The Home - Sessions

Here is the RP where we'll hold the one-on-one sessions.

Counselors

• Tahmoh
• Abby

Residents

• Alex
• Rollin
• Rogue
• Marina
• Mabuz
• Camus
• Lana

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• Be sure to include your character's dialogue as well as some third person narration - that way we can copy and paste the RP into a chapter with minimal edits.
• If you have to say something out of character - you, as a person, needs to address the other members of the rp/co-write - please post it in green (bbcode is [ color=green ]words[ /color ]).
• If there's any major issues/questions you need to address about the RP or the co-write (if it's anything that may require lengthy discussion), please post it in the co-write thread. In your RP post here, just let us know you've done that so we can all go check it out.

If there's anything else you want me to add, just let me know.

Abby puttered around her small office. It was five to the hour and her first 'patient' was to arrive soon. The room was set up as best as she'd hoped - with a comfortable chair on either side of the modest desk, a full bookshelf behind her, a warm but subdued yellow on the walls, the patient's seat nearest the door, and herself backed neatly into a corner. Oy, she thought, if only I had access to a quick escape too.

Still, it was the best she could do with the small space. She thought it was at least welcoming enough to lure residents in and intimate enough to make them feel safe to share. She desperately hoped her first appointment would involve less teeth-pulling than the group sessions had, but she wasn't foolish enough to be entirely optimistic.

As she waited, she flipped open the small tape recorder on the corner of her desk. Though some had moved on to more modern means to record their sessions - cell phones being pretty much the go-to - Abby still preferred the tangibility of a good old fashioned cassette. Hers was ready to go and already neatly labeled - she was just double-checking - so she tucked it neatly back into the recorder and pressed it shut.

Three more minutes until the resident arrived - if they were to be on time. Abby tapped her thumb nervously against the edge of her desk, leg shaking beneath her. She turned open the pages of her mostly empty spiral notebook – the inside cover also neatly labeled with the resident's name, where it would be out of sight at first glance. Then she closed it, pushing it to the right side of her desk so she could fold her hands delicately in front of her, but that felt unnatural.

She pushed her chair back, bumping into the built-in bookcase, and stretched her legs. Perhaps I should stand, she thought, Maybe holding a book. She tried it. That too felt unnatural. Why would I stand while I read? She walked around the desk and perched on the edge, one leg dangling near the patient's chair, the other barely touching the carpeted ground. Her balance was precarious this way. I'd make a damn fool of myself if I toppled off this table just as the patient walked in.

She quickly stood again.

Alexander paced outside the room, debating if he wanted to go in or not. On the one hand, he probably needed to get quite a lot of things off his shoulders. On the other, he was rather disinterested in talking about his problems. What good was it to acknowledge he had a drinking problem? Everyone knew that. That was what he was here for. He didn't need to tell anyone about any of his other problems.

He paced in front of the door for so long that he was officially late by the time he actually entered the room. Abby was fiddling with her desk, looking both unsure and uncomfortable. He watched her for a second, eyebrows lifted in amusement until she finally noticed him.

"Fashionably late," was all he said as he walked into the room. "Just like my arrival to the Home." He sent her a cheeky smile. "You'll get used to it. Anywho, where's the lounge couch? Don't therapists offices' normally have those?"

"Nope. No lounging here." Abby turned to fully face the man who'd entered the office so confidently. "Good morning, Alex," she greeted him with a warm smile and gestured towards the chair. "If you're ready, please have a seat or, if you'd like, take a look around." Abby walked over to her side of the desk and sat. "I know the office is a bit snug, but it'll have to do."

"Well, where am I gonna lay when I'm blubbering about my alcoholism?" He glanced around the office, unsure of what to say. It wasn't often he was speechless. He moved around the room like he knew what he was doing, looking through the books behind Abby. "So what, how is this going to work?"

Abby turned in her chair, leaning back to look at Alex. "You'll talk. I'll listen. Sometimes I'll ask questions. It'll be relatively painless...physically." At Alex's expression, Abby laughed. "I'm kidding! It really won't be so bad, Mr. Aita, and we can take a break or stop for the day whenever you need to. Why don't we start with something easy, huh? Tell me something about yourself. A memory. Good or bad. Important or inconsequential."

Like he didn't have enough mental pain, right? Alex gave Abby an incredulous look and pulled a book off the shelf, flipping through it.

"A memory huh?" He tried to think of something. Anything. His mind was blank, like his brain had forgotten how to work. His eyes stared blankly at the page as he tried to dig for something to give her.

"I wasn't very old. A couple of years, maybe. I didn't have any friends in the village, all of them are far older than I. They even talk like they lived in the mid-1100's, if you even know what that means." He flipped through the book some more. "The rule was I wasn't allowed to leave the village until I was old enough to hide my ears for long enough periods of time. But I couldn't stand being around them so much, when all they did was talk down to me."

He moved to sit in the chair in front of Abby's desk. He was actually reading the book as he spoke to her. "I left anyway. There was this kid who lived relatively close to the edge of my forest. I saw him playing with a ball, kicking it around with his feet. I approached him and he taught me how to play. He asked me about my ears once, but I just told him it was a birth defect. He didn't ask again."

"This boy," Abby started, "how long did you know him?"

Alex shrugged. "Years don't mean anything to elves. We don't keep track of them." He flipped the page of his book. "I don't know. He hadn't hit human puberty yet before he -" Alex stopped short, eyes flashing up to Abby. She seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying. "Before he left."

"He left," Abby repeated. She nodded, leaning back into her seat and watching Alex closely. Honestly, she was surprised he shared as much as he had and while she wanted to hear more, she wasn't sure if she should push or move on. It was clear they'd reached a soft spot.

"Do you want to talk about that? About him leaving?"

"No," Alex snapped. "There's nothing left to talk about." Lie. Alex shook his head, trying to push that out of his head. His skin felt like it was crawling, like he had trails of black ink flowing through his veins, corroding him from the inside out. Hatred bubbled inside of him and he took a deep breath, standing. "I've got to go." He didn't give Abby another look, leaving with the book clutched tight in his hand.

Staring at the empty space where Alex sat just seconds before, Abby softly asked, "Did he just steal my book?"

Abby settled in her office, looking for the notebook she'd labeled with Rollin's name. With the front still untouched, she flipped the book over, opening it up to the pages in the back, where she'd keep her research. Spread around her desk were the books she collected from the library, and as she read, she jotted down what she hoped would be useful information.

The full moon thing was a crock; Rollin had shifted last night while the moon was just a sickle-shape among the stars. As far as Abby could tell, he struggled with control despite the moon's cycle or the time of day. From what she'd heard last night, the transformation sounded both quick and painful (she was sure the snapping she had heard were that of bones, not twigs like she'd originally thought). And though she hadn't seen it, she guessed his wolf form was very large - as evidenced by the shreds of fabric left behind the night before and the lack of clothing upon his return.

By her count, most of the information in her books either contradicted each other or what she'd witnessed with Rollin herself. Even the sources she considered most credible - handwritten collections gathered by well-respected cryptozoologists, supernaturalists, folklorist, occultists, grimms, and even the saner mystics - seemed to only offer limited verifiable information. Perhaps when things were steadier around the Home, she could work on updating some of the texts.

Scribbling down a couple more notes, Abby checked her watched before looking up at the door. It had been a little while since she left Tahmoh with Rogue and Marina, and an even longer while since Rollin left the kitchen with Aita. She wondered if he'd show up to his session soon, or at all.

A list of the books Abby has on her desk:

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders by the American Psychiatric Association, two very old grimoires with lots of colorful post-it-note tabs sticking out everywhere, The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves by Nathan Robert Brown, The Book of Werewolves by Sabine Baring Gould, and a copy of Twilight.

Tahmoh moved slowly around his office, adjusting his wards and various trinkets. This was meant to be a safe space, so he wanted to make sure it was safe for everyone involved.

He finally took a seat at his desk and shuffled his papers. He probably was well enough prepared for this job, but he was starting to feel cornered.

He took a deep breath and glanced at the grimoire Abby had given him. He'd have to study it later.

@ champion;
It was about time for Rogue to go to her first one on one session. She had been informed that instead of Abby, Tahmoh would be the replacement for the first session and if things went well he would be the one to fix her. If fixing was something he could manage in her case.

She dressed herself in a frilly dark crimson dress and black summer shoes. She checked herself in the mirror before leaving her room and going downstairs to Tahmoh's office. Her black painted nails were well manicured and her eyeliner was perfect. One of the necklaces Camus had given her for her birthday hugged her neck like a prize. Two pairs of wings tied by chains. She always wondered, where those wings supposed to be hers and his? She never managed to really ask him. Something held her back from it.

Pushing all thoughts about her friend to the back of her mind. She knocked on the door to Tahmoh's office. ''Come in!'' She made her way inside and before Tahmoh could tell her to take a seat, she sat on the armchair in front of his desk.

This is going to be fun, she thought.

Tahmoh took a long glance at Rogue and laced his fingers together, placing them firmly on the table. "As you may have noticed, I was not here for the introductions. My name is Tahmoh. I have spent many years preparing and practicing to deal with the supernatural. You could say it's my job."

He kept Rogue's gaze, expression firm. "Please, tell me about yourself. I want to get to know you."

@ champion;

Rogue thought of where to start. So many things have happened in her life and she wasn't one of those people that spoke about herself, but she had to do it. That was the reason why she was sent here in the first place. She had to thank her clan they hadn't killed her already.

''I can start by telling you that I am known as a abomination; a spell castor and a vampire in one body.'' The spells where in her blood running though her veins. They were a part of her she couldn't deny and that had to be the reason why her clan let her live. ''The only reason I am alive is because the head of the Hartsong bloodline wishes so.''

That was a good start, she thought.

Tahmoh wrote down a few notes on his notepad. "The Hartsong bloodline? Who and why would they want you dead, and why do the Hartsong keep you alive?"

"Yes, they are my family. Who would want me dead?" She laughed. "Every single one of them. They are purebloods, born by vampire parents but not I. I'm what our clan hates the most; a mixed one. Why they keep me alive is unknown to me. They might just want my power, though I can't really much use it, let alone control it."

@ champion;