A job hadn’t been her goal when Ny had first found her way into the martial arts studio early into the Vanguard’s arrival on Earth. It had been explicitly for further physical training and deeper understanding of the sorts of social contracts that came with ‘being human.’ But maybe it should not have come as any surprise that the instructor was particularly impressed with her. She was a ‘beginner’ at specific Earth techniques, but she did have a century of physical training that made it seem like she had more control and awareness of her own body’s positioning and movements. His courses were no challenge to pick up.

She excelled at this type of training, and the teacher was impressed with her, initially encouraging her to continue attending sessions. And then, by only the third week, he offered to let her assist in aiding other students. She was warned that the pay wasn’t really even competitive, since Ny was just a student, herself, but she wouldn’t be charged for sessions she wanted to attend, and she would be compensated minimum wage for hours she agreed to work.

That sounded fair, as far as she understood. Ny was not particularly interested in Earth currency, but extra income was a nice stipend to her spending allowance, as well. It really didn’t seem like there was much better she could do with her time.

There were three one-and-a-half hour sessions per week that she was assigned to assist. Two of them were with younger children. They could be boisterous and rowdy; Teacher was happy to have any helping hand to guide them. The third weekly session was one that took place later in the evening, so the woman who usually assisted preferred to be home by then. It was an adult time block, and Ny- Henley- had been here long enough now that most of the students were growing more comfortable with her.

Henley gently adjusted the twist of a middle-aged woman’s hips. With light pressure, she encouraged the woman to keep her shoulders lax, loose. Raise an arm, keep her posture angled appropriately-

“This would go smoother if you’d just explain what you need from me.” Henley blinked inquisitively at the woman’s face, her hands now hovering, but not touching as she waited for further correspondence. “I’ve heard you talk once or twice. I know you’re not a mute. If you’re going to instruct, wouldn’t it be better if you could just tell me what to do?”

Oh. The woman wasn’t wrong. Henley could speak, though it made her extremely uncomfortable to do so. The instructor had noticed her silence, accepted it as it was, and assured her it would be a nonissue. He could, and should, do all the speaking and instructing. She just needed to be observant to ensure no one was performing moves in such a way that they could injure themselves or someone else, and guide into the proper technique, if necessary. It was not supposed to hinder anyone’s ability to pick up the material.

Henley gave just a very slight fidget, and then a sheepish shrug in response.

The woman huffed and scoffed, “You should probably be in some kind of therapy if it’s such a problem for you.” And then didn’t bring it up again. Henley was able to move on to other students.

Therapy? Did she need to go to therapy? Wasn’t that just for humans who felt bad all the time? Ny was neither human, nor did she think she ‘felt bad.’ She did have a stressor that she didn’t feel compelled to overcome, but it didn’t greatly impair her day-to-day life. She didn’t think it hampered her communication with Fysarius at all, and none of the other Vanguard had ever seemedlike they minded very much… It didn’t make things more difficult for anyone. Hopefully.

And it gave her peace of mind. It would bother her parents when she spoke; she didn’t bother anyone, now.

Therapy. It seemed so insulting. It was just coming from a human, though. What did that woman know about Ny? Nothing. She didn’t know what Velencya was like, what her people were like, the things Velencians appreciated. Ny was just right. She wouldn’t have been able to go on this mission, if she weren’t. Maybe Fysarius would get a laugh out if the story, at least.

Therapy.

Ridiculous.

WC: 729