Fiery Personality (Kodah)

[Evan Coleman]

Evan did a quick sweep of the office as 2:30 ticked closer and closer. Everything flammable was in some way protected. He'd stashed his notebooks inside his desk, along with about ten of his favorite books of the ones he'd stocked the shelves with. His laptop . . . well, he couldn't very well stash that, so he'd just have to stand in front of it as best he could. His clothes were all expendable, and Hammel had a well stocked burn ward, but he didn't want to risk any harm to The Spreadsheet.

The Spreadsheet was Evan's pet project at Hammel, an Excel compilation of every note, scribble, and detailed report he'd put together on the various students whose auras he'd noticed over his first month (holy crap, he'd been there for a month now, where did the time go?). It was color-coded, hyperlinked into oblivion, and it had cost him every tech-wiz bone in his Luddite body, but there it was: a cartographer's sketch of the emotional landscape of Hammel student life.

And Evan did not like the way it was rippling at all. There had been a big ol' kablooey among some of the students in recent times: Penelope (bless her soul, but she was a ticking time bomb), Madison (white sooty mind with curiously variable focus. Somewhere on the scale, maybe? Aspergers?), Oriel (typically in Madison's company; or rather, Madison was typically in his. There was an obsessive sort of architecture between the two that Evan wasn't sure he was comfortable with . . .), and others. These "others" included his future patient, Mr. Kodah Pierce, whose emotional state was not so much a landscape as a Bosch hell of hair triggers. Oy vey.

Speaking of which . . .

There was a knock on the door, and Evan caught a whiff of sludgy rebellion by way of some cracked-out hyperevolution of the Ramones. Heath Ledger appeared in his head, resplendent in purple garb and ghoulish makeup.

And here . . . we . . . go!

"Come in!" he called, and then on quick reflection took off his jacket. It had been a gift from an ex-girlfriend some three years ago, and it was one of his favorites: diagonal zipper, brass buttons, all in a black wool package. He'd often use it as a formal jacket and a piece of casual wear with equal flair. After a quick moment of indecision, he tossed it behind the desk. He really didn't want to lose that jacket.

[Kodah Pierce]

Kodah had woken that morning in an awful mood, frustrated at everything. He couldn't believe that he was being forced into counseling. "There's nothing wrong with me," he muttered as he pulled himself out of bed. He had debated not showing up but he felt that maybe he could get a few laughs out of some trying to analyze his mind. When his mother was informed about the situation, she thought it was a good idea and Kodah resented her for it. He had answered her calls since their last conversation two weeks ago and he was beginning to slip away again.

As he drug himself through his room he dressed himself in the most ripped and spiked outfit he could find. He didn't care what some counselor thought of him, he didn't care what anybody thought. Even if the whole world was against him, which is mostly likely already was, he didn't care. Kodah didn't bother showering before sluggishly making his way to Coleman's Office. When his feet brought him to the front office, he walked in with a sudden burst of confidence and indifference. "Is the doc in?" He asked the receptionist sarcastically. "Mr. Kodah Pierce reporting for mandatory bullshit counseling." The receptionist waved him through and he knocked on the door.

He pushed the door open with more force than necessary and sauntered in the room. "You're younger than I expected," he said. "I thought you'd be some old man." It didn't really make any difference to him what Coleman's age was. It bothered him how nice he dressed, while Kodah looked like a fifteen year old Sid Vicious, minus the heroine. "What's your deal?" He asked incriminatingly. "Did ya go to some fancy college and now you get to be a glorified school counselor helping out losers like me?" His tone was heavily sarcastic and rude. He went through the room, surveying the bookshelves and picking up a few odd items and tossing them about in his hands.

[Evan Coleman]

Seen up close, Kodah's aura looked less threatening than he'd initially assessed. Sure, the hair triggers were there, all hooked up to explosive packets of rage and disdain, but that was just a shell, the kind of latticework that you'd see a hundred times on any big city public trans system in the world. Kodah's was just glowing brighter, and it smelled of electrolysis and phalanx-cold isolation. Beneath it . . . well, he still didn't have the clearest view, but his nose was telling him a story of broken trust and intensely fragile self-worth. Aura aside, the physical cues were right there: the My-Little-Anarchist outfit, the door smash and immediate linguistic volley . . . Kodah was clearly feeling weak and making a show of being strong.

I like the jacket, though. I'll have to ask if he got it in Pilot Ridge. Maybe I could try and rock something like that . . .

Evan, you have like a billion jackets. You do not need any more jackets.

Shut your fat face, Other Evan! Jackets are the ultimate fashion accessory and I will buy as many as I damn well please! .

He could try to show Kodah that he didn't need to be strong in front of Evan, but that didn't feel right here: sometimes showing someone how strong you were could make you feel stronger. Repressing pain wasn't the same as denying it, and the first step to dealing with pain was figuring out when to hold it in and when to release it.

"Yep," Evan rejoined, settling against his desk with his back against the laptop, "we've all seen the movie, right? Fancy-pants shrink, fresh from the big city, starts helping the poor troubled youth who just needs someone to believe in him. Both sides learn a little something from each other and . . . I dunno, win a dance competition or something. Roll credits, cue the 90's music.

"Alternately," he continued, reaching behind the desk and pulling out a box of Cheez-It's, "I've had a long day, and I'm pretty sure today's sucked for you too. How about we cut the bullshit, eat some Cheez-Its, and just blow through why you're here to begin with? I'm eating these one way or another, cause you are making me want them bad, but you're more than welcome to join me."

Evan hadn't prepared the Cheez-Its. Much to his shame, he had a whole stash of eclectic foods under his desk. The many emotional auras of Hammel often suggested certain smells, textures, and flavors, and pairing the right aura with the right snack could be a delicious experience. Kodah, with the tart smell of rebellion mixed with a saturated taste of hurt, was giving him a major hankering for some Cheez-Its.