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 Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 2:36 pm
& Grief Struke
│CREATED BY TeaStains
│· Sunday afternoon at the shops and retail plaza.
│· KD's Mental and Emotional Wellness Center.
│· Closed Thread.
│· Maluk Avasaad and Krish D'Juan
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Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 2:45 pm
  ℳ i s s ed ▆▆▆▆▆▆ ℳ i s s ed ▆▆▆▆▆▆
xxxxxxxxxnow you've got to kiss me...
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Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2016 10:44 am
 M A L U KXX A V A S A A D
The Caim of the Seven Steps
6B3740
Maluk Avasaad was very seldom nervous these days. When he was a boy, he'd been rather prone to nerves, despite always putting up a front of confidence. When he was a young man, running with the lycans in his gang and getting into brawls and dangerous situations, he'd always been able to feel the pounding in his ears, and he felt that it was healthy. But after his wifes passing, Maluk had largely calmed his nerves. Maybe it was simply that his body couldn't handle the stress of anxiety anymore, so it simply turned it off. When handling a baby werewolf, nerves would only hold him back. The last time he'd heard his heart pounding in his ears had been the night that baby had vanished, slipped out a window and disappeared into the night, and Maluk prayed to every god man had ever named to give him a voice, just for a moment, so that he could call out to him in desperation, but no gods had deemed fit to answer, and neither had his little wolf. That was the night that haunted Maluk, more than any that had ever come before it. That night was what brought Maluk to this foreign place today, and why his long-dormant nervousness had slowly begun to rouse itself.
When Maluks father had been alive, he had suggested he seek therapy after his wifes passing. At the time, Maluk had brushed off the idea. He was still young and brash, despite himself. He'd been only twenty-one, and already a widower and a single father, but convinced that he could do everything himself. Well, himself and his father, whom Maluk already dwarfed by that point. He'd been foolishly prideful. He'd wanted to tuck his grief away. He was a caim, after all, it was in his nature to take these emotions into himself, away from others. His father had brought it up a few more times, but knew that Maluk would be too stubborn to relent to anyone but his own volition, and so he had left it well enough alone. And then, of course, Maluk had busied himself so much with the Steps, with raising his son, keeping his transformations in check, and finding ways to let out the violent werewolf urges that invaded his body when he calmed him on the full moons. He didn't have time for counselling, he told himself. And after his father passed, he had even more on his plate, then schooling Yuno as well. But of course, when his little wolf disappeared, and when the police started to tell him to expect the worst, and week after week, month after month passed with no sign of him, he had known then that he needed to take his late fathers advice. But he hadn't been ready.
Almost six years later, Maluk still felt like he wasn't ready. But he had seen through the eyes of so many lost souls, so many people in pain and suffering, who could so easily alleviate their burdens if they would only open up to someone, anyone. Objectively it was so easy to see, and Maluk knew that he was exactly the same, stubbornly avoiding what would ultimately be nothing but beneficial to him. So, twenty years after it was first suggested to him, Maluk had finally sent the email. Although he could express himself much more fluidly through text, he kept things curt. Brief. Almost cold. That was partly his nature, and partly his nerves. But now the day had finally come, and Maluk wasn't sure what to expect. He'd gone through his usual routine that morning, waking before the sun and tending to the plants. He grounded himself and went through his morning workout regimen, toning each muscle in tandem before going out for his jog, coming back, showering, rubbing himself down in his oils, changing, and cleaning up. He hesitated in front of the big iron door as he prepared to leave. He never liked leaving the little underground hovel of his. He realized that he'd become a shut-in, a urban hermit. But whenever he left the Steps, he couldn't help but worry that someone would show up, in desperate need of help, the moment he wasn't there for them. He knew that most of the people who came to see him, if they couldn't get help at the Steps, would get no help at all. Especially not the runaway Haven slaves. But Maluk took a deep breath and made himself walk out. He couldn't hide in his den forever.
He thumbed the amethyst point in his pocket as he walked, and was calmed by the cool feeling of the flat piece of howlite in his other pocket. Those were the stones that had called out to him that morning. He'd spent the first half of the day after his workout rearranging the stones back and fourth, because no matter which way he placed them, they seemed off, until Maluk realized that he was the one feeling off. After that he'd let them be. One final stone sat against his chest, tied in a cord around his neck, a dully shining piece of Jet, as black as its name. Maluk always wore the jet no matter where he went, as a precaution for his odd disposition towards possession. He'd left early, so made a leisurely pace in the afternoon on his way to his appointment, taking time to enjoy the sunlight and the pleasant breeze and doing his best to calm his nerves. He'd heard a few things here and there about this 'emotional wellness center.' Since most of his information almost strictly came from those operating on the wrong side of the law, he was fairly certain that meant that this 'Krish D'Juan' character was a friend to "that side" of the city. The thought actually helped to put the caim at ease. It put them in a similar situation, if nothing else. Maluk satisfied himself with thoughts like these until he reached the office address that had been specified. It was unassuming enough, he supposed. He rolled the amethyst between his fingers once more before stepping inside.
When he made it into the office, ducking his head through the doorway, he found the person he'd come to see seated, very professionally, behind his desk. Relatively average in height and build, for a man, with beautiful dark skin and a charming face. Maluk couldn't help but feel a little bit like a bull stepping into a china shop. When he was outside of his little hovel, he was always keenly aware of how much larger he was than the average man. He nodded politely as he entered, being careful not to slam the door behind him as he entered - the wooden ones were so much lighter than the iron ones. He still needed to get those replaced. He withdrew his little chalkboard from his satchel as he crossed the room in a few short strides, eyes glancing to the left and right to take in the scene, and was pleased by the sight of crystals in the windowsill. The entire place had a pleasant vibe to it, and Maluk found himself eager to let the feeling wash over him, to be comforted by the warm energy. It helped him to relax a little as he gingerly lowered himself into a chair on the other side of the desk, frowning ever so slightly at the creaking sound it made as he settled into it. But the chair didn't seem to be about to break, so he relaxed again. Maluks face was stoic, as usual, but as he set the chalkboard against his leg and began to sign, he hoped he could convey his feelings properly. As his hands moved, words in chalk began to scrawl themselves against the dark board.
<<'Thank you for taking the time to see me today.'>> the words wrote out. The enchantment on the little chalkboard had, admittedly, made his life much easier. It matched his thoughts and emotions as well as the signs he used, and so he was given a wider vocabulary than sign language alone sometimes allowed. <<'I've'>> and for a moment, his hands stopped moving, and so the words stopped writing. He stared at this stranger, this D'Juan, as if looking at him would somehow make him remember what he needed to say. After a moment, he continued, and the words in chalk resumed with his hands. <<'Never done this before. It's likely long overdue. I'm not sure where to start.'>> Truthfully, Maluk was hoping for a little guidance on what the protocols were, exactly, for something like this. In the steps, Maluk was the master of the halls. He knew what order things needed to be done in, what took precedence and when, where everything was. But outside, he was just as lost as the children he tended.
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 11:19 am
He was huge. That was the immediate thing that presented itself in Krish's mind, that this man was large, up and across. He'd had to duck his head through the door for the sake of all beings. The tallest person he knew was-- well, a good deal of people happened to be his height or an inch or so taller. Maybe Odin, had been the tallest, a miscellaneous bunches of others who he neither knew well enough, generally tried to avoid. But Maluk was. Massive. Krish wasn't very threatened. That wasn't the first feeling. It was occupation with aesthetics. He was pretty! What a pretty man. His skin, his complexion, well put together, a little plainly set for the avoidance of emotional displays but that was well to be understood. Krish had been much the same for a long time. Polite society liked a smiler, though, a small one, with a warmth in the core of the eyes. Polite society did not like a staring type of person. As handsome as his client was, this wasn't a fairytale where he was captivated to the point of speechlessness. He merely showed his teeth a little- genuinely glad- and waved to the chair in front of him.
The time for breaking out the finger flying was too fresh. The coffee press had been hissing a little bit ago. Steam wafted from under his desk and as Maluk settled himself, Krish took out one of the thin metal cups he kept under his desk and gently pressed it forward, about to sign himself before he saw Maluk’s arms raise and the words write out in a very legible script. Oh, so that’s how! A side of his head was prepared for some writing but faced with reality, it seemed almost foolish now that he’d thought it.
“Magic” was forgettable. And suppressible. Krish hadn’t touched his mind to it often, even his own powers. Again he thought about his enslavement. They’d bastardized the use of it until the purpose was so warped that his little body, writhing in pain from the etched curves and lines in his body, hated his own existence for being so riddled with it. Hated others for having it. No one could be trusted; everything was a game of manipulation- what was there to have pride in when he’d only seen it used as a tool to hinder the growth of so much good? Walking around and seeing others use their own abilities so casually was still a bit bewildering. Krish strictly kept his underwraps. The household and office. After having Julian stay with him he found himself retiring to the formal methods of manual work and movement. Somewhere in his notes, the slave had to make an annotation about this. Just for the future. If there was to be a future.
Grief counseling was still pretty fresh to him. This wasn’t going to be a time to prove to himself that his years in college had been spent in vain, or been the central component to his success. But it did help. And his heart had already gone out to Maluk’s situation through their brief back-and-forth. Seeing him here now didn’t compromise any of the feelings that had settled prior. If anything, the gentleness of his gait and awareness of his surroundings was even more endearing. Krish brought his fingers to his chin to begin asking if the man wanted anything to drink before recalling, oh, hey., he shouldn’t be doing this because it was like petty impressing. Hand fumbling around before curling under his chin, the slave looked faux-casual in all his laxness. As the words wrote out the man’s problem, the issue held another layer of expectation Krish felt he was able to rise to.
"Well.”Krish’s smile turned encouraging.
"You already took the first steps towards how this all goes down, which would be your presence here, in that chair, in front of me. So that’s a good start. Everyone’s different. We can start out simply.” He thumbed the cup’s handle and passed it over to Maluk. It was basic and simple with a design of hand-painted clouds clumsily drawn along the sides like a Summer School attempted Lisa Frank illustration. "Welcome yourself to some coffee or tea. I have the machine a bit ways behind you. If you’d prefer some water, there’s a jug too. You can break anytime you need to,” the psychiatrist said with an inclination to where he was referring. The importance first was establishing the space as it was. Then, providing in ways outside of pure business. Any office could provide psychological help and a faucet to wash down whatever pills they sold. But Krish was looking to connect to those that came to him. One way to express gratitude and trust in them was by making his space as free as possible.
As he himself got more comfortable, Krish felt the tug of concentrated mineral in metal added to the environment and smiled. There’s something great about someone else having crystals. He didn’t bring it up, because it seemed like a post-meeting sort of conversation. But the little tidbit of information did make him feel a little more lifted. The additional information he got was so noncommunicated too that he felt like a snoop having sniffed out a secret. The crystals people carried with them were doubly important; insecurities and hopes were reflected in the hope of the energy that was hoped to pull in and repel. Krish respected that.
Gently, he clapped his hands together and then let them rest on the wood of his desk again. ”Let’s start with some simple things. You told me why you wanted to come here, but I never pried at details. Would you like to talk about what has all happened, giving more details?" he started, mind already poised with the metal pen on his lap twitching upward to begin scrawling notes once needed.
ℳ i s s ed ▆▆▆▆▆▆ ℳ i s s ed ▆▆▆▆▆▆
xxxxxxxxxnow you've got to kiss me...
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Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2016 3:46 pm
M A L U KXX A V A S A A D
The Caim of the Seven Steps
6B3740
Shifting uneasily in his chair, Maluk kept his eyes on D'Juan. He seemed likable enough, smiles gentle but not too easy or eager. But without laying a hand on him, Maluk couldn't know much about the truth of the man. Of course, he was here to let D'Juan see into him, not the other way around. It was an unusual role reversal, for the caim. He was very accustomed to asking people to trust him, to let him see their innermost turnings with clarity. But when he needed to expose himself to someone else, he found himself oddly reluctant. It was hypocritical, he knew. But maybe this would help him to better understand the uneasiness of his own patients. After all, Krish D'Juan would only know what Maluk told him. When he healed, those he helped had no choice but to let him see every thought, feeling, and truth of the moment they were injured, when they were vulnerable. All Maluk needed to do was reveal what he could, what he felt comfortable with, in as many words as he could manage. And D'Juan certainly seemed well-intentioned. The therapist seemed the sort to smile, soft tone and voice and a gentle, relaxed manner. Maluk was lacking in such graces. He stared at the man on the other side of the desk, taking in all the small details of his eyelashes and his facial hair, the tone of his skin and timbre of his voice, hardly ever allowing his eyes to wander or glance away. It just wasn't Maluks way of being. So he kept his gaze level on the stranger he was meant to pour his heart out to, watching as he withdrew small metal cups and set them on the desk between them. Again, he smiled that relaxing smile.
"Well. You already took the first steps towards how this all goes down, which would be your presence here, in that chair, in front of me. So that’s a good start. Everyone’s different. We can start out simply.”
Maluk nodded, to show he understood, face still a largely stoic mask, and followed D'Juans gesture to where the coffee and tea were situated, warm and comfortable, adding to the loose air of the environment. Maluk supposed it made sense. While a certain air of professionalism was necessary, people weren't going to feel comfortable being open if the environment was too sterile. He took the little cup that was offered, more out of courtesy than anything. At the moment, he was too preoccupied for coffee or tea. He stared down for a few moments, focusing his intense gaze on the little cloud designs along the cups surface rather than the details on the surface of D'Juan. ”Let’s start with some simple things. You told me why you wanted to come here, but I never pried at details. Would you like to talk about what has all happened, giving more details?"
For a few moments, Maluk kept his eyes down on the cup, lazily thumbing at the handle of it as he tried to collect his thoughts. He had never spelled out his life in plain words before, out in the open to be read. His clients he kept at arms length, and his friends were few and far between. For a moment, Maluk remembered Julian, the ink mage who had so frequently visited him all battered and bruised. They had shared their quiet together, Maluk very aware of the kind of suffering Julian held on to quietly, and Maluk couldn't help but feel that on a certain level, Julian had understood him as well. But he hadn't seen Julian in quite some time, and he'd tried his best not to think about it. After all, when someone stopped visiting the Steps, especially if it was someone like Julian, the chances were they weren't going to be seen again. The caim was completely oblivious to this connection that he shared with Krish. But he supposed that things like that were part of why he was there, visiting the therapist. Loss. People disappearing into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. It happened over and over again, until, as much as Maluk had tried to convince himself that he had become numb to it, he was beginning to show cracks in his facade, seams fraying and coming undone. He needed to tell someone what had happened, so it was best to simply bite the bullet and lay the story out. But where could he start? The truth was that he was there for Yuno. That was the voice that cut through all the others, that kept him awake at night and on every full moon, when he could feel the shadows of that old rage and hunger curl through his blood. But Yuno wasn't the only one keeping him restless, he had been the iron beam that broke the camels back. For D'Juan to understand, he would need at least an idea of the full story. So, in his typical, abrupt manner Maluk set the cup down on the desk, still empty, having never moved from his chair, and lifted his hands to start signing again.
<<'I'll do my best to cover everything. When I was seventeen, my brother was killed.'>> And Maluk no longer felt a sting at the words. These memories were the ones Maluk had picked up and handled, turned over in his mind over and over, so many times that their sharp edges had become dull. Although this was the first time He'd spelled out out to someone else, it was a story he had repeated in his head every day since. <<'It was a gang scuffle. Senseless. I saw it happen through my sisters eyes when I healed her. I lost contact with my parents, leaving with my sister to pursue our revenge for our brother.'>> He shook his head. <<'Foolish, of course, but we couldn't see that then. I gave it up when I was married at twenty, and my wife passed away in labor when I was twenty-one. Our son, Yuno, survived. We lived with my father, who passed away when Yuno was ten.'>> Maluk didn't go into detail when he could help it. He laid out the bare bones of the story for the stranger, but the next part was the difficult one. His hands hesitated for a moment, Maluk taking a steadying breath through the nose before continuing. <<'Five years after that, Yuno and I had started fighting. Yuno was'>> and again his hands hesitated. The world had a known bias against werewolves. What would he do if D'Juans expression changed when the words spelled it out for him on the chalkboard? Even if he remained professional, Maluk would see the shift. What would he do then? He simply maintained a level gaze on the therapist and made his hands resume. <<'a werewolf. On a full moon, he slipped away from me and disappeared. That was a little over five years ago. He never came back.'>> There. He'd said it. And he didn't let himself pause long enough to start getting choked up over it. <<'The police did their best, but there were no following werewolf attacks after that month, and they couldn't find a trace of him anywhere. They told me to expect the worst, that he had probably been put down by someone defending themselves. Eventually the case went cold and they gave it up.'>> And although he kept his hands up, as though he might explain more, nothing else came. After a few moments, he lowered his gaze and his hands, letting them fall uselessly into his lap.
He didn't start crying, as he'd half expected to. He didn't even feel the urge to. Spelling it out hadn't reopened the wound as if it were fresh. Instead Maluk simply felt leaden, and numb. And tired. Inexplicably tired. They were just facts, and they felt almost distant from him, now that he had spelled them. After steeping in the silence for a bit, he lifted his hands again.
<<'That's the gist of it. I've put off talking to anyone about it for a long time. I guess you could say I've just gotten too worn down to keep avoiding it.'>>
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Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2016 1:55 pm
Krish had a good quality of patience. It was essential as a therapist, a psychiatrist. His pen was still poised and made no noise as it pressed into the soft of the page on his lap. Shorthand. A dead script. He wondered if that said something about himself but was trained on his patient and the reactions. Lips pressed together for a moment the cross-referencing began. He knew some about the caim. People, slaves. It’d always been useful but risky. The ones he met were spies and snitches for the most part. Placed in the shuddering masses of souls and seeking out the ones who were threats. Who lied about their brands, who lied about their scarred knuckles, the digs in their kneecaps after finding escape routes. The punishments were severe. Those caims never identified as people. Always tools. Krish supposed they, too, were subjects and victims to slavery. After all, it was a loss of complete identity. But there was a longstanding bitterness. He remembered, once, a caim’s hands on him after his tattoos had ruptured. Grimy and dark the room had been with a face hovering over his that was always grotesque- twisted in pain but cold all at once. She whispered his story and if Krish hadn’t been paralysed with pain, his fingers would have been around her neck, a caim himself in that moment, sucking every bit of negativity from her to wring it out on the ground as clear as day.
Decades pass and it’s still hard to dettach bad from good. In this professional environment, with a man who seemed as stone-faced and awkward as could be, Krish could barely feel the ghosts on his body and hatred had stopped being summoned after so many years. It would be wrong to let the past come into such a situation.
The silence felt like a string growing laxer by the minute. He could feel it slowly edging in, saw the flickers and flashes of muscular differences. His eyes were down so there wasn’t anything to read there so Krish nonchalantly waited and counted the spirals cut into the man’s bronzed skin. There was still such a carven to cross. It amazed him how others could be so strong and weak to keep so much in. Maluk was large, a dam, with cracks turning into fissures. There was no insta-seal. With every miniscule rise and fall of his patient’s chest, Krish felt like he saw a wall breathing and the crevices widening and falling back. It caused a pain in his belly, maybe the gut?, to see that there was so much to do that still wouldn’t help in a full healing. He wondered if caim’s could do that- lament over mental aches, and help those too. They exorcised right? Not such a stretch. Acts of taking were already pain enough though. Stories were identity blended and the memories, feelings of what wasn’t even their own haunting. Even if they could help patients with such aches, it didn’t seem wise when Krish really thought about it. Only added more onto a heap that was brought on by the remarkable thing of existence. His heart ached. He wanted to help. Finally, the twitch of the fingers began and the slave readjusted himself and read.
As the words appeared across the board, his pen silently moved as well.
In Maluk’s aura, there was yet to be the shadow of a cork. It must have been easier to deal with these. It was only when the breath had to catch up that Krish was able to add a new line break and the tremor of his pen stopped as it scrawled lines and dashes. This was the importance. His words beforehand had not been measured, but recited, took notes on what language the other used. Maluk talked like Krish was flipping pages of a story, a narrator. It was casual but held pinched distance. Krish was going to offer his support at the pause, but Maluk went forward. He just nodded and paid attention.
Werewolf. Oh; maybe that was why he came here,with the reputation Krish carried in his innocent little office. 21, ten years pass to make 31, another five and that’s 36, five years later… There had been periods of silence. He imagined it was because those years didn’t matter besides the pressing weight of Yuno, Maluk’s son. That put them distances away. Maluk was distances away. Krish wanted to reach out and bring him back, but that was a part of the process of therapy. Losing a child; now he understood, the dent that it’d caused.
Under the silence, his pen gently lowered and Krish remained silent in the midst of final words. Without speaking much himself, Krish stood to go prepare the coffee machine for some tea and pulled a canister of dried pieces of leaf and other miscellaneous fruit and flora out. Turning again, he returned to his desk, fingers grazing the man’s shoulder as he twisted to seat himself again.
“You seem tired. It can be a great weight, to have to carry that. Especially for half a decade without sharing with a soul... I’m very glad you’re entrusting me with it. I’m so sorry, that these events happened to you” he began, making sure that those hazel eyes were on his own. Nodding, he pushed wisps of growing hair away from his face and flipped the page of his notebook. He waited another moment to gauge the air and pulled the sleeve of his shirt down more before resuming a position of rapt attention.
“Can you tell me what you did afterward? After the month… after the case went cold, did you pursue any other forms of- connecting with your son, or did you generally remove yourself from mementos, things like that.”
As an aside in his mental, the mage made note of where his box of tissues was- between the sanitizer and notepad, available for easy reach with a man of Maluk’s stature. The water was boiling; Krish could feel the heating metal vibrate in his tattoos and briefly noted the discomfort before removing his connection to the pot and letting the coolness of the atmosphere reach him again.
ℳ i s s ed ▆▆▆▆▆▆ ℳ i s s ed ▆▆▆▆▆▆
xxxxxxxxxnow you've got to kiss me...
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