⛧ The Call — Fantasy Roleplay ⛧ discussion
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𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐓
Amanda checked her pocket mirror one last time before knocking on the door. Dylan...Marrow? Merrow? Something like that. Seventeen, called a month ago, had been checked in my one of Amanda's employees until she could check on the girl herself, etcetera. She ran through the info in her head that her employee had given her to make sure she didn't screw up any name's and stuff- she had enough embarrassment in her life without dealing with ridicule from a traumatized teenager.
Though it may not seem like it, Manny cared. She really did, she just hated it. Her internal monologue was usually a lot harsher and a lot more emotional than her outer appearance- somehow, she was somehow more cynical and sappier than at first glance. But something appeared to be and actually was, was impatient. "What in hell's name is taking her so long?" she muttered under her breath, knocking for the third time. She could see the lights inside, so at least someone was at the house. Deep breaths. In. Out. Keep your cool, keep your job bitch.
Amanda kept repeating this to herself in her head- it had become an ironic mantra over the years the slowly became more and more unironic. She had to deal with a lot of assholes in her line of work, but unfortunately, all of the assholes were people who needed help too, so emotional regulation was a task she had to face head on so she didn't smash someone's head on a wall.
She tapped her foot gently on the brick walkway, starting a pattern that turned into a little walking game she and her friends had done in grade school before Boyle. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left my wife and forty-eight kids, an old gray mare and a peanut stand, did I do right. Right. Right, left, shift- a jingle, left. Left. Left. Left my wife- and repeat. It was silly, but in times like these, when she was cruelly left to wait for five whole minutes, it popped into her head.
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Amanda repeated the mantra in her head again, trying to push down the irritable feeling she'd been experiencing all day. Taking on new clients was always a challenge, but hell, not like she had a choice. She cleared her throat and plastered on a sunshine smile that made her want to claw off her own mouth.
"Hi, Dylan," she said, nodding a little. She used to shake hands, but now she's learned to not do that on the first encounter- the bite mark from that one guy had become a thin scar on her hand. She didn't think this girl would do that though- she looked like she barely had the energy to leave her bed. "I apologize for waking you up. My name is Amanda Paget, and I'm a psychologist for the SIC." She didn't mention that she was the head psychologist as to not intimidate the girl.
But again, she didn't look like she could react if she wanted to. Dark undereye bags, dirty clothes, undone hair- she'd seen this type of response many times, and it made her heart squeeze every time. Not taking care of yourself after a situation like this almost always just made it worse, and that was evident in her day-to-day job.
"The woman you met before was transferred, and so I'll be taking over. Would you mind if I come in?" Her voice was pitched higher and softer than usual, her cadence slower. Usually, she'd yammer on so fast people couldn't understand her, so Amanda made a point to watch her speech around people in recovery.
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"Sidhe Investigative Court," she explained, and smiled gently as a thank you, and walked into her house. It wasn't the worst she'd seen- dirty dishes, laundry, dust. It's what you would expect from a person going through such a severe and traumatizing mental state. Amanda had certainly seen worse.
Dylan didn't speak to her as they made their way to her room. Amanda took some clothes thrown on the chair and folded them neatly, then put it on the bedside. "So. Again, my name is Amanda. And I'm here to help you. In whatever way you need. I'm a trained psychologist, but I also know that speaking on issues like your experience can be difficult, especially when you don't know someone."
"Sometimes my clients like to play games, talk about lighter subjects, or even clean." She spoke through her regular speech with a soft expression and an understanding tone, almost as if talking to an aggressive puppy in an alley. "Do you have a preference? Take all the time you need."
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Amanda watched the girl in silence, letting her say her piece so that Amanda could ponder the best way to respond. She needed help- literally everyone did, or else her job wouldn't exist. And Dylan knew it too. But no one wanted to admit it to themselves, because then her job would actually be easy. And nooo we can't be having that.
"Well, you applied for a reason, Dylan," she said gently. "And you let me i-" she cut off, noticing the sudden change in the girl's demeanor. The tensing of her body, the shivering, the sweat slowly forming on her forehead- flashbacks, and violent ones too. Sometimes people experienced them as dreams. Still quite scary, but no jerking of the body or anything of the sort. This wasn't one of those times.
"Dylan," she said calmly, letting her smile drop as to not seem too aggressive. Smiling too much can be just as off-putting as a scowl. "I'm going to ask you something, and I would like you to answer me truthfully. How often do you have flashbacks, and what do you experience when you do?"
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"Okay," she said calmly. "I have more questions, but only if you're ready for them. Would you like me to ask them, or would you like to move on, talk about something else?" Amanda paused before adding, "Or I could help do something around the house. Or I could leave, as long as you assured me, you'd sign up for another appointment. It's hard to hear, but everyone needs help sometimes."
Amanda wad relieved the girl wasn't giving her attitude anymore. She was already struggling, and anything else would've made her scream. Not a great outcome, hence why she shoved it deep down until she was home. And also why she was in therapy. And also why she was single.
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Amanda nodded, breathing in and out, keeping her cool, just barely. She could handle this- it had been a hard day, but she was a professional. One rude teenager was by far the easiest encounter she had had in the last twenty-four hours. Dylan was obviously going through a lot, as they all were, and snapping wasn't going to be helpful. Well, not helpful to Dylan, anyways. "Okay," she said, keeping her tone light. "I understand. Nothing is wrong with your house, but I find that clients like having a task to do that requires structure. I apologize for any offense." Take that apology and shove it up your-
"Have you noticed any triggers?" She said, cutting off her train of thought. "Any situation, object, or word that might cause these flashbacks? And I would like to ask how long they typically last. Take your time answering, I know this can be overwhelming."
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Amanda nodded and set that information aside in her head for later. "Okay. Good, this is a start. What is the experience like, these flashbacks? Are you fully immersed, do you lose consciousness, are you aware it's a flashback?" Amanda was quite proud of herself for keeping her cool, especially when she saw the smirk on the girls face that said she knew what she was doing.
"Did you always pick at your hand, or is that related to all of this?" Manny asked, noticing the raw skin where Dylan picked. That has to hurt and would definitely cause scarring- probably a nervous tick, but it was her job to look into everything, so she did.
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"Is there anything related to it?" she asked carefully. "Any injury or experience that might lead to it? It's okay if there isn't of course, but I just wanted to ask." Already, Dylan was becoming more responsive to Amanda's help than before, allowing Manny to relax and do her job better. She just had to be patient, she supposed, even though she hated having to wait for anything.
"So, these flashbacks happen once or twice every day. How long do they last? And have you told anyone else about them? I notice that there's not much of a sign of anyone else living here- do you live alone, Dylan?" Often, children live with their parents when they get out of Boyle, and if not, they're placed somewhere they can be cared for. For some reason, neither seemed to be the case for Dylan, unless Manny was completely off base.
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Amanda nodded, though her forehead wrinkled slightly in concern. "Okay, good to know. Do you feel safe living alone here? Is it by choice or do you not have a guardian willing or able to care for you?" It wasn't often that Amanda found children with parents that were negligent to that extent- nowadays, children were so precious, especially survivor children, abandoning them is seen as horrifying and surprising, more than it had been before the days of the call.
"Do you not pay for this house then?" Amanda asked, becoming even more confused. If she rarely left, and didn't have money to pay meals, then how was she in the house? Did someone else pay, was she squatting...the logistics were confusing, even though that wasn't the point of it all.
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"You don't think it would be beneficial to live with someone, even if they're not your family?" Amanda asked carefully, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. "And Dylan, you are a minor. You shouldn't be living alone, especially with your mental health.... suffering."
Manny didn't want to push, but Dylan didn't seem stable. Not crazy or anything, but she certainly needed guidance. And with these flashbacks, untreated, they would only get worse and possibly physically dangerous.
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Amanda took a deep breath, realizing she was pushing things, but that didn't matter. Dylan needed to hear this, even if she got pissed. "You can, but you shouldn't," she said firmly. "You went through something traumatic, you hadn't gotten help for it, and you've been stuck in this house since. Surviving is literally just being alive- that doesn't say anything about your quality of life, it just means that you're breathing."
She snapped her mouth closed before she got heated. Tough love and honesty helped, but not if the other person closed off and got defensive. "Listen. I know you can take care of yourself, and you're more than capable. But everyone needs assistance, especially after their Call.
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Manny raised an eyebrow, watching the scene play out in front of her. So, this hadn't gone how she wanted, and staying any longer wouldn't help. She sighed and grabbed her back, silently taking out a card and setting it down on the desk next to her. "Yes, you seem perfectly fine," she said, knowing it wasn't the best thing to say, but unable to help herself.
"I will leave you be," she said, standing, keeping eye contact with Dylan. "I would like it if you would contact me again, but of course, I cannot force you. People live happy lives after their call when they get help. If they just got better willy nilly I wouldn't have a job. The Call ruins lives and refusing to get help means the Sidhe win. You think that by living through the Call, they lost. But they didn't, not until you learn to open up and heal. I will leave now. But think about what I've said."
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Amanda looked back and leaned against the doorpost. "I don't know if I can stop them," she admitted. "It depends on the person. But I can help you deal with them and understand them. But I'm going to need you to work with me to do that, got it? I won't ever push boundaries unnecessarily, but you need to trust that I know what I'm doing."
At first, Manny was upset with herself for how she handled things. She lost her cool, which generally wasn't okay. But now...it seemed to have worked? Something about her tangent had knocked some sense into Dylan, so hey, whatever works works.
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