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Post by Victoria Camilla Welsh on Oct 10, 2012 15:02:09 GMT -6
(( what she wears ))
"But Dad-" she whined, audibly pouting in little spurts, the crying noises resembling the ones of when she was young. "No, please, just listen-" Her father would have none of it at this point, and she knew that even more when he hung up the phone to prepare for his university class. "Hmph." Victoria crossed her arms and furrowed her brow at the ground. She didn't understand: why was her father insisting on this now? Just the same, it was better not to be more late than she already was, and she picked up her belongings from her locker and made her way toward the administrative part of the building.
No, it was a load of nonsense! She had been going to St. Helena's for over a year, and her father was faculty: Victoria liked it that way, being perfectly normal, thank you very much. Walking, she adjusted her hat, not particularly caring at the moment if they were allowed after school hours ended or not. Her bottom lip jutted out, and she wished she could continue this streak of being one of the few students who they were lenient about mandatory therapy. She was there for the education, for god's sake. Is Dad only making it a big deal because it's a new year? Victoria was worried. Maybe she'd disappointed him when she just laughed at his suggestion of it the year before, and spent much of the year just not going, and studying instead. It was precious time and... No, he couldn't have been mad. People didn't get mad over therapy, did they?
It didn't make her any less pissed off though, and she made it to Doctor Smith's office nearly ten minutes late. Leaning against the door frame, she hesitated actually entering, but she knew she'd at least have to show her face. "Excuse me," she spoke. "I'm Victoria Welsh -- My father sent me here?" Her arms were crossed over her, and she leaned back against the archway. If they honestly thought she was hiding something, it would certainly be news to her. There was no doubt that psychology helped people, but she didn't need help, and in her mind, you shouldn't try to fix something that wasn't broken to begin with.
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Post by John Smith on Oct 12, 2012 21:53:00 GMT -6
It wasn't often that John got to see 'normal' students. Well, really, he didn't believe in normal, and thought that a bit of therapy... or just having someone to talk to, was healthy regardless of how healthy and well adjusted you were, especially if you happened to be a teenager. He didn't see why therapy got such a bad rap! You got to sit around and complain about your life, or just talk about whatever you wanted with another person without worrying about boring them or coming off as a bit unhinged. In any case, Doctor Welsh had asked him to talk to his daughter, warning him that the girl, Victoria, wasn't enthused about the idea. John would have to take care not to make her feel like she was being psycho-analysed or anything strange like that. Mason Welsh was a good friend of John's, he was certainly going to do his best to ensure that his little girl got through therapy with minimal trauma.
The girl was intelligent and driven, according to her professors. Healthy as a horse, according to her physician. Maybe a bit stubborn, according to Mason, but John believed that having a bit of stubbornness in you could be very healthy. He'd take stubborn over meek and unhappy any day. Mason's biggest concern was that the girl was over-working herself, and that she was becoming to concerned with perfection. Perfectionism wasn't always a mark of mental illness, so John would give her the benefit of the doubt there. It could be that she was just particularly driven and detail oriented. Some people were more studious than others by nature. Perhaps Mason would worry less after John gave the girl a few clean bills of mental health. And, John thought, the very last thing Mason needed was more to worry about. Being a teacher was stressful enough, but to be a parent of a teenager at the same time? That had to be an absolute nightmare. John had no end to the respect he felt for parents of healthy teenagers.
John was playing with several sets of Newton's cradles that he'd jury rigged to function as one giant domino style chain of cradles. It was quite fun to put together, but the real fun came out of watching it work. There was no end to the joys John could find in physics. It was when he'd finally added the last of the cradles that he could find to the mix that Victoria Welsh entered his office.
"I'm Victoria Welsh -- My father sent me here?"
"Hello, Victoria!" John said, reaching over the table to shake her hand, and in his excitement nearly knocking over the entire contraption that he'd spent so many hours making. "I'm John. It's great to finally be meeting you. Your father's told me loads about you... all good things, I promise! I hear that you're getting a 4.0. That's brilliant!" John pulled out a bag of candies from his desk and offered it to the girl. "Jelly baby?"
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Post by Victoria Camilla Welsh on Oct 15, 2012 20:09:08 GMT -6
(( sorry it took a while. Also the jelly baby reference xD))
Were therapists always as crazy as their patients? Victoria shook her head at the thought, thinking she might have been too harsh about the first impression. Stepping in reluctantly, slumped a bit with a touch of a heavier foot, she went and shook his hand, thanking him for his compliment half-heartedly. Dr. Smith seemed like a nice man, at the very least, but school had only been in session for a couple of weeks, so it was hard to tell when they were in class together. Idly, she picked up one tiny ball of this Newton's Cradle-contraption, and let it soar into the adjacent row. Watching it for a while, she collected ideas, a master plan to get her out of there. There had to be a way, she knew it, and she spoke up after some moments of silence and watching physics take its course.
"I don't know why my dad sent me here," she started. "Not that I wouldn't love to stay and talk, but I have to get finished with my homework, especially the stuff for history." It was foolproof: there was no way a teacher could deny his student the right to do the work they assigned. It was slippery, yes, but she couldn't stay there, even if she had wanted to. Drumming her fingers on the chair, she really did have a lot to do, and she had to keep up with sleep, have all of her routines in order... Her heart raced as she thought about the essay with Rory. God, she had to read those three chapters by tomorrow, and even though three hours to get it done seemed like more than enough time, Victoria didn't think she'd get it done. Sucking in her cheeks, her eyes bulged at the idea. Perhaps Dr. Smith would let her go if she asked politely.
"Please, I really need to get to my school work." She shook, but tried not to look too panicked. "Gotta keep that 4.0, you know?" She tried to laugh, but it came out wrong, and sounded uncomfortable. Fidgeting in her chair, she smoothed the hem of her dress and tried to think of other, soothing things, like walking outside when the leaves changed, or reading under a warm blanket. She remembered then all of her leisure reading, and how she told herself she'd get One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest done before winter. She was still on chapter one and... Oh, what was the use? She'd never get it all done in time. Disappointed in her efforts, she tapped her fingers and slumped forward in the chair, her curtain of dark brown hair what kept her separated from her opposite.
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