Destiny Village ~ Hot Cocoa Therapy Offices

[unrepentantAuthor]

Folks' thoughts ought to stay their own, unless they confided them willingly to someone they trusted. The idea of compelling people who professionally took on the private thoughts of others, in confidence, to give up those thoughts... Brisa shivered, repeatedly, her discmfort working out of her in shakes of her mane, flanks and tail. Ugh. But it was necessary, to safeguard the planet. Diyem had specifically requested this of her, and Pop had given his sanction, and...

If you get the chance to forestall a disaster and y'don't act 'cause it's contrary t'yer principles, then responsibility fer that disaster falls in part on you and yer negligence. I've had to sacrifice my peace of mind t'save lives. It was the right call, and I'm livin' with it.

Even now, he was in her head.

Brisa entered the foyer, looking for a receptionist or one of the therapists, to talk to. She'd rather speak in person, of course, about something this important.

 

[Namohysip]

Fugu smirked a little, then stepped beside her desk and gave it a firm kick. As it turned out, the desk was in wheels attached to a rail embedded in the ground, flush with the surface. It rolled into the wall and disappeared in an opening that had appeared and then disappeared. Perhaps by one way or another, Fugu already knew that she would accept.

"Sometimes, Pokemon can only speak properly as themselves in a fight," Fugu said. "I am a combat therapist." Fugu drew a scalchop and pointed at Brisa. "Perhaps it is a language that all Pokemon can understand, deep within their psyche. And as that is drawn out, so too are their true feelings."

Fugu gestured toward herself in a beaconing motion.

"Do not think I am weak. I have defeated Puff regularly even without my element."

 

[Namohysip]

"Oh, hello, Owen. Did you bring a guest this time?"

"Yeah, uh, kinda," the Charizard replied, glancing back at Dave, then back at the receptionist. "Is Bean available right now? This isn't really for a therapy thing or anything yet, just a talk about something else. But it needs to be somewhere private, so his office seemed like the best place."

"Sure, let me see..." She talked into a speaker, waited for a reply, and then said, "Yes, you can go right on in."

 

[unrepentantAuthor]

"Howdy, Fugu."

How did you open a discussion about turning into a zeraora out of fucking nowhere? Except, it wasnt out of nowhere, because it made sense, it could only ever have happened that way, it proved—

Not a goddamn thing, an' you know it.

Brisa shook her head, and took the chair meant for Fugu's clients.

"Apologies fer the short notice. Somethin' of note came up."

 

[Dragonfree]

Dave stepped through the door to the therapy offices, looking critically around. The Kommo-o receptionist from last time was there manning the front desk, again.

Owen'd tried to persuade him he should see Wheat, the Xatu. Waxed at length about how much he'd helped him. And also said that he'd done it by psychically making him talkative, and that his other job was interrogations, and that he was effectively doing subtle mind-control to redirect what you think about, and what the ever-loving fuck was that. Maybe it was working great to make Soda stop endlessly ruminating on thousands of people dying because of him, fine, but that wasn't exactly a problem Dave was having.

Brisa'd also highly recommended her therapist, Fugu the Samurott, and spoke of her like she'd just solved all her problems. At which he could only privately roll his eyes, but while battle therapy sounded fucking ridiculous, at least it didn't sound like any kind of psychic fuckery or omniscient god-entity surveillance. From what she'd said she just asked some questions while they sparred? However unlikely that was to work on any level (for whatever value of 'work' you could assign to this to begin with), and however goofy it'd be, at least it didn't make him want to crawl out of his skin.

"Hello? I'm here for Fugu. Apparently."

 

[Dragonfree]

Dave stepped into the therapy offices for the third time, raising a paw briefly to the receptionist. "Here for Fugu."

He'd made that second appointment, in the end. Brisa would've never let him hear the end of it if he hadn't. Who knew if it'd accomplish anything, but at least Fugu'd get her money. Even so, there was a strange tension in him that wouldn't go away.