's direction.
"Keeping secrets." his son continued investigatively. Gomez furrowed her eyebrows and took a thin breath as she looked at her eldest son. "Murderous secrets that need to be addressed." Saturday says coldly.
Pugsley takes another odd looking chip-like piece out of the glass bowl on the smooth, round, white table and takes a bite, drawn to the mysterious flavour of the chip-like pieces.
Holding the thin pages with his long, slender, pale fingers, its nails covered in shiny black polish, Saturday flips the file over, revealing a large black and white photograph of a muscular, subtly smirking, arrogant boy with what appears to be light coloured hair in a long mushroom like haircut, dressed in a thin shirt and jacket. Two silver paper clips pinned his photo to the top right of his file, another silver paper clip was on the top left of the file to hold the numerous pages together.
Gomez's eyes darted quickly to Saturday's face.
"Who was Garrett Gates, and why are you accused of murdering him?" Saturday fired at his Mother as his glare pierced through her. He was tired of secrets. It was time for the truth to come to light- starting with this one.
"Whoa." Pugsley says admiringly to his elder brother as he stares up, transfixed at Garrett's file, his face slowly turning into an interested smile.
"Those charges were dropped. Your Mother is an innocent woman." Mortician argued back, unrelenting, his voice softening when he mentioned Gomez. His wife looked back at him nervously.
"Local Sheriff doesn't seem too convinced." Saturday replies coolly, as he lowered Garrett's file back onto the beige folder, holding it with his hands in front of him as if he was an investigator.
"Saturday, stop." His Father promptly stood up, followed by his Mother, the man's tone becoming more serious as he towered over his cold eldest son.
"This is neither the time nor the place." Mortician's sultry voice didn't have that usual playful tone.
"Actually, this is exactly the place." Dr. Kinbott cut in excitedly, a bright, toothy smile shining on his face as he put his open palms out in front of him as if pushing at an invisible wall before making an 'okay' sign with them both. "These sessions are—"
"Doctor." Mortician points a slender, long, white forefinger at Dr. Kinbott, his sudden icy tone making the elfish blonde man jolt slightly backwards. It was a warning, if his serious face and tone didn't already subtly tell the elfish blonde man to hold his tongue. "This does not concern you." the tall, pale, long, silky black haired man addressed softly but menacingly to the Therapist, before lowering his arm and turning his attention to his eldest son.
"And I refuse to debate a decades-old witch-hunt with you right now." Mortician looked Saturday up and down before widening his eyes and stalking off, his deep sultry voice was never harsh, but when he was annoyed or angry, it had a tone that warned anyone against disagreeing with him.
"I-I—" Dr. Kinbott stuttered, losing control of the situation as he fluttered his fingers nervously.
"Darling, maybe we should—" Gomez began.
"No!" Mortician cut in authoritatively and decisively as he glared back at his wife, before dismissively taking in his son. "This session is over." he nods his head, his voice soft but more authoritative as ever.
"Have it your way, Father." Saturday returns coldly, as he begins to stalk away from his Dr., any Father-son affection between them gone.
"Satur...Saturday?" Dr. Kinbott tried again, his voice soft and gentle, his pearly toothed smile strained, but to no avail. The warm flaming fire crackling merrily in the spotless, white fireplace greatly juxtaposed the rigid and icy air in the room.
Pugsley watched his family in interest as he chewed. It was a real life soap opera right before his eyes.
"If you refuse to tell me the truth, I'll just have to excavate it myself." Saturday's deep, icy voice drowned out Dr. Kinbott's soft sound as the tall, lean boy swooped down, grabbed his slate and brushed dismissively past his Father. Mortician glared down at his rebellious son with narrowed eyes, his lean arms crossed at his broad chest, before lowering his arms and following the boy out of the room, and with a swish of his hand, ordered his wife and youngest son to follow.
Dr. Kinbott stood up from his seat to look at the back of the departing arrogant man and Father, while his wife: Gomez followed promptly, but stopped at the door to wait for Pugsley. His youngest son: Pugsley, stood where he sat, staring after his Mother, still munching on a chip-like piece.
The chubby, shorter, floppy black haired boy handed the Dr. his bowl with one hand. It was still filled with those chip-like pieces.
"Thanks for the candy." he said unevenly as he smiled a small smile as he looked up into the blonde man's face.
"Actually, that's...potpourri." Dr. Kinbott replied with concern, looking down at the bowl and scrunching up his thin, elegant eyebrows.
He gave Pugsley a pursed lip smile. "Why don't you take the bowl?" he asked graciously, not wanting to keep a half-eaten bowl of dried up petals and spices. To this the boy smiled broadly and happily took his bowl of snacks, munching one piece on the way out. He walked out of the open white door, following after his beckoning Mother- the woman was very eager to get out of the consultation, and to be in her husband's protective and strong arms.
Dr. Kinbott heaved in an annoyed and deep breath after the family left. Immediately after, his cuckoo clock chirps, as the little white bird with vibrant green wings popped out of its small, arched, white, double windows, opening up its wings with every sound it made.
"What were you thinking?" Mortician inquires incredulously after his eldest son Saturday, as he follows the young teenage boy outside. Saturday remained silent. The boy had long been accustomed to ignoring all of his Father's taunts when it didn't benefit him. This, of course never stopped Mortician from relenting- as is the case now. "How could you ambush your Mother like that? Saturday." The man's deep voice had lost its sultry tone and was increasing in volume.
Saturday finally turned around to address his Father after his name was called. "How could I?" his deep voice that was so alike to his Father's, rose exponentially. He half turned his body to glare scorchingly upwards at his Father. "You insisted I go to this school. Did you really think I wouldn't find out your secret?" he fired back, his deep voice lowering and taking on a more vicious and menacing tone, to an icy glare from his Father.
Mortician's perfect, thin, black eyebrows had furrowed ever so slightly. "You don't know the full story. Your Mother did nothing wrong." He practically whispered his last sentence, his deep voice laced with pain. His voice had decreased in volume, and had taken on his usual sultry tone. This usually meant that he had taken charge of the situation, and he had...or so he thought.
"I'll be the judge of that." Saturday declares coolly, as Father and son glared hard and unrelentingly at each other. Mortician moved his head slightly as Saturday turned to go. With a swish of his long, luscious straight hair the proud, tall, lean, pale man turned away also. Father and son both went their own separate ways.
As Mortician strode in the direction of his wife and youngest son, he turned his head back for a moment to look at Saturday, though his eldest son never looked back at him.
"Potpourri?" Pugsley asked as he offered the filled, textured glass bowl to his frowning Mother.
She sniffed and reluctantly took a big piece and bit into it, a thick golden ring with a small, round obsidian stone in its centre shone on her pinky, on the hand she used to take the chip-like piece, as she looked past her youngest son, at her approaching husband, her thick black eyebrows furrowing more deeply by the second.
Pugsley smiled a small smile at her as he took a small piece and nibbled on it.
The door of the limousine closed as Mortician stepped inside.
"Mmm!" Gomez's eyes widened as she tasted its unique flavour. Her eyebrows lowered as she moved the first piece into her other hand, the one with her silver marriage ring, and frantically began to take another piece.
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