New System, Who Dis?

Monday, April 8th, 2069

My leg bounced nervously, and I looked around the small waiting room that was likely furnished with the attempt to look opulent. Unfortunately, it had either been designed sometime in the late nineteen hundreds or the budget for a city-run union-affordable psychiatrist office just couldn’t buy furniture that matched.

Each individual piece of furniture or décor in the room looked like it once had been nice, or even that it would have been nice in a set—but thanks to each piece varying drastically in color, style and function; it just looked like Brodie’s grandparent’s house. When they had still been alive…

“Does the owner of this place not care for aesthetics?” Smegma asked. I nodded agreeably, having to wonder if it was the direction of my thoughts the Demon picked up on, or if he had been studying the room with the same disappointment I had. “It’s almost like the designer just took anything he could get his hands on! For some reason that bothers me!”

[Okay, I know why it bothers me, but why are you so upset?] I asked, hoping to see if my mood was truly the cause.

“Because this is clearly an attempt to appear more powerful than the owner truly is. First, they intentionally sit us in a room and we’re made to wait—which is a perfect opportunity to flaunt wealth, power, or connections. Yet, this room is empty, has no prominent pictures of any meaning on the walls, and shows the total lack of wealth through the very act of attempting to flaunt it in such an ineffective manner.” Smegma made a sound similar to a dog’s disgruntled growl, before scoffing.

So, I was definitely not the cause…

Then to my surprise he continued. “If one of these pieces was in this room and everything else matched, it would be a show of desire to reach above the current power strata the designer currently occupies. This!” Smegma practically shouted the word, scoffed again and then repeated it, “This, is a total lack of care and instead of showing a desire to grow; it shows the owner’s belly. Like the person has given up on life or dreams or just anything!” Smegma finished with the sound of spitting, but I noticed nothing came out.

I looked around the room once again with new eyes. Sure, it didn’t look good but was it truly as bad as Smegma said? I pushed the cushion of the cracked, brown leather armchair I had chosen to sit in. It was comfortable—maybe that’s what the Psychiatrist had been going for. Psychiatrist… Was this entire room simply designed to have the sitter studying the space wondering what was going on with the decor? Was this some kind of hands-on psych test? Well, if it was, it was husking working—and apparently not just on humans, either.

Take the very next ‘comfortable’ chair. It looked like it would pepper his ass with its buttons. Plus, it was an off-white yellow that suggested it was likely stained. Each chair had similar issues—plus there was a couch that looked like if someone sat in the center it might crack in half. Thankfully, someone exited the thick wood door that led into the office of the person I was here to see.

This man glanced my way, then continued to the counter to talk with the receptionist. The room was small enough that I heard every word but dismissed their importance easily. He was just scheduling his next appointment. My eyes instead tracked toward the sound of the door opening for the second time.

In the open door stood a woman, with a clipboard that looked familiar. It was likely the same one that had the form I’d filled out on arrival.

“Brodie Flack-a-rad-ish—oops—ah?” the woman sounded out. I stood and she looked away from the clipboard to smile at me. She then looked around before asking, “No parents today?”

My eyebrows rose before I could think to stop them. This woman was likely the same age as my mom and dad, meaning somewhere in her mid-to-late forties, but surely I had filled out my age on that form. Even as I wondered if I should be insulted she seemed to catch herself. “Oh, Twenty-one, sorry about that—I swear kids look younger and younger these days.”

Not only seeming to decorate like an aged grandmother but speaking like one?

Her comment incited a questioning head tilt from me, but the woman had already spun around to head back into her office. She hadn’t even looked up again from the clipboard or told me to come inside. Was I supposed to just sit back down?

“She reminds me of a distracted researcher,” Smegma said, sounding oddly fond of whatever memory that thought had conjured. I glanced his way, and he shrugged before indicating he thought I should be following her inside.

The heavy wood door clicked closed just before I reached it, though—and I discovered that it was locked. Awkwardly I turned back around and moved to my recently vacated chair. Surely she would have held the door till I was through it, if she wanted me to come in. I was halfway back to my chair when the sound of the door opening again made me spin around.

“Sorry, I totally forgot to tell you to come in, didn’t I?” she said. “I was just reading over your circumstances. Come on in.”

This time, she held the door, and I moved through it. The office was similar to the waiting room in that its aesthetics were all over the place. Each bookshelf filled with thick hardcovers was made of different wood—reached different heights and seemed out of place because of it. The couch and armchair seemed to match, which was a blessing but the coffee table was so scarred and battered that it looked like it was covered in dirt.

I paused too long in the doorway and so got a, “Please take a seat on the couch for this session.”

I obeyed the small psychiatrist and walked to the couch. I realized I hadn’t gotten her name yet, but that was remedied when she took her seat. “Hello, Brodie, my name is Evelyn Treesong!”

Smegma distractedly hovered around the woman’s chair, and head. I tried to focus on her, but his breaking of eye contact made that difficult. Mentally I shouted, [Stop that!]

“She has an elven name,” Smegma said, as if that was an explanation for his behavior. He did thankfully choose to fly off and examine the bookshelves.

“Hi, Ms—”

“Evelyn is fine for our sessions,” she interrupted.

“Okay, nice to meet you Evelyn,” I corrected. An awkward pause followed, and it was long enough that Smegma decided to interject.

“Oh, this is going to be amusing!” he said as he sat on top of the tallest shelf. I glanced at him and found him miming eating something. That little husker…

“So, normally I’d start by getting you to retell all the events that brought you to me. In your own words. Are you up for that?” Evelyn said with a small frown, that suggested she wasn’t sure this was the appropriate course of action for me.

I shrugged, and at her insistent nod told her the tale of the assault, Mana Pull, and then my previous week as a Miner. She asked a few questions that seemed to just be asking for more detail, but I suspected were her trying to gauge my emotions or distaste over a subject.

Why?

Because whenever I brought up ‘the Shop’, she’d correct it to Morgan Hallsbrad—plus she would ask me to go back over a spot in the story right after the correction. Like she was asking me to humanize the man, instead of calling him by his Swiftgram username.

Smegma continued to watch, giving clear signs and even comments that let me know how amusing he found this situation. I could tell that the Demon wasn’t a believer in talking out problems.

“—then they laid off a bunch of Miners with years of experience and I ‘kept’ my part-time job. Everyone’s acting like I should be sadder or hurt by what happened but other than–that I should be shocked at how close I was to the Worm I don’t feel much. Sure, I liked Sturdy Jeral—”

“Just Jeral,” Evelyn corrected.

“Sturdy Jeral,” I growled. “He earned that name fighting and dying for humanity. It’s not a dissociation or a label to put him at a distance or whatever you think it is by trying to correct me. It’s a name soaked in the blood of those he fought and who he fought for, so don’t try to take it away from him.”

She raised both her hands, palms out as if to say ‘okay, I surrender.’ Her voice was soft as she asked the next question, while simultaneously writing something down in a small book in front of her. “So tell me more about Sturdy Jeral.”

“I liked Jeral,” Feeling a bit bad for my outburst, I gave her a small concession, “he was nice and clearly, he stayed behind to try to save the other Miner’s, which speaks very highly of his priorities, but I didn’t actually know him, you know?”

“It sounds to me like you’re the one who thinks you should be feeling more emotional about all the events that happened,” Evelyn stated. I blinked and she pounced. “Why do you feel that your reaction isn’t ‘normal’?”

Swallowing the first answer, which would be the full truth about the Mental Fortitude Skill I chose to say, “Everyone acts like I should be weeping, shellshocked, curled up in the corner about all these things or maybe even burning with all-consuming anger. Instead, I just feel upset that some of it happened to me, but ready to keep moving on with my life. Still, everyone in my life, including the police seem to think I’m about to go bananas, or something.”

“Is the anger all-consuming, or do you ever want to curl up and stop trying?” Evelyn asked, pulling pieces of what I said out to further examine them. She had been making small notes in a leather-bound journal the entire session and these questions incited a pause.

The silence allowed me to stop and really think about her question. I’d had a few moments where my anger had truly bubbled over—sure. But I’d been in control, I thought. I started with the second question since that was much easier to answer. “No, I’ve never wanted to stop trying. I want more. I’m in school, but I’m not sure if the degree I was in will satisfy me, but I’d always been working toward the dream of becoming a Mana Bank—”

“Why the past tense? Do you not feel like that’s what you want anymore?”

Husk, that was a good question that would have been a really simple denial if I didn’t have Demonic Vault. Now, no I wanted to be more than a Mana Bank I admitted but how do I tell Evelyn about that without telling her the whole truth.

“Honestly, I want more than a degree or even being a Mana Bank. I always have but didn’t have the opportunity to—”

“Interesting, so you have the capability now to reach for more?” she asked, her eyes seeming to shine with excitement. I stared at her for a long moment trying to figure out if I should answer that question. Thankfully, a ding from her tablet that was on the battered coffee table interrupted any chance I might have had to answer.

“That’s unfortunately the end of today's session, Brodie. I know today was a lot of questions and not a lot of helpful advice, but I needed to understand a bit more before I said too much. I do think that the most important thing you need to hear right now, is that everyone handles things like this differently. Don’t try to conform to what society, the police or your family think you should be doing. I’m going to email you some homework questions, and some meditation exercises that should help you keep a lid on that ‘all-consuming anger’. When’s our next session?”

I ruminated on just how much she had inferred from my lack of responses, and tone or tense in others, as she picked up her tablet and scrolled through it. She frowned at the screen after a moment and then chuckled lightly. “Looks like I have you for the next eight Monday’s. Smells like you're being forced to be here.”

“I think it’s more of what you just talked about. Everyone thinks I need help to get through all this.”

“Well,” Evelyn said, sounding surprised. “You certainly have been through a lot, but by your very phrasing—you don’t seem to think you need help. Very interesting.” Her eyes continued to sparkle as she regarded me excitedly. “Okay, well please at least try the meditation and definitely answer all the follow up questions. Next session we’ll try to see if you're right; that you don’t need help.”

I opened my mouth to protest her interpretation of my words multiple times as she spoke, but she kept talking over me. Plus, I didn’t really disagree with the statement. Thanks to Mental Fortitude, I was probably healthier than I had been before the assault—mentally at least.

So, instead of protesting now, I stood up and looked at the time. Ten thirty. I could still, in theory, make it to the Mining for the afternoon. That’s when I remembered that I’d made the agreement with my parents to ask her advice on that front. “Oh, my parents want you to tell me if I can continue to mine part time.”

“That’s not what I do, Brodie,” she answered as she stood up still studying me. “That is a choice you have to make.”

“Can I tell them that you said I could?”

“You can tell them that I had no clinical objections to whatever you choose to do. In other words: you’re cleared for duty. I stand behind any decision you make, as long as it isn’t standing still and doing nothing.”

I decided to join my father and Willa. Knowing that having one more Specialist there would justify the five others who hopefully were already inside the Portal.