Morning Petulance (Sean)

[Ashley Engel]

At four in the morning precisely Ashley was out of bed.

It was a schedule she’d adopted in Kocher, and while keeping it through the summer had been slightly awkward, she’d managed. Not many people were up and about at four. Which meant, if she hurried, there was time for a shower and brushed teeth before students started roaming the halls. Breakfast was out of the question, no matter how quickly she got through her routine. The cafeteria was marked as a danger zone without her even checking it.

So instead of eating or socializing, Ash spent her morning getting ready for her schedule.
She had a strict timeline, detailing blocks dedicated to everything from class to carefully timed meals. There were even spaces for reading and studying, assuming she could make the distances she needed to cover in due time. Today would be a day of measuring travel time.

First and foremost though, she had an appointment.
Doctor Sean Neville was not someone she knew anything about. Beyond, of course, his job. Institute psychiatrist. In her mind, that was all she needed to know. He would be yet another charming stranger only bothering to speak in attempts to crack into her head. Margaret had been frustrating enough. She did not expect any better from this man.

So there was a certain unwilling drag to her body as she went about getting properly dressed. Clothes were a highly debated thing. She’d packed two different jackets and enough folded assorted articles to do her well. Benjamin had encouraged going out shopping in the town if permissions allowed, but she wasn’t interested. Mainly because he’d meant it to be an activity with her and other girls, and nothing sounded worse than venturing out into open space with other girls flocking around.

The clothes she had packed were more than fine for classes and casual wear. It was just selecting something appropriate for this meeting she struggled with. Her extra morning time before the appointment was spent dressing and redressing and over-analyzing all her clothes. What about her would he be able to draw from a cut of a shirt, or a style of jeans?

She was over thinking things, really. But in her mind it made sense. This was what she tried to do to others, after all. Every color and stitch and choice they wore on them was a clue to themselves. She didn’t need to talk to people if she could figure them out by analysis. Of course, a lot of her attempts to break people down in such ways were abandoned after her power manifested. Focusing on any part of another person was far and away something she wanted to do these days.

In the end she settled for dark jeans tucked into black boots. A simple green t-shirt, hidden under a bomber jacket with the fur-lined lapel turned down around her neck. It was the usual for her. Whatever personal details that gave away, she gave up trying to hide it. Instead she focused on combing her hair and fussing slightly with her hypoallergenic earrings before heading out.

When she left, it was with all her precisely marked and folded papers in one hand. She had maps and schedules and buildings and numbers all neatly printed and noted, ready for the day. Neville’s office was one of the many locations carefully pinpointed on one sheet. Finding the building and correct door wasn’t hard in theory. Students up and about for morning classes proved a challenge, though. Ashley fell back on the only coping method she had- which was earbuds, an ipod, and electro-swing music turned up high to wage war against the mental shouts and whispers tumbling against the truly audible sounds of people talking and greeting one another across campus.

When she reached the office she checked the listing against her paper, then knocked. The knocking was more for show, because she’d been told it was rude to just walk in to other people’s rooms. But the way she saw it, he’d established the appointment. She was on time. (She double-checked at the door.) If he wasn’t ready for her to turn the handle and come striding in, that was his fault and not her concern.

Greeting, much like properly waiting for permission to enter, was ignored. He’d called her. Not the other way around. She didn’t owe him any sort of hello. All she came bearing was music which was intentionally slow to be turned down and then off, and a wash of bitterness and resignation behind her dull expression. She did not want to be doing this, that much was painfully clear.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean had begun his day in a markedly different fashion. Although he was habitually an early riser, his morning began after 4:00a.m., which was all the more necessary given the hit or miss nature of his insomnia. After waking for the day, he went about shaving and showering, brushing his teeth, dressing, and combing his hair, and then waking his partner so that Josh could get started on his own morning routine. They made the bed, and then the psychiatrist went downstairs to brew coffee and prepare breakfast.

As spring was finally upon them, they had a greater selection of fresh fruit. They still wanted for summer fruits: melons and pineapple and stone fruit, but they no longer relied entirely on apples, oranges, grapefruits, and bananas. He made a small fruit salad for his partner to share with him, while he toasted English muffins and set the table.

After an all-too brief breakfast, and completing the morning crossword puzzle, the psychiatrist was off to Hammel. He was always in his office with a second cup of coffee by first bell.

Today was busy. With less than two months left in the semester, before graduation, the psychiatrist had to fit in everyone around their final projects, final exams, and the training sessions that proved so necessary before they could emerge from Hammel and join the wider world around them.

Moreover, today the psychiatrist had a meeting with a new student.

Technically, Ashley was not precisely new. From her records, she had been at Hammel once before, although for such a brief period of time, before being transferred to Kocher. Still, he remembered her file from the first time here, and now she was there to stay. That placed her within his purview as the Hammel psychiatrist, and he wanted to start them on a schedule.

She was on his radar for several reasons, not the least of which was the diagnoses in her file from her past psychiatrist. Those were tendencies that could be managed, but needed to be managed; turning a blind eye ruined lives. Additionally, she had a difficult home life, and she was a telepath. One who had managed to make little progress according to her training notes.

Sean had been there once.

In anticipation of her arrival, he raised his mental shields a bit more. Having been a young, uncontrolled telepath himself, he thought that she might appreciate the break from the background noise.

She arrived on time, but chose not to announce herself by knocking nor to acknowledge him with small talk when she entered his office. So it would be one of those meetings.

The psychiatrist waited for her to turn off the music before he greeted her. “Good morning, Ashley.” If she chose to return that greeting, then all the better. “Did you have an easy time getting here?”

The offices were deliberately separated from the dormitory area.

[Ashley Engel]

She didn’t look at him when he said good morning.
She had her eyes on the floor, tracing lines across the room to map out the furniture and walls. She was careful to line up her attention first to a chair, them to Sean’s desk. Her gaze never rose as high as his shoulders unless she was looking elsewhere, examining the walls and ceiling idly. Everything was important, here. In Margaret’s office she’d occupied most of the time they spent together by staring at her personal decor. Ash learned more about the woman that way than she ever did talking to her, and it was largely where she’d first realized talking to people to learn about them was an obtuse method.

Her lips twitched slightly as Sean spoke. She didn’t like her full name.
Cain had been the first person to ever call her Ash, and once he’d started she’d begun to get irrationally offended by any alternative. On the very rare times she introduced herself it was by the shortening, though that didn’t stop her from being irritated when people who didn’t know still used her full name.

At first all she offered was a sigh.
The path from the dorms to the offices meant open spaces and hallways and people. It was not an easy path to take and she knew he had to know that. He walked here, just like she did. So why even bother asking? The idea that it was just mannerly didn’t occur to her. Sean was already an enemy in her mind, so to her the only reason he would be asking would be to pick and pry for a reaction to work off of. She had no intention of giving him ammo. Her last honest responses had ended in Margaret dubbing her insane. She wouldn’t facilitate a repeat performance by anyone.

“I’m here on time, so it doesn’t really matter.”
She sank back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. It was a defensive posture she didn’t catch and stop. Her eyes studied one corner of Sean’s desk with a look of disinterest painted on her face. The idea of saying something, asking what he wanted, occurred to her. But she wasn’t good enough with words to play that game. She couldn’t talk without giving herself away. She was blunt, not cunning. So she kept her mouth shut, instead debating how long this fiasco would take and how she could best avoid answering anything without being problematic enough to warrant a staff complaint to her grandfather.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Her past administrative records had not indicated that she had a nickname preference. However, Sean overheard the thought, and he made an immediate mental correction. He was a strong proponent of self-determination, and the least that he could do was call the students by the names that they preferred. In this case, if she preferred Ash, then that would be what he used for the duration of their interactions.

In Ash’s favor was the fact that it took quite a lot for Sean to call a student’s legal guardian. The psychiatrist took his ethical obligations seriously, and he treated the students with confidentiality as long as they posed no threat to themselves or to others, and as long as they did not do something so egregious as to warrant notice to another staff member. Despite the notes in her record, he had no concerns that this meeting would result in an over-the-top outburst or a week’s detention.

He did not direct her to look at him. The psychiatrist was not caught up in ego, and he was fine with unorthodox interactions, as long as he maintained ethical propriety. They could have their conversation if her gaze was on the desk or the floor or her shoes as easily as if she made eye contact with him. He kept his gaze in her direction, studying her carefully, but he allowed her this level of autonomy without correction.

However, he did notice the bluntness of her speech and mannerisms and took that into account. “Did anyone explain why I arranged to meet with you?”

[Ashley Engel]

Her lips twitched. Just for a moment, her eyes drug across his desk and upwards. Almost to his face. Yet again, she got as far as his shoulders before darting away.

No, no one had outright explained why the school therapist had wanted to see her. She’d just assumed. It was obvious, wasn’t it? She had records declaring her damaged goods. She’d behaved less than socially at Kocher. She was a problem case left and right and he was a staff member. One with all the qualifications to legally pick at stranger’s brains. Naturally she’d be called here. She was a brain prime for picking, or so Margaret had made her feel.

Her crossed arms squirmed briefly, hands tightening into her jacket and shoulders coming together slightly. For a moment, there was silence. She bit at the inside of her lip anxiously while trying to form an answer that couldn’t be twisted into something she wouldn’t like. In the end the need to reply quickly outmatched her urge to over-analyze her own words.

“It’s fairly obvious why you’d want to, isn’t it? I’m aware of my own file history, thank you.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean refused to use the term damaged goods to refer to any person, as it was dehumanizing. As he had told Cobalt Weaver several years ago, a human being could not be damaged or broken, because property was damaged and objects were broken. People had pathologies; they had traumas. They were not broken.

As such, he disagreed with the course of Ash’s thoughts, although she was overall correct in her reasoning. Between the records transferred from her previous psychiatrist and her records from Kocher, the psychiatrist had reason to meet with her. The diagnosis alone was enough to put her into a weekly rotation, but as a fellow telepath, and one who had managed to make so little progress, she entered his radar for a secondary reason.

“It’s a bit more detailed than that, but that is a starting point.” Her file history had come to Sean’s attention immediately, and he wanted to work behind the file history. He wanted to get to know her as a person, particularly since they would undoubtedly see much of each other.

Since she preferred bluntness, he would give that to her. His gaze remained on her – interested without staring. “I wanted us to have an introductory meeting before you became too settled. This part of the semester can always get hectic.”

Hammel had much on the horizon, and it was easy enough to slip through the cracks. Sean would not allow that.

[Ashley Engel]

Another flinch ran through her expression.
Narrowed eyes, pursed lips. Briefly her eyebrows knit together, looking frustratingly confused.

She was over-analyzing his words, at no surprise.
Too settled more than anything stood out. Actual intentions went over her head. Sean was quiet company, stored up in himself. She couldn't hear two tones rattling around, just one. Verbal, no thoughts. Which was nice in an abstract sense because peace and quiet was always relaxing. But in that particular office with that particular person she didn't find comfort in it. Ashley translated everything bitterly as a product of being biased before even walking in.

Wanting to be sure something got done turned into a personal affront, targeting. Staying quiet for an offer of kindness turned into secret-keeping. She wasn't a particularly paranoid person (she didn't think so, at least) but something about the whole thing felt on edge. It was a fairly obvious association. Margaret, her old therapist, had been relatively unprofessional and careless. Left things to feel like personal attacks, let her frustration bleed into her work readily. Ash's relationship with the woman had been a matter of war. Of gaining information without giving any up. As a result, she walked into Sean's office with much the same mindset. He was not a guardian or source of support or anything relatively positive. He was 'the enemy' and Ash had never liked losing in anything.

So she was fast to wash to upset off her face, shifting in her seat slightly. She stared down, at her own boots, then pointedly forced her attention back up to a higher point in the wall. Bowed heads meant submission, typically. She was making a statement, keeping her chin up and expression drawn. Eventually, after a pause that was several moments too long to be natural, she responded flatly.

"I would consider us officially met at this point, then. Unless you had something else to address?"
Accusatory. Challenging. She was stubborn, and bitter, and young. But smart. Some polishing would do her well. Some time and patience and personal growth. But without it, she did her best to be a pain.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Despite the fact that she tried to be a pain, despite the fact that she might want to get under his skin, Sean would not allow that to happen. He did not want this to become one of those sessions, and thus he would do everything in his power to set their introductory meeting on the right course. He would honor her desire for bluntness within the ethical range of his job but he would still try to keep this on the right course.

Still, it would help, he thought, if she did not take everything he said so literally while analyzing everything as its own clause, as opposed to in greater context. Until they reached the point where she was willing, or able, to do so, he decided that he would keep that in mind and would be all the more careful when choosing his words.

His attention remained on her, even though her gaze bounced around the room, from her boots to the wall. He took no offense in that respect, as it bruised no ego and did not feel like a rejection.

“Actually, yes, I did.” No sarcasm in his voice, no challenge, simply matter-of-fact. “Since we are officially met, we can go through the check-in questions I have.” A checklist would provide structure, and he thought that might work better for Ashley. That would give her a timeframe and would let her know when they were to end, which might give her a feeling of control that could, potentially, make her more willing to interact with him.

To that end, he began with a simple one, “Have you met your roommates yet?”

[Ashley Engel]

Check-in questions. Her eyes narrowed in.
For half a second, her eyes snapped over onto Sean, then away again. Oddly enough, it wasn't a confrontational gesture. She hadn't looked especially mad or offended. If anything, she was surprised. Margaret really was an ongoing list of improper behavior. Not surprising given the thick moose country Ash lived in, and the fact that just finding Margaret's office required a very long drive out. But all her sessions prior had devolved fast into what began with lax conversation and ended with very clear verbal games. Margaret would try to be subtle, Ash would see through it. They would go back and forth until the time let up. Normally with long, mutually annoyed silences. So there had been questions with her old therapist, but never a definite structure or official air to it. Margaret just pried at whatever loose semi-casual points she thought would start a conversation to work off of.

Ash fully expected the same routine, but the change in format was unexpected. Hence the look. She was quick to try to reorganize herself, though. Her hands came together in her lap, picking at one nail briefly before she stopped herself. No nervous behavior. Stay controlled.

Whether she was fully aware of it or not, her posture eased slightly.
Shoulders loosened, she leaned forward just slightly. Not relaxed entirely, but not as stiff either. Baby steps.

Her eyes returned to high points, skirting the line where the wall and ceiling met around the office, mostly opposite directions to where Sean sat.
"I have." There was a pause, a heartbeat or two long, as if that was all she cared to offer. Her lips pursed, then more came on the back of a small sigh. "One of them. The chameleon girl."

Marnie. Her name was Marnie. But Ashley had a lot of names for her already and none of them were that. The girl with the racey book. The girl afraid of spiders. Just a girl. Another person Ashley only had to share her power with to scare off. Very typical. Briefly, she thought about offering some bitter reassurance that she had no intention of trying to make chameleon girl's head explode or anything. Regardless of the fact that it was impossible, at least at the current point with her ability. Obviously, why else would roommates be brought up? Ash had a dangerous file and bad social skills. Who wouldn't be expecting her to do something volatile? Still, she kept her mouth shut. No need to offer up ammo by pointing out she was aware most people assumed she was going to invade privacy and melt their brains.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean met her gaze, steadily and openly. Just as her expression was not meant to intimidate, his was not meant to dominate. She simply had his attention for the duration of his meeting.

He found it effective in such meetings to bounce around as necessary, since he wanted to get information from her, wanted to build a rapport, and wanted to share information with her. They could develop a pattern as time went on, but he was not Margaret, and he had no intention of trying to become her for Ashley. Such an effort would be wasted, as it was impossible, and he viewed it as more important that they develop their own dynamic.

One of the perks of his position as a Hammel official and his clearance level was that Sean had access to all of the student records. With a click of his mouse, he could access recruitment records, medical records from the infirmary files, academic records, training records, disciplinary notes, power assessments, dormitory assignments, class schedules...all of it. Through this, the psychiatrist knew Ashley’s roommates’ identities before bringing it up, and that allowed him to provide the immediate correction, even before Ashley’s thoughts reached his. “Marnie.”

Marnie was a sweet girl, and so he hoped for both of their sakes that they might find a way to bond. A friend would do both girls some good.

Of course, that was a long-term project, given the course of Ashley’s thoughts on the topic of her roommate. Still, he found a nugget there that might provide a bouncing off point. “And have you met your trainer yet?”

As a fellow telepath, he could discuss this for hours.

[Ashley Engel]

Again, what he said seemed to shake her briefly out of the effort to be distant.
She looked at Sean, and didn't dart away right afterwards. Ash stared, looking a light trace of confused beneath a larger well of suspicious and almost angry. Defensive, mostly.

Trainer.
That thing- person, whatever -she'd never really had a taste for. Technically she'd had one at Kocher, but that had gone so well as records showed. Ashley had never put more effort into avoiding a single human being in her life. So to realize there would be another at Hammel? She was far less than thrilled.

Still, her expression gave it up and due to that she saw no reason to try and lie or skirt the truth.
Not that it would have done her any good anyway, but she was blissfully unaware of Sean's own abilities. Despite having been wrapped up into the system for metahuman children some time ago, she was still wildly not used to the idea of people around her automatically having powers. Blame little to no socialization. She still thought like a normal person in normal society, ignorant to other people with telepathy and laser beam eyes.

"I haven't." Short. Sharp.
She didn't look overly annoyed but the sensation was rolling in her head fairly loudly. She didn't want to meet them. Didn't want to have one. Even if she was there with renewed purpose towards managing her power, it didn't mean she wanted to do so with anyone else around. Though the giant point of it being hard to practice or train what she could do alone was glaringly inarguable. Still, she was nothing if not young and stubborn.

"I assume you're going to assure me they're a wonderful person and I should embrace their help with open arms?"
Alright. So she was losing ground on the whole 'don't give anything away' front. But god, she really didn't like the idea of a trainer. Didn't like the idea of using her power at all. She just needed to figure out how to turn it off. That was it. Box it up, shove it away. Cross at least one thing off from the list of junk in her head that made her a freak. In all the ways but verbal communication, her bitterness and insecurity was fairly obvious.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was not entirely surprised by that response, given how early it was in Ashley’s transfer. However, both the negative response and her obvious disinterest and skepticism regarding training provided the springboard for the next portion of their conversation.

“Actually, I want to speak to you, telepath to telepath, for a moment.” The psychiatrist folded his hands in front of him, although his gaze didn’t stray from her, where it had been focused for the duration of this meeting. “I don’t assign trainers, and I can’t dictate what your relationship with your trainer will be. For your sake, I hope that it’s a positive one. But that hope is born from pragmatism rather than from whatever starry-eyed optimism that people tend to attribute to me.” He knew his reputation, and he did not mind. Typically, he would not bother to correct students to make them realize how pragmatic he could be, but he had read Ashley’s file in its entirety, and he considered that to be the correct course of action.

“I know how it sounds, discussing powers with someone who’s had them for about as long as your parents have been alive and who likes them and is comfortable with them. But I know how difficult it can be.” The psychiatrist shook his head to himself, as he continued, “Nobody is ever consulted about what powers they’ll develop, and telepathy is one of the hardest. People make assumptions about us, most of which are unflattering; even other meta-humans can be suspicious of us. The side-effects are brutal, and although they get better with age and practice, they never disappear completely. We have to train harder than almost any other person in a given school in order to master our powers, and, even then, we have to expend at least some effort for the rest of our lives in constructing and maintaining mental shields. All for a power that makes us privy to information we never wanted in the first place.”

He unclasped his hands and reached up with his right, lightly tapping his temple with two fingers. “The only way to get through it is to train. Whether you choose to never actively use your powers after you graduate or if you decide to incorporate them into your daily life, training is the key to leave. Otherwise, you protract your time here and the side effects and all of the other aspects nobody thinks about aside from us, because we live it.”