A smudged brass plate on the heavy wooden door read 'Irene Hunter, Ph.D, CCC-SLP'. Parzifal pushed the door open, blinking at the subdued lighting in the waiting room. Most of the chairs were unoccupied, save for a few closest to the receptionist's window. He strode past them, gesturing for the receptionist's attention and speaking quietly, so as not to disturb the others waiting. "Phillip Astor, for my four o'clock appointment, marpleg." The receptionist pointed with his pen, indicating wordlessly that the knight should take a seat, then returned to his paperwork.

Claiming a seat against the wall and tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, enjoying a few moments of quiet after his noisy public transit ride from Paragon City to Pawtucket. Soon, however, he became aware of a rhythmic thumping noise coming from someplace to his right.

He opened his eyes, turning toward the sound. The origin was a pair of dirty sneakers, worn by a small girl of perhaps seven or eight, seated on the row of chairs in the center of the waiting room. Clumps of dried mud fell off the soles as she clapped them together nervously. Though the rest of her garb was obscured by the sizeable stuffed dog sitting on her lap, he could see enough to recognize that she was wearing a typical girl's winter uniform for Catholic school... thick slacks, and a light-colored oxford with a cardigan sweater. Her dark hair was held back by a pink plastic headband, its edges decorated with tiny daisies. Wary eyes peered back at the knight from behind the dog's floppy ears. Parz simply nodded silently with a small, gentle smile, then turned his attention elsewhere.

Magazines littered the table to his left, and he picked one up, flipping through it. He found he could not pay attention to it, however, partially because he had no interest in the doings of Hollywood glitterati, particularly a year or more out of date; and partly because the thumping of the girl's shoes didn't cease. Parz set it back on the table, and looked toward the girl again. "You are nervous, aye?" he half-whispered to her.

She looked around, and seeing that he was looking right at her, she gave a slow, somewhat suspicious nod, which he returned.
There was a sudden creaking sound, exaggeratedly loud in the quiet, and both of them glanced to the waiting room door, which was opening to reveal a tall, slightly stoop-shouldered man, with the same shade and thickness of dark hair as the girl. He sat down next to her, whispering to her in waiting-room volume. She smiled a little, wiggling in her seat behind the dog, but Parz could see a hint of an anxious, uncertain look in her eyes, and recognized it. He'd often worn that same look himself, when he was a boy of her age.

The man noticed Parz' attention, and leaned toward him, elbow on his knee. "Here for an appointment?" His voice was gruff, but conversational.

"Aye, I am," the knight returned in his own soft British-tinted baritone, as he offered his hand. "I am Phillip Astor."

He accepted it, and Parz resisted the urge to reach further up his arm, to shake hands in the old way. "Jeff Mayfield," the man responded, shaking firmly.

"It is good to meet you, Sir." Parz' gaze turned toward the girl as he sat back. "And you are?" he prompted gently.

She glanced up at the man, who spoke a quiet affirmative back to her. "Tr-tr-tricia," she replied meekly, while simultaneously ducking further behind the stuffed dog.

Parzifal's grin was warm. "It is good to meet you, Miss Tricia. And your friend?" he asked, indicating the dog.

The girl's face screwed up in an expression half-frustration, half-concentration, trying to work the words out. Parz simply waited. "M-m-m-m-m-morgan," she replied, gasping slightly at the end.

The knight greeted the dog with solemnity, as he would the guardian of any young girl... since this was likely how Tricia regarded the plush. "It is good to meet you as well, Morgan." The corners of Tricia's lips turned faintly upward. He noticed this, and spoke to her again. "Is this your first visit to Dr. Hunter?"

Again, she looked at the man, her father, but nodded quickly before getting confirmation. "We just moved here, from Pennsylvania," Jeff explained. "It took a while for us to get an appointment with the doctor." He mussed the girl's hair a little, affectionately, and she squirmed again, batting at his hand in annoyance.

"She has been my therapist for most of my life." Parz flashed a quick, self-conscious smile. "Stutterer. Developmental... since I was two. Dr. Hunter is very good at what she does."

"That's what we were told," Jeff confirmed as he settled back in the chair, comfortably stretching his legs out in front of him.

Bravely, Tricia ventured from behind the safety of Morgan, and looked over Parz with a gravity incongruent with her years. She tilted her head, then took a soft half-breath before saying, "Y-y-you, t-t-t-too?"

"Aye, me too. I was unable to control it entirely until around the time I entered college, and I still lose control, betimes. I am here for a routine visit." He laced his fingers together, resting them on his lap in a relaxed fashion. The girl smiled wider, showing off the prominent gap in her front teeth, but she said nothing.

"What do you do, Mr. Astor?" Jeff asked.

After a pause, Parz answered, "Law enforcement, Sir," but didn't elaborate.

The man offered, "Truck driving instructor," in return, before glancing at his daughter. "It's been an adjustment." There was a vague tightness in his tone, a hint of sadness shading the corners of his eyes.

Parz nodded in deep, wordless understanding, recalling his own father with a pang of melancholy. "It can be difficult, aye, with a new place, and new people." His eyes drifted toward Tricia, and he regarded her for a few moments. She looked uncertainly back. He gave her a reassuring smile again, and picked up one of the outdated children's magazines on the table, flipping through the pages until he found a suitably colorful picture. Then, with a conspiratorial wink toward her, he coughed loudly while simultaneously ripping the page out of the magazine. The receptionist peered out of his window with a mild look of annoyance before he took in the scene. Though he was obviously not fooled by Parz' clumsy ruse, he simply shrugged, and returned to his work, closing the frosted glass after him.

Tricia craned her neck curiously as Parz worked, trimming the page until it was square, then beginning to make folds in it. "A friend of mine once made me one of these," he explained as he worked. "To make me smile." In a few minutes, he perched the finished product on his knee... an origami swan. He glanced toward Jeff before picking it up again, and offering it to the girl.

"L-l-l-like th-th-th-the U-u-ugly D-d-d-duckling?" she asked sadly, stretching out her hand for it.

The knight shook his head as he left the paper in her grasp. "Not at all. I see nothing ugly here, duckling or otherwise. Swans are beautiful, aye, but they are also brave, and strong, and loyal. Someone I... knew once, favored them. Took them as his symbol." Whether Jeff or Tricia could hear the note of grief in his voice, Parz couldn't tell, though he tried to obscure it. "I think fondly of them, because of that."

There was a loud creak, as the inner office door swung open. "Phillip Astor?" the woman announced, and Parz stood in confirmation. "This way, please." He bowed his head slightly in greeting to her, then looked back at the father and daughter. "It was good meeting you, and I hope things work out well in your new situation."

"Thanks, nice to meet you, too," Jeff replied, as Tricia waved shyly with the swan. Parz turned and walked into the office.