Chapter 8
“Alright. It’s time.”
Seated on a small cotton mat waiting behind a simple rudimentary table, a listless Bill finds himself regretting his decision to agree to this arrangement.
The new counselor’s room is a humble one, located on the third floor and tucked away from prying ears somewhere near Lliam’s office. Accompanied by his improvised desk is a rudimentary couch furnished with one of the cotton mats used for sleeping. At Bill’s behest, Lliam and a few others were kind enough to offer some of their plants and general decor in order to make the room appear more lively: potted shrubs, flowers, odd drawings and even sea-themed decorations like a yellow scallop adorning the walls. The overall result is a bit more garish than Bill would openly admit to, but it got the job done.
Phanpy was right—an unlicensed, inexperienced psychology student in charge of people's therapy sessions wasn’t exactly the most ethical or professional choice. Yet here he is, by the former’s admission, because he’d be the closest someone would ever get to having informed counseling in this world. However, Bill fears that the information he’s been taught might escape him down to a trickle over time. To make matters worse, he has no resources, academic repositories, no outside opinion from any authority other than his own and no way to properly document cases and take notes. Especially not with his current limbs. Moreover it’s not like he can make any referrals to a psychiatrist if need be.
Putting his best foot forward, he’s here about to fulfill his first batch of scheduled appointments on a… Saturday. Humans appeared to keep track of the days, it seems.
Someone knocks the door, right on time.
“C-Can I come in?” a familiar timid voice asks.
Bill softly, but audibly says: “You may.”
In comes the white, heron-like creature that Bill had met on his first day at the guild. His sweet smell was one between many trademark scents that the former human came to know since his meeting with this strange bunch. Just like before, his shy behavior is plain for all to see. Though, he looks particularly fidgety today:
“H-Hi.”
“Hello, Togetic,” Bill cordially greets him. “Feel free to take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
“I-I…”
Togetic wrings his hands.
“I-I’m not sure… I-I came here because, well… y-your services would be f-free of charge, but…”
“Yes?” Bill leans forward.
The stuttering bird reluctantly walks up to the makeshift couch, avoiding all eye contact.
“...Y-You don’t know me, I-I’m very hard to deal with! A-And I fear oversharing, s-so I don’t know if I’ll be able to open up to m-most people easily…”
The growlithe calmly intervenes. “Listen. I’ve seen you opening up just fine when you want to—”
“That doesn’t count! Th-those… those outbursts only work s-sometimes… w-when I get really into something… besides, I’m kind of a huge smartass and a handful… a-and I’m not s-sure every problem I have can be solved… a-and… oh…”
Togetic recedes into himself into his cotton seat. His scent feels particularly uneasy.
Bill takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. The words he has been repeating to himself countless times in his head play out once again:
“Listen closely. Assess the issues. When in doubt, default to a non-directive approach. In case of anxiety attacks, follow the usual procedures. Always offer sensible outside perspective, but engage at a clear emotional distance. My Gestalt is iffy, but should work when needed. If it’s a potential psychiatrist referral, I’ll have to wing it. If all else fails, aim for cognitive-behavioral.
And most importantly of all: be kind. Be understanding. You’re doing a good service.”
“Togetic?”
“Y-Yes?”
Opening his eyes again, Bill gives the warmest, sincerest smile he can give.
“If anything, I’m here to lend an ear,” the growlithe continues in the tone he considers the most gentle and soothing. Though having thought the idea as silly once, he ends up consciously flicking his bushy tail slightly. “I’m here for you and everyone else. Trust in me and I’ll wholeheartedly trust in you. Would that be fine?”
Bill’s smile widens at seeing Togetic stop averting his gaze, even if slightly.
“A-Alright,” the white bird quietly answers.
“Alright,” Bill repeats with a grin. “Now, Togetic, before we start…
…do you think you could give me your real name?”
"Chillers. That's what you call them."
"Yeah."
Lying on the couch is male anthropomorphic creature resembling a brown mammal. Given his clawed feet, Bill somewhat likens the creature to a sloth, but once again it’s not the most accurate of descriptions. As if clothed, his back, tail and head are covered by a green, tough-looking hide. His head in particular bears several long growths reminiscent of leaf blades.
“See… I’ve never been like a particularly racist individual back when I was a human, right?” the mammal keeps telling Bill, clenching one of his dark brown paws in front of him. “And I’m willing to think that this is an isolated incident, this thing about me absolutely, completely loathing those disgusting, abhorrent, intolerable… chillers that keep popping up into my life because God forbid a grass-type like me won’t be an ice-type’s target practice. Of course I’m going to keep these blast wands handy. And, like… everyone deals with the same kind of crap all the time, you know? It’s not like I’m the only one who has this issue. I’m sure that if you got hit by water or something, you’d have something to moan about also. But I’ve confronted a six-foot, fire-breathing lizard before and even then, fire doesn’t get me as much as… freaking ice does. It’s pathetic. And I see ice-types in the guild and all I can think of is ‘look at them, look at those… chillers’. What the heck is wrong with me? What have they done to me? Nothing! But I keep calling them chillers in my mind! Even after all this time, eating at the same table, getting hit by so many ice moves… it’s not enough!”
Bill had tried his best not to look too visibly disturbed by the way his patient had expelled two long green tendrils from the back of his shoulders at one point, watching them twiddle and play around as though they were the equivalent of nervous fingers interlocking. “So Arthur—”
“Uh, sorry. I’m not sure if this is working for me yet. Chespin is fine.”
“Right, Chespin. You say you’ve seeked help before, right?”
“From the same ch—... from the same ice-type that I live with? Sure,” Chespin adds as he keeps fiddling with his vines. “And whatever her plans are, it’s not working. It got to the point where I nearly broke down because my best friend shot a blast of ice that wasn't even aimed in my direction. Wooper of all people scared me. Now in comes a psychologist from my world, turned into some fire dog guy the same way I have turned into this, makes me rethink stuff... so yeah, I’m a mess. Sue me.”
Chespin lies on his side. “...I just want an easier time, is all. To be cozy in this new weird life I have, make everyone else feel the same… I don’t wanna be some crazy person who mindlessly hates on others because I happen to have issues. But I suppose now that I got myself in this situation… I have to accept that I’m a lunatic.”
Bill sits still for a moment, patiently waiting for a long enough silence to form. “Well… no.”
“Come again?” Chespin expresses.
“You’re not a lunatic, Chespin,” Bill calmly concludes.
“I know I went through a traumatic event, I’m going through a fallout and stuff…”
“You are,” Bill affirms.
“...but I’m aware of it now!” Chespin says, sitting up. “I’ve been aware of it for a long while and I’m trying to be as sensible as I can about it! And I can’t help but still hate the chillers that aren’t even chillers…”
“Chespin, contrary to popular belief, having predispositions towards people due to their immutable characteristics is not an inhuman act.”
Chespin meets the growlithe’s gaze aside.
“Us humans—well…” Bill awkwardly fumbles a bit. “Living beings, that is. We have evolved with mechanisms in place to make us avoid anything from stressful situations to mortal danger. Fear and hate are thus born in order for us to accomplish this. Especially in your case, you’ve grown to hate a particular group due to constant conditioning on top of your traumatic experience. Afterwards, your emotions get the best of you, and so you lash out in ways you can’t control. It’s perfectly reasonable.”
“If you say so, I’m not a racist…”
“I never said that you should keep on going the way you are currently,” Bill continues. “And just because we are aware of the problem we’re going through, it doesn’t necessarily mean we have internalized it.”
Bill smiles. “It’s hard, no one can get rid of a harmful mindset overnight. Take it from me, you can rest easy knowing that you’re not a crazy individual. You can see me next time and we’ll go over this as many times as I can: you ought to accept this bias of yours as your whole, not something to ignore. You have a valuable friend by your side and you’re willing to change how you are. All that is left is for you to take the necessary steps.”
Chespin looks at the ground, his mostly nonplussed expression being hard to read:
“I… think I get what you’re saying.”
The growlithe smile grows ever more confident.
IT’S LIKE MY ARMS AND LEGS ARE STILL THERE. BUT THEY AREN’T, a pensive Porygon describes as the dots that make up his sad pupils drift off.
Bill knew that a situation like this would come up eventually. Hard as it was to have someone facing his predicament was to avoid looking too perplexed by his appearance once again—It looks as though someone had mockingly placed a gigantic, beautiful papercraft project on top of the mat meant for his actual patients.
“...go on,” Bill nods decidedly. “It must have been stressful, I know.”
YES, the whir-like voice answers. I WAKE UP ONE DAY AND SUDDENLY I NOTICE THAT I DON’T REALLY FEEL MUCH OF ANYTHING. WHENEVER THESE LIMBS TOUCH SOMETHING I’M ONLY VAGUELY AWARE OF IT BECAUSE OF THE IMPACT RINGING THROUGHOUT MY BODY. IT’S A HAUNTING SENSATION... AND... DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE CODE PROMPTS ALREADY?
“You mentioned a UI of sorts, yes.”
UH-HUH. I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT ANYTHING USED TO FEEL LIKE ANYMORE... WELL, EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT THIS ALREADY IN A WAY.
“Sorry, I know I might not seem like the most appropriate person for this topic,” Bill remarks. “But I want you to know that there is always a process for problems that are beyond our immediate reach. Don’t feel afraid to tell me everything.”
Porygon shifts unnaturally in his seat, as though he is somehow uncomfortable with the way he is ‘sitting’.
AS I SAID, I HAVE LITTLE TO NO MEMORIES TO RECALL. I KNOW I AM HUMAN ONLY BECAUSE SOMEWHERE IN MY MIND I AM TOLD I WAS. IT’S AS IF I WAS NEVER ONE TO BEGIN WITH. LIKE I AM SOMETHING I AM NOT AND I AM FORCING IT... IF THAT MAKES SENSE... I... I...
The strange entity tilts his head slightly aside. Even with minimal body cues, or perhaps because of them, the sorrow comes through just as effectively as a human’s would.
…
...WHAT ABOUT WHAT YOU FEEL?
“Huh?”
Bill jumps a bit at being suddenly addressed. He makes a conscious effort not to let his eyes wander off and remain as composed as he can. Once again, he becomes distractingly aware of the body he’s currently inhabiting, slowly swishing his tail in a manner that in his mind would surely look contemplative. Should he actually answer a question like this? Is this potentially role-breaking conduct? He’s clearly trying to avoid the topic after delving deeper into it. Or is he?
”It can’t hurt to share if it brings me closer to him…”
ONLY IF IT’S OKAY WITH YOU, I SUPPOSE.
The growlithe places a paw on his desk, not being able to entirely hide his doubtful expression.
“Well…” Bill ponders. “Honestly I don’t know where I would even begin... Skin sags a lot. The limbs kind of check out, except for the paws. Tail is weird to describe. If I had to say something in general… I would say that it feels twitchy.”
TWITCHY?
“Twitchy. As in… I don’t know. I guess I’m more jumpy. More alert.”
OH... I SEE.
Porygon’s head turns downward even more:
AT THE VERY LEAST, EVERYONE IS STILL “LIVING” IN A WAY... I WISH I COULD KNOW WHAT SOMETHING LIKE BEING TWITCHY FELT LIKE AGAIN... TO NOT BE... THIS WEIRD... GHOST...
Bill’s mind immediately races into panic as when he notices the entity’s flat colors becoming increasingly duller and discolored.
“...h-hey, everything will be fine!” Bill nervously leans forward, his tail wagging on impulse. “Everything will be fine, I was just trying to relate, is all...”
“Amazing job, William. Maybe next time you’ll actually stick to protocol.”
“...and I’m like, ‘oh my gosh Kiyo, whydidyouspookthatchespinlikethat?!’ And then he gets all moody and silent, like he doesn’t want to deal with me! It’s a whole thing we got going on, but he’s a nice guy I swear! It makes me wonder if I’m the problem, you know? I mean, lately I’ve thought maybe I’m too much of a handful to the new people I meet and I don’t even notice! I get all sad and maybe I cry a lot but I know I’ll be okay since I got my team and also I got like, this super cute scarf when we got here, I thought Kiyo’s new outfit was really cute too but everyone keeps calling him a mailman for some reason, and also one or two of them said some really unbecoming things for ANYONE to say about him, like, are ‘humans’ supposed to say things like that!? It’s CRAZY, but you know… Oh, did I tell you about the boating accident already? Uhhh… I’ll save it for a bit later, okay? Lemme finish this first. Anyway, the thing is…”
More than ever, Bill laments not having fingers to neatly divide topics into bullet points.
His thoughts can’t help but meander. More specifically, him seeing how inhabitants of this world, in this case a female creature based on a pangolin, act similar in their demeanor and psychological makeup when compared to humans. What once used to be a concern for him had now turned to intrigue as he saw that he wouldn’t have to tread on new territory with this particular visitor.
Then again, natives were few and far between compared to the amount of former humans he had personally met. It may be naive to think that the wide assortment of fantasy animals wouldn’t have any deviation from human psychology. No, it IS naive. Which means there will eventually be times where old hat psychology won’t be enough. Is what he’s doing even more unethical than he thought originally? Should he only limit himself to humans? That does sound like the most prudent thing to do.
Of course the most prudent thing to do right now is to actually listen to what the pangolin is saying rather than to hesitate this late into the session.
...did she stop?
“Uh… excuse me? Cassie?”
The pangolin’s beady black eyes seem distracted for a second before she quickly blinks with a chuckle, putting her foreleg behind her head
“Ah! Sorry! Heheh… it’s just that… you see…”
“Hm?”
“Bah, what the heck. You’re just so CUTE and FLUFFY!”
She says as she sways forward, her eyes nearly sparkling with joy.
The fluffy dog remains on his seat, blinking slightly faster than usual for a second.
Realization settles in. For once, his new body is useful in hopefully hiding the blush.
“I see.”
“Like, hasn’t anyone told you?”, she says as she wags her tail
“Not really.”
“Aw… can I hug you? Like… only if you wanna! But pretty please, yes?”
(...)
A thoroughly flushed Bill remains absolutely still and motionless as his muzzle lies in the shoulder of the pangolin. His neck is snugly hugged between the crook of her own neck and a surprisingly strong foreleg. From here, he can see her tail wag happily.
“EEEEE!” she squeals in an impossibly high pitch. “You’re so WARM!”
“I see.”
“And HUGGABLEEEE!”
“Yeah.”
The growlithe stretches his own rigid body on his lonesome, getting ten minutes to himself in his garish-looking office before the next batch. Inwardly, he delights in the feeling as much as any normal person would’ve, though with his new hindlegs it certainly feels distinct enough for the action not to feel like routine. He goes to his own desk to remind himself of the humiliating mess he had made with the water bowl Lliam had brought him. As usual, his attempts at lapping away at the water with his flabby tongue left him feeling unsatisfied, not to mention extremely foolish. Even more so when he followed up with a disastrous attempt to suck it all up instead.
The door knocks again.
“Come!” Bill responds before involuntarily shaking his entire body violently in a drilling motion, feeling his ruffled coat make a flapping noise as a result. Even though it felt good, the motion is quickly met with a slap on his muzzle after the fact.
The door opens and creaks, revealing another one of those small, bipedal creatures with their heads maybe seeming a tad oversized. This time, it has the appearance of a fluffy sky-blue and white otter in particular. Its beady black eyes look dull and unenthused in a way no actual otter would express. It almost borders on comical.
Bill politely answers to the new arrival as it enters: “Appointments start in five minutes but I don’t mind starting early if you’d prefer.”
“Oh, hey,” the blue otter greets in a slightly dispirited fashion as he pushes the door back to where it was. “Nah, I don’t think I’m brave enough for therapy. Yet.”
The otter, now identified as a former human due to his familiarity with the concept of “therapies”, waddles among potted plants towards the left wall. He readies a jump for a fraction of a second, bounding vertically and swiping the gaudy yellow scallop decoration off the wall.
“...no respect, I’m telling you…” he whispers after landing, initially paying no mind to Bill. After sticking the scallop on his belly, he notices he’s being watched. “Ah, sorry. This thing is mine, someone must have put this on here. Oshawott thing.”
“I’m sorry?” Bill inquires.
“What I am,” the oshawott expresses in a defeated tone. “In theory I shouldn’t be that attached to this thing, but for some reason I get really pissy when I don’t have it.”
“Ah. Yeah… I can imagine that,” the growlithe says with complete sincerity as he walks behind his desk. “Try being whatever I am. I’m afraid someone might throw something and I’d have to run and fetch it.”
The oshawott chuckles at the comment. “You and your brother are new here, right? I was there when he, uh, fell at the pond. I was the one swimming there.”
“Yeah,” he answers with a paw behind his neck, embarrassed by his own melodramatic behavior back then. “Swimming, huh. I take it it would feel nice to stay wet, at least.”
“It does, actually,” the oshawott admits with the first hint of a full smirk he had shown Bill.
The blue otter holds onto his scallop for a bit.
Even now, Bill gets the faintest bit of satisfaction knowing that he just helped someone overcome their issues. Even in such a minor way like this.
Quickly, he composes himself after snapping out of his brief daydream. “Er… say, I don’t want to be nosy about this, but aren’t you a bit too new to get into stuff like this? It took me a while to think I'm coping well with things.”
Bill sits back behind his desk and sighs: “I’m not quite out of denial yet and I also don’t want to feel like a burden to Lliam. Plus, earning my keep here helps me prepare for future trips as soon as possible. With any luck, I’ll find clues as to how to go back to the real world.”
“Really now?” the oshawott says, furrowing his brow slightly, looking somewhat unimpressed. “Well… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rooting for you. Just don’t get too hopeful.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His concerned tone is not mocking or cynical, though it could certainly lean towards the latter to some people. Somehow, Bill is not one of those people.
“Duly noted… Mr. Otter,” the growlithe says without a hint of a joke in his tone.
“...just looking out, Mr. Scruffy,” the oshawott retorts in as serious a tone as he’s allowed to.
Both share a mutual silent stare. No one dares utter a word for the next five seconds.
…
They break eye contact by snorting with laughter. Bill is the first to speak out. “Ah… I’m going insane.”
“Not too reassuring coming from a psychologist,” the oshawott says, now smirking.
“Psych student. Also I can’t legally self-diagnose.”
“Legally what and where? We’re not exactly in somewhere like Wisconsin, you know.”
“Ah, shut up, Asha… wat?”
“Gus,” the oshawott finally informs as he opens the door. “Call me Gus.”
“I’m Bill. Nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
“But… but I got started on anal the other day, like you told me to!” a pouting Cyndaquil complains.
“I didn’t tell you to do anything,” an increasingly impatient Bill answers, resisting with all his might following his statement with “and please, don’t elaborate.”
“Listen, I just am what I am! Is looking into my past like this really working?”
“I would say so, yes.”
“How so?”
Nearly an hour has passed and Cyndaquil does not behave like any sapient being Bill had met. The complete earnestness and sincerity of this man’s degeneracy had to be seen to be believed. Not only has Bill few things to show for it— he could scarcely believe that a person would exist who would hit on him during a therapy session.
Hit on him not once, but twice for his inherent ability to doggystyle. And get doggystyled.
Early on in his career and Bill had met the endgame. If “shameless” was a person, they would perish from second-hand embarrassment at the presence of Cyndaquil.
He wouldn’t be caught dead laying out stuff like this to a patient. But there was little recourse.
“Well… okay,” Bill exhales. Steeling himself, he marches on:
“Think of it this way: everyone has an ideal version of who they aspire to be. Right? But you can’t manage to manifest it. You have mechanisms in place that define you as a person depending on how you present yourself to the outside world. Contrary to what even the most detached of people might tell you, in some manner, we all care about maintaining an image of ourselves for our own integrity. What if, somewhere along the way, a person decides to forgo what bounds the self that they do not wish to be? All our deviancies, our hate, our vices… but more specifically, the thing we do not want to be all resurface, even if they are paradoxically always hiding underneath—it is our ‘shadow’. In my opinion, you might be in a state of complete nihilism regarding your ego and succumbed to sexual vice as a way to cope with the fact that you’ll never be close to ideal in your mind. In psychology, a classic way to look at it is in terms of the Jungian archetype: the ‘shadow’ that you wish to not be, yet it is yourself. In situations like this, the solution is to accept this shadow in some fashion. Not as what you truly are, but as an extension. Accept what you can control and what you can’t. Are you understanding what I’m saying so far?”
Cyndaquil’s squinted eyes are focused on the ground. As if he could find the answers he’s seeking. His unreadable face ponders.
And it ponders.
…
“Wow… ‘Jungian’? Are you like… Petersonian?! ME TOO!”
“I’m very sorry,” a disappointed Bill expresses. “If it were up to me, I’d refer you to psychiatry for sleeping meds.”
A tall, bipedal canine with a scalp in the shape of a beret and a long, dripping brush-like tail sits in front of Bill. His eyebags are dark and forlorn.
“Figures.”
“...In psychology, a classic way to look at it is in terms of the Jungian archetype: the ‘shadow’ that you wish to not be. You get what I’m saying?”
“Look man, I know you think I’m a lost cause,” Totodile’s bantering voice expresses as he leans forward in his seat with crossed arms. Even though it’s a joking timbre, the annoyance is slightly palpable. “But I’m tellin’ ya I know I have a problem and I have taken the steps forward.”
“I’m trying to offer a solution...” Bill replies.
“Again, yesterday was ten bottles. And I don’t get trashed as often.”
“And again, I’m not telling you to stop, I’m telling you to set realistic goals—”
“Five bottles ain’t no realistic goal!”
Totodile is not as bad as Cyndaquil, Bill thinks. These problems will take months to correct, Bill thinks. One lone alcoholic will not be enough to deter him this early on, Bill thinks. He won’t have to lay out his own heuristics like an amateur again, Bill thinks.
Bill brings a rubbing wrist to his forehead, trying to contain a sigh.
The stout, two-legged crocodile starts tapping his foot for a bit. “Uhhh… look, Phanpy and Torchic set me up for this and I didn’t wanna. Sorry if I’m bein’ a little difficult.”
Bill takes a deep breath, followed by a chuckle:
“It’s alright. If anything, I was the one being unreasonable earlier.”
“So…” Totodile’s big jaw leans forward even more, suddenly looking very interested in whatever Bill has to say. “...does that mean I can drink ten bottles today and work from there?”
“I didn’t mean that part.”
Totodile’s tiny shoulders turn slack with a sigh. “This body processes alcohol better, I told you!”
“We are creatures of habit, Totodile. Do some of the things in the list of items I told you about and you should be on your way to get better.”
“Ooookay…”
Totodile stands up, their session concluded. As he waddles towards the door, he speaks up again: “...wanna go get ourselves a drink some time?”
“I don’t drink. And I’d obviously rather not encourage my patients to exacerbate their issues.”
“Awwww… please?”
“No.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“No.”
“My door…” Totodile slowly closes the entrance as it creaks at the same rate. His jaw sticks out from the frame before disappearing. “...is opennnn…”
Totodile’s voice trailing, the door closes.
Bill sighs heavily.
“We all like to cope in our own little ways, don’t we?” a contemplative Phanpy sitting in the mat states in a tone that is much more disarmed than usual, looking intently at the empty corner of the room. His appearance as a tiny, almost adorable blue elephant clashes with his adult monotone.
“That we do,” Bill agrees.
“It’s screwed up, all of this,” Phanpy continues with an exasperated sigh. “It’s screwed up that I’m here. It’s screwed up that Torchic is here, and everyone is here and… I-I won’t burden you with these kinds of concerns, you’re not the type of person who needs to hear more of this.”
“I knew what I was getting into, believe me,” Bill retorts. “I have protocols in place, my feelings on the matter are irrelevant.”
“I suppose… maybe I’ll be more open later, once I feel more comfortable.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“As I said, we all like to cope in our own little ways. I got into the groove of things when I got in charge of the ledger. The finances. Paperwork. It’s silly, not what you would think of doing when coming to a place like this, but then again, what isn’t silly nowadays… It was similar to what I used to do back in our world, so it was easy. Well, easy in theory. You can’t exactly jot down notes casually with limbs like mine. This—and having the Misfits, uh, under me I suppose you could say… it all gave me the feeling that I had to truly care for the responsibilities that I was assigned to now. As though it fell upon me to lead when I wasn’t born a leader.”
Phanpy scoffs sarcastically. “You might think me more approachable than Totodile or Cyndaquil, but in truth I’ve had my weird moments too.”
“I never would’ve known,” Bill replies as candidly as always. “Care to give me an example?”
Phanpy’s tiny black eyes look away. “Some of the things I’ve done in the past are too stupid to retell.”
“Remember that you can tell me anything.”
“This might be a bit too much.”
This far into his sessions, Bill is already quite familiar with the disarming effect his current appearance and mannerisms had on people. Swishing his tail slowly, the growlithe smiles before following in a jollier-than-usual tone. “Sure. I won’t push you. If you ask me though, I get the feeling you might be a bit too unfair to yourself.”
“I hurled a molotov cocktail at a pack of dogs and burned down an entire forest.”
Bill jerks his head slightly. “Y-You did what?”
If Phanpy’s face is anything to go by, he desperately wishes to have hands with which to cover it.
“...I am never going to live this down, am I…”
“...it’s all a part of overcoming trauma,” Bill finishes. “How about this… would you like to try something with me before you go?”
Torchic looks up as she roosts upon the couch. “Like… what exactly?”
“A little trauma management exercise.”
“O-Okay.”
Bill leaps from his tiny cotton seat and goes around the desk in front of the giant baby chick in front of him. He sits down a couple of feet away from her curious eyes. So far, she had been a receptive and amiable patient despite her cynical disposition. Of course, no one could fault her given her circumstances, Bill opines.
He raises one of his paw pads. “Look at my hand.”
“Yeah…?” she says as her beady eyes furrow with tentative curiosity.
Bill puts his paw in front of her face. “Make sure to follow it. Keep those traumatic recollections we just discussed about in your mind. Alright?”
She nods.
The growlithe sways his paw side to side in a rhythmic motion. Torchic proceeds as instructed and keeps her eyes fixed on it.
(...)
“Feeling better?” Bill says, leaving his paw hanging in the air.
Torchic blinks several times. “I… do, actually? What exactly did you do?”
“Best not to think about it too hard,” Bill answers with a smile that he hopes is contagious to Torchic. Her beak follows suit, if timidly. “See me again next tuesday at this hour and go over what I said, okay? I believe in you and in all of us.”
Torchic gets up on her large talons and carefully treads the floor with them, as if trying not to fall. She seems a bit more decided than she was coming in, however.
Her beak pries the entrance open. “Uh, can you…” Torchic asks, fluttering her tiny wings as if wanting to use them as arms to close the door.
“Sure, I’ll take care of that,” Bill indicates as he follows in her trail.
“Thanks, Bill. See you later!” Torchic says as she waves goodbye with a tiny wing.
He closes the door after waving as well.
…
He furrows his brow in sheer disbelief as he looks down to the ground. He had never actually put this technique into practice.
“That… actually worked?”
“...and remember: you’ll make new friends over the old one that’s giving you grief. I’ll be seeing you again… Aled.”
“S-Sure,” Togetic responds politely. “I-It was nice, Bill. M-Meeting you l-like this. I-I mean.”
The growlithe waves goodbye to Togetic, who had left his seat after an hour of spilling his secrets much more easily than Bill was expecting. Though there is some residual amount of stress he could sniff out, he chalks it up to someone like Togetic opening up on these matters to begin with.
The latter, looking as meek as ever, does a little wave before disappearing into the much-treaded entrance.
And so, Bill’s first-ever patient ends his session.
(...)
…
All alone in his decoration-filled office, the day comes to an end.
The sun shines down upon a growlithe flattening a cotton seat with his spine, his belly exposed in a position none-too-dignifying to otherwise do in public. All he can do is stretch his four hanging limbs out in the air in regular intervals, relaxing after his mentally exhausting first day on the job. Patients like these weren’t the first thing he had in mind, but there weren’t many major complaints from Bill that he felt he could make in his position. That being said, from his ever-displeased perspective of himself, he is quite fulfilled at his performance today.
For some reason, having the sun’s rays falling down on him has never felt so incredibly revitalizing and relaxing at the same time. The golden warmth covers his belly, making his legs and underside shine and heat up at just the right temperature. It felt very nice as a matter of fact. Just what he needed after such a taxing day. And the next day is not looking any more welcoming…
Before he peacefully dozes off in the most pleasant position he could ever find himself in, he remembers the way he smells. In the position he’s in, he might need to lick his fur before lazing about. After all, a lot of unwanted stuff feels stuck to his body in general and groomi—
“Bill. For God’s sake. Exercise some self control or else you’ll go insane.”
…
The growlithe stretches out one of his orange brawny front legs in defeat and tentatively rubs his muzzle along it.
“Ugh. What the hell. It’s not like anyone’s looking at m—”
“Heyyyy!”
For half a second, Bill’s body becomes a desperate mess of kicks and twitches as he rolls on his side with a thud. He remains frozen in this position.
The other red growlithe walks around the desk to meet his brother. Despite his battered shape, likely coming from an arduous day of training, his mane-covered face and muzzle has the same friendly expression as always.
“Tough day?” Gill asks.
“Tough day,” Bill answers.
Countless raindrops hit an expansive woodland, many hours before the sun could possibly rise. Were any daylight creature awake, they would find nothing but pitch black and the uneven mud reeking of petrichor.
Were there any nocturnal creatures up and about? No one could be able to tell on a cloudy, moonless night.
Lightning strikes.
A lone avian creature is momentarily revealed with the flash as it deftly hops from tree to tree. His orange eyes glow in spite of the darkness.
Every once in a while, KFC decides to go out and test his patience yet again. Even though, reportedly, the outlaw boasts several underlings under his command and an infamous criminal history dating back years ago, he is little more than a ghost. One befitting of an alias such as the “The Basil Phantom”, there is next to zero information to go off of other than his assumed residence at Oran Forest. Rumors abound that any and all unexplained disappearances and misdeeds on this side of the continent could be attributed to him, owing to the faintest of green, feline hairs found at every crime scene. He’s not exactly a loud presence within the criminal world, but he’s not unnoticed either.
Little else was uncovered ever since KFC was ordered to investigate on the matter.
“Ninth time,” KFC thinks as he bounds fast to another branch. “Either intel is completely off about Basil’s whereabouts or he’s more dangerous than I thought.”
The combusken’s finely attuned senses and aura powers currently let him scan his environment with peerless precision. There is absolutely no way that he’d be able to miss an aura signature as potentially prominent as Basil’s. Every drop, every lowly feral life form in this dungeon, every common run-of-the-mill thug trying to scrape by… nothing escapes him.
Nothing escapes him except for the bipedal figure looking at him in the distance.
Looking comfortably still as he rests with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed.
In the moonless night, his scarlet eyes glow in spite of the darkness. He chuckles playfully.