Chapter Text
I do not sigh.
When a client comes straight from work, and sits her filthy, blood-stained buttocks and thighs upon my very nice, somewhat comfortable baby blue couch, I do not sigh.
When a different client adjusts himself in such a way that his particulars slip from his loincloth and dangle down his bare, musclebound thigh, for a brief, but not nearly brief enough, moment, I do not sigh.
When a small, nervous individual retracts their claws in and then brings them out again as they talk, cutting my brand new cream coloured couch to ribbons as they describe in lurid detail the so-called baddies they fought and killed, I do not sigh.
I am very good, I believe, at holding back sighs.
So when my newest client sank heavily into my couch and dropped his gigantic axe down upon the tile flooring of my office, cracking multiple tiles and taking a massive chunk out of one of them as he did so, my breathing was slow and even. When he blew a massive wad of snot out of his right nostril onto those same tiles, I did not even raise an eyebrow.
And I definitely did not sigh.
And yet, despite my calmness and lack of reaction, somehow this massive, brutish appearing warrior (and he truly is massive) sensed that not all was right. He looked at me, frowned, and then looked down at the broken tiles.
“Oh,” he grunted. “Sorry.”
“That is quite alright,” I answered with my second most charming smile, the one I reserve for new clients. He looked up at me as I spoke, and then his eyes widened, and he looks down at the broken floor again.
“Trust me,” I continue, as I pretended I did not notice his reaction to my smile, “this office has seen far worse. Far, far worse.”
He looked up at me again, and I let my smile fade to remove the potential for unwanted complications. I had learned the importance of making sure my clients would not fall in love with me a long time ago.
“It has?” he asked slowly, as he glanced down at the damage once more, before looking at me again.
“Oh yes,” I answered, but only with a grin this time. I thought about elaborating, but then decided to leave it for another time.
The client was relaxing, and soon the real work would begin – there was no reason for me to pile on the charm, and multiple reasons for me to not pile on the charm. And my smile had charmed many men in the before times, prior to me having my present, gainful occupation.
“This is a place of safety,” I continued. “A place of open and honest communication. A place where my clients – you, in this case – can hopefully process the things that they have seen, and acts that they have committed, in such a way as to move forward with their lives, in ways of their own choosing.”
“That is an important part of the process,” I finished, “if not the most important part.”
His thick, bushy brows furrowed. “What is?”
“Choice,” I answered.
“Choice?” he asked, his brows somehow even more furrowed than before.
“Choice,” I affirmed.
There was silence for a brief moment, but then I filled the space, before he could ask another question. This was our first meeting, after all, and some formalities had to be taken care of before we could seriously examine his mental baggage.
“But first,” I said, “before we go any further into the philosophical and personal implications of choice, we must discuss the terms of our arrangement. What, exactly, are you looking for? Why are you here, in this office, right now, with me?”
“And finally,” I said, and this time I did let myself sigh, “there is the unfortunate matter of payment.” I raised my hands and gestured around the office. “Buildings are not free, nor are tiles,” I stated with another small grin, “and sometimes I need to eat, as well.”
He chuckled. “Yes, of course. You are no adventurer. Gold I have plenty of.”
“Indeed I am not,” I agreed. Not anymore, at least. “My rates are 255 gold pieces an hour, and the sessions generally last an hour, unless specifically agreed beforehand.” I thought for a moment. “As well, cancellations need to be done at least two days in advance, or there will be a cancellation fee. Exceptions can be made in case of plague or longterm injury or death or whatnot, of course.”
He nodded, and pulled a small satchel out from... somewhere, someplace magical I presumed, because otherwise he pulled it out of his arse, and handling it after that might even make me sigh.
Fortuitously, it smelt of nothing but a faint whiff of blood, and nothing else.
And blood was ever-present when you dealt with adventurers.
“I... am unaware of the exact value of the contents of the satchel,” the warrior stated, as if reciting a statement prepared ahead of time.
“Straight from the last job, then?” I asked as I dumped the contents into my sorter.
Far more than a simple coin counter, my sorter could tell me where each coin was made, whether or not there were curses on the money, whether or not any of the sides had been shaved to stretch the value of the coin, as well as other useful things.
And while it could not value more unique items, it could warn me if something was more than it seemed.
In this case, though, the pouch was filled with coinage and a couple of small items, purely collectible in nature. I set those aside, though one did catch my eye, a miniature statue of a woman raising her arms to the heavens, the woman’s rather glorious bosom almost seeming to heave in exertion as she gazed upwards.
The coinage was enough for three sessions plus change, not even counting the figurines.
“Noooo,” he answered slowly, then shrugged. “I did not count it.”
“Well,” I replied, giving my second-best smile once more, “there is enough for three sessions, and then some.”
He nodded. “Keep the extra. I will bring more when we get to a fourth session.”
“Well,” I started, then almost frowned as I realized that I had repeated myself, “I am flattered that you already plan to keep coming, but we are far too early in our first meeting for you to make any such decision.”
I took a moment, however, to write down the way he leapt to committing to more sessions. Which reminded me of another thing...
“To begin,” I said as I looked up at him once again.
He really was huge – muscles on top of muscles, as the more physically oriented companions I used to have might have said – with scruff on his craggy face, and short bristly hair on the top of his head.
Even if the axe and the muscles and the scars all over hadn’t given away the fact that this was a melee fighter, his cauliflower ears would have.
This was a man who got up close and personal on the field of battle, and had the body to prove it.
“To begin,” I repeated, but deliberately this time, “what do you like to be called? There was no name attached to the appointment.”
The man – and yes, I am well aware that I am being presumptuous in referring to the warrior as a man, even in my own head – frowned, and hesitated.
This was interesting. And, I believe, the true beginning of this appointment. Why would he – they? No. There was no point in speculating, I would find out when I found out – hesitate over that question?
I let the silence stretch.
It was not my job to interpret a client’s thought process. It was, however, my job to pay attention to the process, and see how it played out.
“They call me,” he finally said, “Grug.”
Grug?
The name of a brawler. A warrior.
A stereotype.
“They?” I asked.
I wrote a quick note. Eventually I would come back to who they were, but that was not important for now.
“What do you call you?”
Again, he hesitated, then he shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders rippling as he did so.
If I was straight, the muscles would perhaps be distracting, but as it was, I was far more interested in the hesitation.
And I don’t believe I’m flattering myself when I say that even if my client was gender swapped, I would still be able to stay focused. I am a long way from the witless teenager who started drooling at the sight of a pretty face and a shapely ass.
“They call me Grug,” he finally repeated.
Hmmm...
There was a time and a place to press a client – when the relationship had been well established and the client was being particularly avoidant, then drilling down on the bothersome issue could be productive, if done correctly.
There was no relationship here, not yet, and there wouldn’t be for several sessions. Therapy takes time, and effort, and consistency.
“Would you like it if I called you that, or would you prefer something else?”
There was less hesitation this time.
“Grug will do,” the warrior answered.
“Alright, Grug,” I responded. “And preferred pronouns?”
Grug’s brows furrowed once again. “Pronouns?”
“You’re an adventurer,” I explained. “And a successful one, I would bet. Surely you have seen that many are not who they initially seem to be.”
Grug nodded slowly. “Like shapeshifters.”
“Indeed,” I agreed. “Well, that can be the case for non-shapeshifters, as well. Just because someone appears to be a ‘he,’ does not mean that that person actually is a he, or likes to be referred to as a ‘he.’”
“Oh,” Grug responded. “I have known people like this. But I am a man. That is enough for Grug.”
“Alright, Grug,” I replied. “So, this brings us to a fairly big question: why are you here, today?”
Grug shrugged, and looked away.
“‘Why’ can be a difficult question,” I said after a few moments of silence. “How about a more specific one: how did you find out about me?”
Now he looked at me again, and I wrote another note, that he was unwilling or unable to give his reasons for coming to see me.
Not unusual, really, especially with the big, burly warrior types.
But important to note down and keep track of.
“Grug was in a tavern,” he began, then trailed off.
“Where so many great adventures get their start,” I interjected with a very restrained smile.
Happily, Grug smiled back.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Including some of Grug’s own,” he continued, “yet that was not the case this time. Instead, we were not at the beginning of an adventure, but instead celebrating the end of one.”
I nodded for Grug to go on, but the picture had been painted for me, even before he spoke.
I could easily imagine Grug, sitting at one end of a table, definitely not on the bench as his tremendous frame could not squeeze into that side. Another adventurer, a smaller companion, nursing her drink from the bench.
A wizard, perhaps.
Another flirting with every staff member they could reach, and drinking excessively as they did so.
A bard, no doubt.
Perhaps another fighter, as well, or a rogue, living under the pretense of being dark and dangerous, while in reality the most vulnerable member of the group.
But my speculation was meaningless.
Only Grug’s story mattered.
“We were in the Twisted Unicorn,” Grug continued, “celebrating our recent victory over the minions of Shadow Skull, and our defeat of the monster itself.”
“A worthy conquest,” I said with a nod.
And it was worthy, though not particularly epic. Until recently, Shadow Skull had been a mid-tier villain, obsessed with its own importance, but of no great threat to anyone.
Until one day word came that Shadow Skull had gathered an army, and was invading the nearby kingdom of Tharmor. Thus the call to adventure went out.
A call that, apparently, Grug and his companions had answered successfully.
“Yes,” Grug agreed simply. “But that does not tell you how Grug discovered your business.”
“Please, continue,” I said softly.
“We celebrated,” Grug said, “but it was not a huge celebration. So, Grug was able to hear other people talking, for once. And Grug, when Grug went to the bar to buy more ale, heard two people talking.”
Grug’s large brows furrowed once again. This time, I could make out white hairs sprinkled amongst the otherwise dark eyebrows. Grug had been adventuring for a while, or the process had aged him prematurely.
Perhaps both.
It was a dangerous business, being out on the road, looking for adventure.
Or so the stories go.
Grug shrugged. “One person was consoling the other, and Grug listened. The person recommended you to the other person, and now Grug is here.”
“Word of mouth is a powerful tool,” I said. “Thank you for sharing.”
The story had enough plot holes to drive an ancient dragon through, of course, but I accepted it and moved on. The facts of a situation could be useful for my job, but they were not actually my job.
My job dealt in truths, and the consequences of facing those truths.
My job was simply to guide.
“What do you hope to get out of our session today, Grug?” I asked. “As well as any future sessions we might have?”
Again, Grug went silent. But this time I was prepared to wait him out.
Some truths needed to be faced early, for therapy to have any point.
And the truth that the client came here of their own accord, and had to have had a reason to show up, was one of those truths.
Everything could proceed from that.
“I- Grug doesn’t know,” he finally replied. “It just felt right.”
That... was an interesting slip.
Who are you, person who others call Grug? Who are you, to yourself?
“Well,” I respond, “I am glad you made the decision, and I hope that the decision still feels right as we carry on. I look forward to working with you.”
Another smile. Warm, and welcoming, and relaxing.
I had a good feeling about this one.
-------
My second client of the day was a familiar one. She was a burnt out spellcaster who had come to me for help over a year ago. She was a good, familiar client, who made slow, steady progress, and had never once attempted to act on her obvious crush on me.
I hoped she never would, since that would almost certainly mean I would have to end our professional relationship.
And no, before anyone asks, the ending of the professional relationship would not open up the possibility of a personal one. I learned how to set boundaries long before I became the professional I am today, and that is a firm boundary.
Anyway, I believe she has a new beau now, so with any luck that will take care of any untoward feelings that she might have.
The session with her was uneventful, except for one thing – she stated that she had applied for an adventuring job advertised on a message board, which was a huge step for her. Whether or not she got accepted, the fact that she was putting herself out there again would be great for her mental health.
Assuming she did not get eaten by a dragon or something while on the job, of course.
My third appointment... was cancelled?
Huh.
That was unexpected. Another reliable client, he was a duelist with confidence issues and imposter syndrome. I knew that he had been scheduled, even at lunch, which I had just finished.
A simple sandwich, eaten at my desk, as was often the case.
No reason was given for the cancellation, which was odd.
Suddenly, a new booking appeared. Interesting.
I should say, that I love my appointment and booking system. Designed by a lovely magic-tech specialist, it took care of all of my scheduling needs and then some.
It was such a pity she moved away – beyond being very good with her magic-tech, she was also good at other things, too, if you know what I mean.
Still, easy come (very easy come, when her talented fingers were involved), easy go – it was not like there was emotional attachment.
Not to her, at least.
There was a knock at my office door. The new client, I presumed.
I almost frowned for a moment, which was completely unacceptable. Strange cancellation and unexpected new booking or not, I had a professional reputation to maintain.
“Come in,” I called as I settled into my big comfy chair, across from the small couch clients sat on, with a fresh notebook in my hands. I never sat at my desk when I was seeing clients, as the desk itself created a barrier between myself and the client.
The door opened, and in walked a small, nervous looking halfling. She hesitated for a moment, then closed the door behind her.
“Hello,” she said softly.
“Hello,” I said, standing up to greet her as I did so.
She got a more muted smile. I did not want to overwhelm the poor thing on our first meeting.
“How are you doing today?” I asked. I gestured for her to sit. “I’m Charlotte.”
Charlotte isn’t my real name, of course, though that is a story for another time.
“Thank you for booking with me today,” I continued. “The unexpected opening I had worked out for the best, I suppose.”
“Yes!” the young woman agreed. Her eyes darted left and right as she spoke. “I just looked on the sign as I was walking by, and there it was!”
She was nervous, and obviously hiding something, but that was not too uncommon for my clients. They often came in wanting to be found and seen, even though they were busy hiding from themselves.
With her youth, and her nervousness, I decided to go a slightly different route than I usually went with my clients. I let my face relax slightly, and my voice soften.
“And how should I refer to you, my dear?” I asked.
“Oh!” She looked around again, quickly. “You mean, my name?”
“Yes, please. If it is by your name you prefer to be called.”
“Oh, well, it’s...” she trailed off, as if she was thinking. “It’s Aribel!” she finally finished.
My face almost visibly tightened at that point, but years of training paid off.
I wasn’t always a therapist, after all.
Sometimes, the ability to control ones expressions was the difference between life and death.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Aribel,” I said softly.
Nervousness. Eyes darting around. Struggling to think up a name.
That was three related things, and bad things often came in threes, after all.
I slowly blinked with both eyes multiple times. The first time was deliberate and purposeful, while the other blinks were designed to distract. “Sorry,” I lied, “something in my eyes.”
To Aribel, nothing would have changed in the room, but to me, many things changed. Wards became visible, as did my best friend, hanging from his usual perch in the room’s rafters. Aribel became taller, blonder, and far less of a halfling.
And the second person, who had presumably snuck into the room as Aribel came in, when the door was open, also became visible.
I hate lying to clients (though some lies, such as my name, are inevitable and cannot be avoided), but even more than that, I hate being robbed.
As the second individual slowly made their way towards me, their tail twitching in discrete patterns as the did so, they drew a knife. The poison that coated the blade was obvious to my enhanced vision.
Oh.
Assassination was far more interesting than a robbery.
This was going to be an interesting session.