THE WALDOVERSE ARCHIVES

lounge

Travers & Other Lies

The following takes place following: The Sickening

Master Devlin briskly escorts Mayor Travers through the psychiatric wing of the Masters Council Infirmary. He knocks on the open office door of Dr. Linda Shawn, then steps inside.

Dr. Shawn looks up from her desk.

Dr. Shawn: Ah—Master Devlin. Nice to see you. And you've brought Widd—pardon me, Mayor Travers.

Master Devlin: Hello, Doctor. Apologies, but this can’t wait. Mayor Travers requires an urgent psychological evaluation. Can you see him now?

Dr. Shawn: Um... yes, I think I can manage that. I have a little time before my next appointment. So—what seems to be the trouble?

Master Devlin: There’s no end to it, but I’ve compiled a record of the most… egregious recent incidents.

Dr. Shawn flips through the pages. Her brow furrows; she recoils slightly, then quickly regains her composure.

Dr. Shawn: I see. Well, leave him with me—I’ll see what I can do.

Master Devlin: Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be just outside if needed.

Master Devlin nods and exits, taking a seat in the waiting area. Dr. Shawn gestures for Travers to sit. The little goblin hops into the cushioned armchair and reclines.

Dr. Shawn: Right then. Well, Mr. Travers, it’s nice to meet you. As you may have been informed, I’m Dr. Linda Shawn, principal psychologist with the Masters Council. But feel free to call me Linda. Master Devlin thought it might be helpful for us to have a little chat—just to see how you’re getting on. This is a safe space, and you're free to speak your mind. Does that sound all right to you?

Travers: Absolutely!

Dr. Shawn: Excellent. So then, how are we feeling today?

Travers: Tip-top, Doc! Shipshape, in fact. I feel like a new goblin already. Cleansed of sin.

Dr. Shawn: I see. Well, forgive me—Harris, may I call you Harris?

Travers: Actually, I’d prefer Mr. Mayor...

Dr. Shawn: Ah… of course. Well then, Mr. Mayor, I must admit I find that a little hard to believe. Master Devlin has raised several concerns about your recent behavior, and based on the material he submitted, it appears you may be dealing with a significant behavioral disorder—specifically, an unhealthy sexual compulsion.

Travers: Master Devlin has been writing out of turn. It’s preposterous. Traverses never get sick... I mean, I’ll concede that I’m a little tired. It’s not easy being a national treasure and mayor, you know. A lot of expectation. Sometimes I wish I were just a normal, unremarkable goblin, but I guess the Editor had different plans for me...

Dr. Shawn: The Editor? So you’re religious, I take it?

Travers: Damn straight. There’s no one more Ed-fearing than Travers, I can tell you that...

Dr. Shawn: I see. And when you say the Editor has plans for you—do you mean he tells you directly, as in actual conversation?

Travers: Oh, yeah, we speak. He visits me and Master Devlin often. Informs us of his plans for us. Of course, Master Devlin is always crying foul, saying Ed torments him. I keep telling him he only has himself to blame, with all his casual blasphemy—but he never learns...

Dr. Shawn: I understand. Belief—particularly when it takes the form of a personal connection—can be a powerful source of clarity. Especially during periods of stress.

Dr. Shawn sets her pen down and folds her hands.

Dr. Shawn: Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to return to the matter of your relationship with sex.

Travers: I'm firmly in the pro camp. Something of an enthusiast—although strictly oil changes, you understand.

Dr. Shawn: Yes... the noted preoccupation with oil changes.

Dr. Shawn glances down at Devlin’s notes, consulting the glossary without comment.

Dr. Shawn: I’d be interested to hear where you think that fascination began. In your own words.

Travers: Well... I suppose it all started at the end of my senior year of high school. I used to play football. That's American football, by the way... But despite that, I was kind of a shy kid, if you can believe it. Then one night, we won the big game against Wendelton County. I caught the Hail Mary pass—which I threw myself—and scored the winning touchdown. Young Travers, hero of the whole school!

The next night, I took the prettiest girl in school, Norma Jeane, to prom. We were crowned King and Queen, of course. Then, right there on stage, Norma— the cheeky fox—drops to her knees, crown and all, whips out Travers Junior, and proceeds to change my oil in front of the entire senior class. The crowd goes wild. “Travers! Travers! Travers!” they all chanted, in perfect sync with every bob of her head. I’d never even heard of such a practice before... but from that moment on, I was hooked and knew i was destined for greatness...

Dr. Shawn: I see...

Travers: Then, all of a sudden, we were interrupted—Nazi paratroopers stormed the school!

Dr. Shawn: Nazi paratroopers?

Travers: That's right! Part of some secret invasion plan. Luckily, your boy Travers was there to single-handedly save the day. I took every one of those assholes down, one by one, and thus saved the school, the town—hell, the very fabric of American democracy! You know that book Die Hard was based on? Well, that was based on me. Harris Travers, national treasure...

Dr. Shawn: That's a fascinating tale...

Travers: And the first of so many... Norma Jeane and I got hitched and moved to Hollywoodland. She changed her name, became a big-time movie star. We had an open relationship, naturally—allowed me to sample the fruits of the silver screen, if you catch my drift. She's dead now, of course.

Since then, I’ve been rubbing elbows with greatness. Presidents, artists, the odd time-travelling bishop. My pal Jack Kennedy—may he rest in peace—learned everything he knew from me. I even helped him resolve the Cuban Missile Crisis. Acted as mediator between him and Khrushchev. My peacekeeping skills are renowned, Doctor. And I speak many languages. Zdrav nolyetov raskiblen, vodmark tulyeshki provudansk.

Travers launches into a string of faux-Russian gibberish, completely convinced of its authenticity.

Travers: ...Anyway, that’s just a taste of my early years. I’ve got plenty more stories, believe me—but alas, mayoral duties call. So if you could scribble me some kind of dummy pills or a placebo prescription to keep Master Devlin off my back, I’ll be on my way.

Dr. Shawn: Now hold on, Mr. Mayor. We’ve barely scratched the surface here... And while the story you just told was certainly vivid and colourful, I suspect you’re not being entirely truthful.

Furthermore, I don’t write dummy prescriptions just to calm a worried associate. That’s not therapy—it’s complicity. I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Mayor. I’m here to help you. But in order to do that, we both need to be honest.

She lets the silence hang a moment longer than is comfortable. Travers gives her a suspicious glare.

Dr. Shawn: Now, you say you want to satisfy Master Devlin—very well. Then let’s talk about that. Because from where I’m sitting, he’s not the one in denial. He’s the one dragging you in here after watching you spiral into voyeurism, coercion, and what I’m professionally obliged to call profoundly troubling sexual behavior.

Travers: .....

Dr. Shawn: The fact of the matter is, you exhibit the hallmarks of a severe personality disorder, driven almost entirely by narcissistic traits. Based on everything I’ve read, you’re one decision away from a complete collapse...

Travers pauses before speaking. His eye twitches ever so slightly, as though holding back anger. He takes a deep breath and grins.

Travers: Well, you’re using a lot of fancy words there, Doc, but I’m just a humble politician, peacemaker, and philanthropist. I don’t pretend to understand half of it. That said, I understand your skepticism. After all, many who call themselves politicians are habitual liars and give us all a bad name. But I assure you, I’m not one of them. And with the almighty Editor as my witness, I swear to you—on the grave of my dear sweet Norma Jeane, may her soul rest in peace—that I’m being completely straight with you. The truth is, Master Devlin worries too much. He needs to relax and enjoy his work. Just look at him—he’s perpetually purple with rage. That can’t be good for his circulatory system. Maybe you should help him instead. Regardless, he exaggerates. There isn’t even a problem. He just likes to make something out of nothing.

Dr. Shawn: Really?

She glances down at her notes.

Dr. Shawn: So what about the elaborate network of spy cameras in women’s homes, feeding footage straight to your office?

Travers: Those cameras are for research purposes—so I can better connect with the voter base. I mean, how else am I supposed to know what the people of Widdlington need? Ask them? Hahaha—of course not! These people don’t even know what they want. No, I intend to find out what they need by studying them, so I can best serve them as mayor. And if I happen to catch a glimpse of the occasional pair of stupendous tits… well, consider that my payment for tireless public service.

Dr. Shawn: Don’t you think it’s wrong to spy on people without their consent?

Travers: Well, if I asked for their consent, they might say no... Better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Little life lesson I like to share…

Dr. Shawn: That’s not a life lesson, Mr. Mayor—that’s a rationalisation. A distorted justification for behavior that crosses serious lines. If this was truly about civic engagement, you’d be holding public forums, not installing surveillance in private bathrooms.

What concerns me most is that you don’t seem to recognise there’s a problem. I came into this session hoping you were here to make a genuine change. But so far, it feels like you’re just after a rubber stamp—something to appease Master Devlin so you can carry on as before.

This pattern of deflection—of insisting on your own exceptionality—it isn’t just inconvenient, Mr. Mayor. It’s pathological.

You’ve built your identity on grandiose fabrications: the war heroics, the divine mission, the self-appointed status as a “national treasure.” But under scrutiny, none of it holds. You’re not offering introspection—you’re staging a performance.

And that’s the problem. The more elaborate the role, the less room there is for truth—let alone accountability.

Travers: Accountability? Just who the hell do you think you are?

Dr. Shawn: I’m here to help, Mr.—

Travers (rising, voice raised): Listen, lady, I fought for my country! What the hell did you do? I was stacking bodies of Charlie twenty feet high in Khe Sanh while you were still a load sliding down your mum’s oesophagus.

Now, I’ve been courteous with you—out of respect for Master Devlin—but I won’t sit here and let some bimbo with a college degree deny my history... or question my status as a national treasure!

Dr. Shawn (unflinching): There’s no need to lose your temper. I’m not here to judge. I'm here to help, Mr. Mayor. To help you re-establish contact with reality. And right now, you’re quite far removed.

Travers cools down quickly, then chuckles. He points at her with a playful smirk.

Travers: You… you… You’re good, Doc. You were just trying to make me mad so I’d blow off some steam… I admit, it usually takes a bit more to get me riled. Well—it worked! I feel better already. I feel… free!

Dr. Shawn: Mr. Mayor, I don’t think—

Travers: I like you, Doc. You make me feel like a better goblin. Also… I find you rather attractive. How about dinner tonight? Eight o’clock?

Dr. Shawn: I'm afraid I must decline, thank you. As my patient, that would be highly inappropriate.

Travers: Don’t worry, Doc. I was the head of this council for twenty-two years—we can make an exception. Nobody’s gonna say anything. Hell, maybe I could even get you a pay rise.

Dr. Shawn: I see. Well, you should know that Master Devlin made a point of writing here that you would eventually claim to have been headmaster. He also noted—categorically—that it’s false. You’ve never worked here. You applied many times and were repeatedly rejected, yet continue to insist you were the boss.

Furthermore, there’s no documented evidence of any Harris John Travers serving in the United States Armed Forces. None in law school either. No bar exam. In fact, your history appears to vanish entirely beyond two years ago.

Now—I’m not accusing you of fabrication, Mr. Mayor. But I am curious. Have you ever heard of pseudomemories?

Travers: I think I had a touch of that a few years back in Verdansk. Nasty infection. Antibiotics took care of it, though… Not that Travers needed them, of course—but you know how doctors are.

Dr. Shawn: No, Mr. Mayor. Pseudomemory. Also known as false memory syndrome. People who experience it genuinely believe in events that never actually happened—often emotionally vivid, sometimes grandiose.

Travers: Well that’s real interesting and all, Doc—but what’s that got to do with dinner? As for Master Devlin—he speaks out of turn. The man’s got a real problem with authority. But I can assure you, I was most definitely a Master. I was the boss! As for the military service—black ops. Highly classified. No way you’d find it by searching the net on your phone…

Dr. Shawn (sighs): I see. Of course. Well—we’re nearly out of time. Before we finish, I’d like to try a simple Rorschach test. Tell me the first thing you see.

Dr. Shawn holds up the card.

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Travers: A crown!

Dr. Shawn: A crown. Interesting choice... Well, that’s all we have time for today. I’m going to recommend weekly sessions going forward. Thank you, Mr. Mayor. We’ll speak again soon.

The Master lets himself in.

Dr. Shawn: Ah—Master Devlin is here to collect you.

Travers: Thank you, Doctor. Good news, Master Devlin—the doctor believes I’m making considerable progress toward rehabilitation and recommends regular appointments. I’m sure we can accommodate.

Dr. Shawn: I never said you were making considerable progress. But I may be beginning to understand your condition. We’ll need to continue these sessions to dig deeper. Master Devlin, you were absolutely right to bring him in.

Master Devlin: Did he behave himself? Did he make a pass at you?

Dr. Shawn (glancing at Travers): …Yes, he did.

Master Devlin: Travers, you truly have no restraint...

Travers saunters past, oblivious.

Master Devlin: Can you reveal anything else, Doctor?

Dr. Shawn: I can’t go into details. But he is, quite simply, completely delusional. And that’s not surprising—after all, he is Widdle Frunkut.

Master Devlin: Yes, I know. But he doesn’t. And he’s unwilling to hear otherwise.

Travers: I hear everything, Master Devlin. Though I find your preposterous claim that Wally and myself are the same goblin to be quite tiresome, I just let it slide. However, you needn’t worry. With the good doctor and Ed Almighty on my side, I’m sure to be cured of this evil sickness in time. You can count on it.

The Master was about to respond when suddenly he felt strange. Everything slowed around him. The air thickened. Darkness crept in at the edges—just like before, when…

Dr. Shawn: Steven, are you alright?

Master Devlin: Oh no… not again...

Season 7 continues in Welcome to the Traversverse