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 Posted: Wed Apr 21, 2010 7:26 am
It wasn’t the first time that Ladon have ever seen a guidance counselor before, or even been to the office of a child psychiatrist, but it had been a while. For much of the same reason he was sitting in the waiting room of Mr. Nyugen’s office today were the same reasons he had been forced into counseling before; His mother was worried.
It was the curse of most parents who, when faced with the fear that they couldn’t help their child, would seek help from another adult. A professional. A stranger. You could see Miss Susan Evergreen’s reasoning for this. His mother had no idea what to do when she noticed her son slipping out of the house and, upon stopping him to demand he eat at least SOMETHING for breakfast, saw a slight discoloration on his face, and then noticed he’d been masking two large bruises around his eye and cheek. Her old worries came rushing back to her, and gripped with the guilt and fear of being caught, he was also slammed with seeing her look at him with pity. When he had been younger and she had noticed a bruise, he would have taken her comfort, even if he knew deep down that she was disappointed in him for not being able to handle his own, but now he just hated how quickly she rushed back to that state.
They argued, and he gave her no answers. He should have just admitted that he was beaten up by some kids at school, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His busies were better than that. He was better than that. Yet, he knew he couldn’t tell her he was out fighting senshi, got beaten by one, which didn’t help how miserable he felt that he ran away from that battle to save his own tail. Running. Always running. As Wolframite, he felt he shouldn’t be doing that any longer.
Without any other way to pull the answers from her tight-lipped son, she grounded him and when that was over, followed it up by saying he was going to see someone. Not for her, of course, but for him. He knew she just wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to be a problem, and that she wanted to know how to fix things. All he wanted was to leave the office.
While he listened to lockers slam and sneakers scuffing up the hallways, he was left sitting in a hard, plastic chair outside of the counselor’s office, hoping that no one saw him here. It wasn’t like he had many friends who would jump in to inquire why he was here of all places, but he didn’t need people he didn’t know to spread rumors either. He didn’t like people talking about him. Whispering. Making fun.
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Posted: Wed Apr 21, 2010 4:42 pm
The door opened. It was another Meadowview student, a girl, who didn't look at Ladon as she left the room and shouldered her knapsack over one shoulder. Her sneakers squeaked away on the linoleum. She'd disappeared when the counsellor's dark head popped out of the office and settled on Ladon sitting there, prompting: "Hey -- Ladon? Come on in." A faint grimace. "I'll be ten seconds."
Mr. Nguyen squeaked off down the hallway where the girl had left. The office was open. Ladon had been to counsellors before, but not Mr. Nguyen in particular: the office was just a prefab with a couple of chairs and a desk, a few posters tacked up (Youthline, Helpline) and a laptop lying lonely next to some clearfiles. The laptop was off. There was a half-eaten packet of liquorice whips half-hiding behind the clearfile.
When the counsellor came back, Ladon saw him at a better angle. His button-down shirt was half-tucked into a pair of very skinny jeans, revealing a t-shirt which read IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO BE WHAT YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN. He was tall, Asian, late twenties maybe. Mr. Nguyen bumped the door shut and sat down on his chair.
His gaze went where expected, settling on the yellowing bruises at his eye and on his cheek, openly looking him over rather than checking and flicking his line of sight somewhere else. "Sorry, bathroom," said Mr. Nguyen. "So. Can I ask if there's more bruising anywhere?"
He said it like they were talking about the weather.
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Posted: Wed Apr 21, 2010 7:26 pm
Slowly rising from his seat, he went into the office and plopped himself down in another uncomfortable, posture-molding chair and waited. Most offices gave a small glimpse to the type of person you were meeting. Books in shelves showed what the person was studying, preferred, leaned more into believing, and at least gave a sense that they knew a thing or two about what they were doing. There were no books. There wasn’t even any knick-knacks to suggest vacations in the Grand Canyon or pictures to show off a love of fly fishing. There were only the chairs facing the desk, a laptop dead on the counter with files that held or would hold words like ‘reoccurring problems’ and ‘troubled’ that would follow students like a shadow through college. If he went to college. If he went anywhere. It was more that there was a possible file that bugged him, someplace with a name that went Shepard, Ladon where the folder could squeeze tight in a cabinet, rubbing elbows with delinquents and slackers.
The room had nothing that told him anything aside from the posters on the wall that told the reader that help was just on the other end of the line. As if kids today used rotary dial telephones anymore. Nothing to give him anything to distract himself or tell him about the counselor aside from the fact that he didn’t eat well.
Figuring the man out was left for when he entered, and up close, Ladon started to tear the man down in his head. He was younger than he expected - inexperienced. His shirt wasn’t tucked in all the way - slopping and unprofessional. Pants too tight - made him wonder if he was trying to be ‘hip with the young people’ or attract attention. Tall - that just pissed him off in general.
Before the teacher could asses him, he was already writing his own report, making sure to underline with red marker, but felt himself tense when the man looked over his face. After his mother found out about the hidden bruises, she confiscated the tools in which he used to conceal them. Then, without waiting, flat out asked if he had more that he might be hiding. It was too quick, to flat out and right to the point to even be remotely comfortable to hear. Not softened in the least and there wasn’t any sort of friendly banter to win his trust until he lead up to the main issue. Just right to the point.
“No.” The bandages he had wrapped around his waist had been taken off, the stitches removed, which was good because his mother had tried to lift up his shirt to see for herself if there had been more bruising. He hadn’t let her, but if she saw bandages, he might have been out of school instead of sitting here. Aside from the scar the youma bite left him and the scars left by Sailor Ryugen’s claws on his legs, he didn’t have any visible signs of having been in any fights. Not that he would have let the counselor check. The moment he asked him to lift up or unbuckle anything, he would have been out the door and off to file a sexual harassment claim.
He continued to sit there, watching the counselor watching him. Any moment, he expected him to reach over, click a pen, and then start writing.
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Posted: Wed Apr 21, 2010 7:49 pm
No pen was clicked, no writing came to be. "Okay," said Mr. Nguyen, though it came after the one-second pause of sure there aren't. Mercifully sure there aren't wasn't verbalised. They were both aware that it had been a test -- one that probed how much Ladon wanted to talk about it, of which he had scored squarely in the Not At All spectrum.
Mr. Nguyen also had overly styled hair. This with the jeans with the shirt with the age didn't add up to the best impression ever. There was no clipboard labelled Shepard, Ladon, or a folder in which all his recurring problems could be alphabetised and put in order of how problematic they were. The counsellor said, "Legally I'm required to ask if there are more wounds. I know it's an annoying question, and I'm not going to check you. You've been through counselling before, right?" Obviously.
The next question was a little weird. "Did it help?"
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Posted: Wed Apr 21, 2010 8:48 pm
It made sense to be obligated to ask. The last thing anyone wanted was for a kid who was beaten up to not be questioned if he had more bruises, and if it showed a history. He was sure if he had more, then the questions would be about his family, but that didn’t happen, not that it was them anyways. The fact Mr. Nyugen was telling him this didn’t make the younger boy warm up to him, as if they were friends for being truthful. He still felt as awkward and uncomfortable as before, and was now inspecting the back of the man’s laptop before looking back up at him.
With nothing else to look at, the counselor was becoming the primary source of distraction, which didn’t work when he was the man he was avoiding. Just as clear as a bullet, the next question shot out, and he sat there, taking the hit.
He shrugged his shoulders. Oh yes, Mr. Nyugen wasn’t going to have it easy.
“I don’t know. I don’t think he was very good.” He felt like swinging his feet, but instead looked around again to check if something else that he hadn’t noticed would grip his attention. Nothing. What he wouldn’t give for a screensaver to at least look at. Flying toasters. Flowerbox. Anything.
“It wasn’t like I was the one who had the problem.” It was the other kids who picked on him, but he slowly got the impression there was a reason. His past counselor, Mr. Greene, had never said what, but he could tell from the way he was looking at him. It was because he was weird. That’s why. He was sure Mr. Greene thought it too, but he never said why, and Ladon never asked him. While he didn’t think the man was going to help him outside of his office, where it mattered, it was still nice to talk to someone. Having no friends had been hard that he would have taken even a counselor’s time just for a chat.
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Posted: Sat Apr 24, 2010 2:35 am
The most distracting thing in the room were probably the Youthline posters. They depicted a teenager smiling with the correct mix of concern and empathy, curly-cord phone held to one ear, as on the other side a much glummer teen poured out their photogenic woes. Mr. Greene had had a bullying poster depicting sad-looking crayon drawings even five-year-olds would rank cheesy. The Youthline poster was fractionally better.
"Let's start at the beginning," said the counsellor, offering no personal opinion on the relative competency of Mr. Greene. "It's a good place to start. I'm Mr. Nguyen. You're Ladon Shepard. Why don't you tell me about you first -- anything you find relevant, anything you think I should know. Why you think your mom recommended you come and see me today."
They both knew why his mother had recommended him there; it was right on his face. The Youthline poster continued its static tableau of unlikely telephone help.
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Posted: Sat Apr 24, 2010 8:26 am
While Mr. Greene’s posters were worse to look at, the previous consoler had other things to keep his attention from judging eyes. He had books on child psychology with bear bookends and a few shiny, glass awards sitting on a top shelf that he use to stare at from time to time. Along with the posters, there had been a few toys he would pull out from his shelf or leave on his desk for whenever his patients started to clam up. Since he was working with younger children, he left them the option of playing out their feelings via Optimus Prime and Mr. Potato Head. Having something to tear apart and put back together had kept his mind occupied when he talked, while here he was left adjusting his watch. The Meadowview uniform didn’t leave anything else to tug on, and there weren’t any loose threads or peeling paint on his chair to pick at. It was times like these he really wished he worse more on his wrists.
While he could wait and buy his time out until his appointment was up, he knew his mother would not be satisfied that easily, and he didn’t want to come here again to suffer through another session. Like a bandaid, it was better to just tear it off quick and be done with it. “My mother is worried that I’m getting beaten up again. It used to happen a lot when I was a kid, and she doesn’t want to think it’s happening again.” It was as if someone expected kids to grow out of being violent by the time they reached highschool.
He adjusted his watch. “She doesn’t think I can protect myself.” Like all mothers, she was trying to protect her child, but at this point, wasn’t he able to do that on his own? She probably felt exhausted seeing him bruised up again. The frowning girl on the poster was colored in gloomy purple and helpless grays. A little tear was frozen on her cheek. Even looking that pathetic, he didn’t believe her problems were as bad as his were. As for the perking girl on the other end of the line, shimmering in perky yellows, she just needed her face smashed into a wall.
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Posted: Sat Apr 24, 2010 11:26 pm
Unfortunately the two teenagers were only static images on a wall, so any violence perpetuated against them would not net satisfaction. The perky yellow smiling one really needed a punch in the eye, though.
Unknowing of the hostility towards Youthline, Mr. Nguyen leant back in his chair, looking at Ladon with due seriousness. "Are you getting beaten up again?" he said. "I know this is a loaded question. Are you in a situation where someone else is physically abusive towards you?"
Are you in a situation where someone else is physically violent towards you? The General-King might have raised an impatient eyebrow at this point. The General-King probably would have been impatient with 'physically abusive' anyway. Mr. Nguyen said, "If it was up to everyone to protect themselves all the time, we wouldn't need a police force. Just saying."
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Posted: Sun Apr 25, 2010 5:43 pm
It was almost a joke when he heard the question, and he stopped himself from laughing to the point his face pulled just to keep his lips from twitching.,
There was no way he could explain that he had an mission to help the Negaverse bring about a new world order for the benefit of everyone in the city and the world. It was, however, nice to imagine how the conversation would go if he was completely honest, and he paused a moment, hoping that Mr. Nyugen would just think he was being difficult.
In his mind’s eye, he picked the counselor just as he was leaning, preparing for some story about bullies or abusive girlfriends. He’d like back too, much like him, and smile as he told him about the Negaverse. This would then lead to senshis, their magical attacks, and the abuse one went through for something called a starseed. Around this point, Mr. Nyugen would probably raise an eyebrow, and then find himself loosing balance when Ladon told him about how he was a Lieutenant and went off in the night to fight these short-skirted enemies while taking orders from a pink-haired General-King and his Queen.
Then he imaged the man nodding, leaning over, and writing a recommendation – no - an urgent PLEA, that his mother send him to a psychiatric ward as soon as possible. Ladon would then laugh if he wrote if he was a “danger to himself and others”, because really, HE WAS!
This was why he couldn’t be honest, and that was why he had to take the story that wouldn’t raise any serious alarms. The one he was use to admitting as a child, and the one his mother probably felt she knew.
He sighed, resigning himself to a past history. “I was out late and some guys just picked on me for no reason like they always do. I didn’t want to tell my mom that I snuck out of the house after curfew, because she gets worried with all the disappearances on the news. I don’t want her to think that all those classes I took for self-defense were a waste either.” Mr. Nyugen could report what he said to his mother if he wanted. He was sure she’d eat it up, feel relief that it was exactly what she thought it was, and then punish him in some way for lying. It was better than the truth anyways.
The line about the cops bothered him, and he glanced back at the Youthline picture. “You know, the cops would have less to deal with if more people could protect themselves. That or if more people could just behave like decent people.” That’s why taking their starseeds worked to get ride of the terrible people who just feed off of the weak, and that’s why he had to stop being such a sorry case and be stronger than he was to protect himself. “You can’t always rely on the cops. Just saying.”
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Posted: Mon May 03, 2010 11:35 pm
"I know," admitted Mr. Nguyen. "But unfortunately, the world isn't full of decent people acting decently, and it's not the fault of the victim that the predator preys on them."
He was one of those types: survival of the fittest was over, it wasn't the fault of the weak that they were weak and others were strong, everyone was to be protected, yadda yadda yadda. If he told him about the Negaverse, he might even be aghast that anyone would do such a horrible thing ever. Why would anyone join the Negaverse? Why would anyone want to hurt others? (He could imagine Charonite's expression at that, too.)
"On a scale of one to ten," said Mr. Nguyen, "how likely do you think it is that this bullying will happen again? It sounds like you weren't in your safe zone, out late." A wry shrug. "Not that there are very many completely safe zones in Destiny City. It's good you know how to defend yourself, but remember the first part of safety is avoiding dangerous situations."
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Posted: Tue May 04, 2010 8:38 am
A hand had slowly moved up to Ladon’s mouth, the elbow set on the armrest of the chair as he looked at the counselor. No, he wasn’t being thoughtful, but he was imagining what Charonite would say to all of this, and he was finding it hard not to laugh. His brain told him to ‘Be Serious! This is NOT the time to have the giggle fits and you need to considering how much a mess you could get in if you start laughing like a lunatic in his office,” while the other half was thinking about how hilarious the question really was. The probability of him getting hit on was not a “likely” but a guarantee. Not that he wasn’t improving with his fighting each day, but he wasn’t at the point of leaving a battle without at least some damage.
And a Safe Zone?! That was it. Ladon was pressing his hand tightly to his mouth, but his shaking shoulders were betraying him more and more. Mr. Nyugen, the girl on the poster helping her friend, - they just didn’t know that there were some things they couldn’t handle. This wasn’t teen pregnancy or anxieties over graduating. This was a world he didn’t know about and wasn’t covered in any of the chapters he learned in school.
It was then that he finally removed his hand, a smile on his mouth as he tried not to laugh outright. “Safe zone? There isn’t any Safe Zones. Have you even been listening to any of the students outside of your office? Kids dropping off into comas and getting attacked on their way home? Destiny City is just going to heck in a hand basket, and if I wanted to keep safe, I’d what? Stay in my room for my entire life? It’s not like I can predict when I’m going to get beaten up. If I knew that, then I’d have a lot less damage growing up. So, let me see, I’d say I’m at a 2 here, and maybe a 4 outside in the hallway, and possibly a 8 when I’m walking home.” The soft laughter he was suppressing was going away as he started to scowl. This counselor probably wouldn’t even be having this same conversation with, say, the quarterback of the school. When a big, hulking mass left at night, people rarely told him to be safe. When the petite, mousy girl left, they offered to just drive her there. This guy didn’t think he could handle himself. No one really did, and it was at that point he wished he could slam his hands on the table and tell him to his face that HE was what people feared at night than just sitting here and looking like some beat-up kid some guys decided to pick on.
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Posted: Wed May 12, 2010 1:18 am
Mr. Nguyen was looking perplexed at his mirth. Thankfully, he wasn't smiling that deranged little smile that nice teachers sometimes used if they knew their was a joke going on and hoped that smiling meant they would be let in on it, but he did c**k his head a little and look at Ladon as though he might have had some kind of condition.
But he said, "Okay, an eight. What steps are you going to take when you're in an eight situation?" Uh, was there anything you could really do to make an eight less of an... eight? Ladon detected no weariness but a hint of easy finality when the counsellor said, "I just want to be able to assure your mom, if she asks, that you've got plans for when you're in dangerous situations."
A tap of the pen. "It's what I'm here for, reassuring parents if I think you're fine to deal. You seem like you're dealing to me. What you need to think about right now is how you can put your mother's mind at ease, because like you said, life is dangerous and you owe her some peace of mind."
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Posted: Wed May 12, 2010 4:29 pm
Well, it seemed they at least where on the same page when it came to giving a report back to his mother, and he decided to work with the counselor to make both of their jobs easier. Ladon didn’t want to be any trouble because he didn’t need to spending his time at a counselor’s office, and Mr. Nguyen had other children who needed him more with problems he could actually understand.
More serious now, he leaned back and thought. “I’d apologize for worrying her, and that I made a poor decision regarding my safety that won’t happen again. I won’t go out at night unless I have to, and sent messages to friends about where I’m going if I can’t get a friend to come with me. If I’m being targeted by a specific group instead of it just being a random fight, I’d alert someone. All she wants to know is that I’m not being targeted specifically. Tell her it was one of those ‘wrong place, wrong time’ situations.” He heard the advice that was given to him before, and also gave similar advice when he assisted during self-defense classes. All the pamphlets he owned probably were bullet points he read a million times over, and he knew what to do, what to say, and what was the plan you were suppose to follow to ensure your chances of being a risk would go down. But maybe Mr. Nguyen wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to just repeat what they both already knew what needed to be done and know he was serious.
He was.
“I really don’t want my mother to worry. She has to deal with enough on her own than to worry about me. I don’t like it, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to spend her time wondering if I’m bleeding beside some dumpster. I’m not like that. I was raised better than that, and she’s the person who raised me that way. I’m not intentionally going out to get beaten up and risking my life to get attention.” He was doing this to help others. “ …I’m not going to make this a habit. Honest.” He would get stronger instead.
Then he paused, looking at the counselor. "Do you think I can handle myself?"
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Posted: Fri May 14, 2010 6:07 pm
"I think you're not worried," said Mr. Nguyen. "And I think you have a game plan. All I'm going to do is remind you that you're not immortal then stamp this sheet here that says I don't have to schedule another appointment with you." As promised, he scribbled something down on one of the little counselling sheets and stamped it. "There. This goes to the office. Your mom will get a call from me."
It was delivered like a golden promise of freedom from his hand to Ladon's. As it was passed on, the counsellor said: "Good luck out there."
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Posted: Fri May 14, 2010 10:15 pm
Ladon reached over and took the paper, a statement that said he could left alone by both the school and his mother. The little piece of paper would give him some moving room, and with the call that would be given, calm his mother down. It did not mean he was out of the woods. This was a lesson that he not only had to be careful out there, but also had to work it that his mother did not get wise to what he was doing and become stressed out over him. Ladon didn’t want to come here again, and Mr. Nguyen seemed to be on the same page in not wanting to have another appointment with him. While he paused to think that this was a little insulting, not wanting to be dealt with as if the counselor had better people to talk to, he quickly remembered that he didn’t want this sort of attention.
Smiling for one of the few times during their session, he rose up from his seat. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He did. It meant he wouldn’t have to dodge any suspicious glances during dinner tonight. With that, he turned and headed out. He could only hope he would not be proven a liar by walking through this door again.
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