[color=darkgray][i] [color=darkgoldenrod]"Nerve damage?"[/color] [color=white]"That's right."[/color] Banjo rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes, working up to easing the bridge of his nose, before running his hands through his hair. [color=white]"The medical term is 'Peripheral neuropathy'. Irony of it is, that it could have been caused either by repeated deep shock from the Augmented Reality suits, or by an actual icicle through the leg."[/color] Banjo stared blankly. [color=white]"Okay. Too close to it to appreciate the irony."[/color] Murmured the doctor to himself. [color=white]"The next one and a half, to three months are going to be all important in your recovery."[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"So you want me to keep off of it for a month and a half..."[/color] [color=white]"Oh God no! No. No-no-no. That's the worst thing you could do. No, this is going to take rehabilitative work. A lot of exercise. A steady amount of work to keep blood flow to the region..."[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"Wait-- You said it's the nerves. So what if I just gave it the full bloody sun clea--"[/color] He looked down at his legs and got to his feet. The doctor held out a hand to stop him. [color=white]"Well, with what little we've been able to ascertain about your powers that [b]COULD[/b] possibly clear your nervous system from this issue, but--"[/color] The doctor gave an uncertain wince. Banjo didn't care for the familiarity in his bedside manner. [color=darkgoldenrod]"But--?"[/color] [color=white]"Well, it [b]COULD[/b] clear your nervous system of the issue, but if it failed at that... the way your powers work, it could also possibly fall short. Not fix the problem, and then your body treats its current state as the new normal. Making the damage more... long term."[/color] Banjo scrutinized the doctor deeply. [color=white]"Possibly permanent."[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"So wait-- You're saying, I'm not just going to be expected to rehab and exercise the leg, but you're telling me to lay off my powers altogether until the rehab's done?[/color] [color=white]"Well, that depends. When you use your powers are you able to isolate them to different body parts, prevent your legs from being used and affected?"[/color] He screwfaced at the question. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Well, I mean, a bit, yeah. I can't just turn it off for one leg though."[/color] [color=white]"We wouldn't want you to anyway. Your body would be assymetrically developed and more prone to other injury."[/color] The doctor turned and started writing on a pad. [color=darkgoldenrod]"What are you writin' now?"[/color] [color=white]"Oh, umm... since you won't be able to balance your nutrition with your powers as you normally do, we're going to actually have to put you on a strict diet as well. Anything else we should need to know, where you lean on your powers for?"[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"You're saying I shouldn't be smokin' anymore."[/color] The doctor laughed. [color=white]"Well, as a doctor, I'm [b]NEVER[/b] going to tell you that you should be smoking, but for the next three months, don't even think about it."[/color] [color=white]"Now, I've got a script here for a steroid, but it'll likely take a while for it to make it's way here. We have a hyperhuman here who can create chemical compounds, but he goes off the island in the holidays, just got back and he's working on backlogs. The steroid's not urgent to your rehabilitation anyway, but when it's done we'll call you in. I'm leaving you some literature, follow it, to the letter."[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"How about alternative medicine?"[/color] Banjo asked dourly, as he read 'Limit blood sugar' and immediately translated it in his own mind to 'Avoid Flavour'. [color=white]"What did you have in mind?"[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"A bullet? Right between the eyes?"[/color] [color=white]"Ha! It's not that bad. At most three months."[/color] The doctor got to his feet in a not-too-subtle-suggestion that Banjo should get the fuck out of his office. [color=white]"You can be a good boy for three months, can't you?"[/color] The last thing Banjo got out before the door closed behind him. [color=darkgoldenrod]"I [b]really[/b] wish you phrased that a different bloody way..."[/color] [center] - - - [/center] [/i][/color] [center][color=darkgoldenrod][sup]________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/COLOR][img]https://i.imgur.com/fnUOHKB.jpeg[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=darkgoldenrod][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Various P.R.C.U Campus Locations[/I] [I][/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=darkgoldenrod][b]Welcome Home #3.012:[/b][/COLOR] [I][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/25CnjCPhW8iQ0LDtbISp9a?si=ZHE_0AnVRE6faMu8vJXkEw]Cheap Wine and a Three Day Growth[/url][/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=darkgoldenrod][SUP][sub]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR][indent][sub][color=darkgoldenrod][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]Myriad NPCs[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=darkgoldenrod][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [color=white][I]Black The Sun[/I][/color][/right][/SUP][/indent] [color=darkgray] Banjo's room cracked open. Zimmerman and Big Steve turned to the door with a half gasp, before realising they'd stopped what they were doing and going back to continuing with their early morning preparation. Banjo stepped out with a subtle limp in a full Strigidae uniform, nodding at the pair and opening the refrigerator, before closing it again, realising he couldn't eat anything in there. [color=dodgerblue]"Coffee?"[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"Fun fact: Coffee is a stimulant which can inhibit nerve signals and worsen peripheral neuropathy."[/color] A fake broad smile dropping into a dour grimace. [color=dodgerblue]"So that's a... 'No'..?"[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"That's a 'No'. But cheers, I would've loved one. So... points for askin' I guess."[/color] Mornings had been difficult of late. The leg was less of an issue by this point for his getting out of bed, than the lack of caffeine had been for keeping him out of it. Similarly, the occasional shooting pains were far less of an intrusion on his life, than the way it affected his diet and lifestyle. If the joker in the Mess Hall tried to tell him one more time that 'tuna is brain food', he was gonna take old mate's boat out to sea himself, come back and club him with a yellowfin. Alex had been incredibly excited to grill him after it happened. Mainly because the rest of the student body had been led away and he'd heard the 'Force' were on the scene at the eventual rescue of his team from the Trial. A fact Banjo neither was aware of, nor gave a shit about, and had nothing to tell them about what they were like. Mornings with him had been like walking on eggshells. [color=dodgerblue]"Oh! They pulled the uniform! You know you... don't have to... wear that anymore, right..?"[/color] Halfway through the question, Alex saw Big Steve shaking his head and making a 'Cut it' gesture with his hand by his neck, but it was too late. Banjo walked up uncomfortably closely to him. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Zimmerman... I appreciate that you think you're givin' me helpful information. But right now. My life sucks. Fuckin' with these people is pretty much all I have right now. That and my girl. So don't suggest takin' fuckin' with these people away from me again. Cheers, mate."[/color] He turned and walked out the door. [color=red]"Yeah, he... he already knew about the uniforms."[/color] [hr] Banjo limped around the A.R.C to get to the farm from the backway. Within its heavy structure resided the equipment to create another scenario similar to what they'd all endured, and if it had been used in the few days since, he suspected it was just for a full diagnostics testing run to ensure that the issues within the temporary augmented reality facility they constructed on the plateau hadn't found their way here. Waiting in their usual spot were the four freshmen in plain clothes. Their houses would have been a mystery if they hadn't chosen to wear corresponding coloured handkerchiefs around their arms, with team armbands on the opposite side. It hadn't been a schoolwide trend, but he supposed for the first years it probably helped make things clearer, maybe even a conversation starter. They clammed up as he started to approach with a conspicuous silence, which bothered Banjo more than their usual nattering. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Alright, what is it?"[/color] The mousey brunette spoke up for the group, after the rest held tight-lipped silence. [color=salmon]"Umm... is your name Banjo?"[/color] She asked. He suddenly felt eight eyes glued on him awaiting an answer to confirm things they'd heard. He'd been waiting for this moment. And not with excitement. The name listed for the supervising person on duty for the farm, in charge of monitoring their Community Contributions was 'Andrew Olyphant', something he was in no hurry to dispel these few freshmen from believing - contrary to his usual behaviour. Because he suspected his treatment would have them complaining or asking about him to older kids, and that name was almost an afterthought for how long-timers thought of him after his five years here. He stuffed his tongue in his cheek as he considered how to answer it, whether he should lie, and how long he'd get away with it undiscovered of he did. Finding the juice to not be worth the squeeze he thought better of it. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Yeah, why?"[/color] The four conferred excitedly in front of him, as if he wasn't standing right there. He sighed loudly. This was going to be a distraction. They were going to do that stupid thing where they stare at him, like he can't realise they're staring at him. Or the worse thing, where they'll whisper to each other right in front of him. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Alright, there's four of you. One question each. Then we either get to work or you piss off to class, I don--"[/color] [color=blue]"You[/color] [color=salmon]don't[/color] [color=limegreen]need[/color] [color=orange]any[/color] [color=blue]o[/color][color=salmon]f[/color] [color=limegreen]u[/color][color=orange]s."[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"You're damn right. Lonely Hearts? Wanna kick us off? Or is Next-to-blondie feelin' bold today?"[/color] [color=orange]"Did you punch Hyperion in the face?"[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"What? That rumour's like five years old. Lemme guess, it was some pig-faced lookin' senior over in Lutra who told you that one? No. I've never punched Hyperion in the face."[/color] [color=orange]"Her name's Bethany."[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]"I didn't say a name. Or give a gender. But all of you note that Lonely Hearts immediatiely knew who I was referring to from that description. Who's next?"[/color] [color=limegreen]"Did Hyperion's ghost stab you in the leg in the Trials the other day?!"[/color] 'Hugh' more exploded, than asked. [color=darkgoldenrod]"That's an even dumber question than Lonely Hearts'... and another Yes or No question to boot. You're not very good at this, are ya?"[/color] He said to the group with a laugh. [color=limegreen]"So which is it?"[/color] He re-directed back to the question. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Did I get stabbed in the leg by Hyperion's ghost a few days ago..? No."[/color] He shook his head in a state of disbelief. [color=blue]"Is there really a place here where kids can get drunk, and where is it?"[/color] Blondie asked. A wry smirk crossed his face, part in relief that it wasn't just all descending into bullshit they'd heard people say about him. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Yes. Better question too. See, stick with Blondie, she'll do right by ya. You know that building you were livin' in until they figured out what House to shove ya in? It's in around there. Sound-proofed too. It'd bloody wanna be. Bloody Ryan's caterwaulin' once she gets a skinfull..."[/color] He exhaled deeply. Lonely Hearts went tight lipped as if he'd been told some kind of secret, and Next-to-Blondie snickered at the way he was discussing one of the Reps. [color=salmon]"Well, what exactly happened in the Trials? We got told that it was something to do with Hyperion and you and some janitor who worked here."[/color] Next-to-Blondie finally asked her question. A re-worked open question that looked into rumours they'd heard which apparently started this whole thing. [color=darkgoldenrod]"As far as I know..? Someone dicked around with the inner-workings of the thing. Pulled the safeties. Played into the fears of a lot of good people. And also me. But Hyperion? I dunno. When I was younger, and I suspect you lot heard this much, he came on down here with his goon squad about the same time of year, and I told him in no uncertain terms to kindly go fuck himself - with or without the kindness. His response was to tell me he was comin' back for me, and hurl my sorry arse into a hospital bed for a good while. He wasn't a subtle sort, and neither were his followers, best I could tell. I mean, he'd plan. But when he'd make a move the message was big. Big show of force. The way I figure, if they were makin' that kind of move they'd have come at me hard. If it were them trying to make an example of us, I'd have figured they'd have made it their business to get in my face about it."[/color] He looked at the group and they seemed disquietened. It hadn't occurred to him before that the school's line kept things 'neat'. There was a bad guy. The bad guy died. He ad some followers. They were caught and apprehended and the main one blew himself up. Neat bow. Questions and doubts as to whether they were actually the ones behind it all in the first place, muddied up a lot of waters. And left a lot of scared people unsure of how to feel or act. He'd never really considered things like that before. Questions were just questions. The means to find answers. When he was young he never really gave a shit about those questions scaring peole like him and his own age. But now he was five years older, and the people being scared seemed more-- [color=darkgoldenrod]"Or maybe I'm just an idiot and concussed... being on the inside wasn't exactly the best place to see what was goin' on anyway."[/color] --seemed a lot more vulnerable. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Gotta get stuff fed and milked anyway. So if you're stayin' you're workin', if you're goin' you're goin'. Only have half as many legs worth a damn at the moment, so I gotta make a move."[/color] The four split into their pairs and fed the chickens and milked the cows in relative silence. [hr] Lillian Morse shuffled through her files and paperwork as she planned out her day's sessions. Earlier it had been intended that her nephew Rory Tyler would assist her with this in the mornings, but he'd apparantly been given additional undisclosed duties and had been quite rattled by the events surrounding the Homecoming Trials. Coincedentally, the first student she'd be seeing today was one he happened to be familiar with. Probably far more familiar with than she was at this point, despite the fact that this would be his third session. Lillian was the fifth therapist he'd been moved to at this point, and so far he had said no more than sixty words in a session. No less than that either. So far, the two sessions prior had mimicked what notes relating to his last few therapists stated they had taken. He'd sit in the chair. Uncharacteristically say nothing, even when queried, and every five minutes, just as the second hand swept passed the twelve he'd utter [color=darkgoldenrod]"So are we done now?"[/color] whether or not she was talking. The last session she removed the clocks from the room. He counted the seconds in his head and still did the same. They'd told him he wouldn't be allowed off the island because of the lack of progress in therapy. He didn't display any visible signs of caring. Jim had transferred him to Lillian's patientload under the logic that being Rory's aunt and guardian might lead to him seeing her more as a person, and less as an 'other', therapist or faculty. It wasn't the worst idea, the notes in his file over the years showed an intense distrust for faculty, therapists, reps and basically anyone who would enter the teaching profession. But it wouldn't be enough. She'd have to find another angle if she was going to make any inroads at all of getting him to be in any way receptive to therapy. He was quite possibly the most stubborn case she'd ever encountered. Every aspect had complexities to consider, and balance. Even things that would usually be not only straightforward, but mundane. Right down to his name. Should she refer to him as 'Banjo' as he has made it abundantly clear he prefers, or is this ceding too much to him? Also, to call him 'Andrew' could be seen as a breach of trust due to the connection of that name to his past from a former therapist. She'd been open and transparent about not only her own powers, but also the limitations of those powers. That being, that she was a telepath - an issue for him, because of a previous therapist - but also her limitations, that she could only utilise it through touch. Which seemed to prevent it from becoming a larger issue. He still wasn't receptive, but he didn't seem openly hostile or defensive as the revelation of her telepathy brought out in his expression at first. It was transparency necessary to bridge trust. But whatever trust that had bought, was so far yet to pay off. Still sixty words a session. Every session. She'd have to try something new, or he'd be transferred again, not that the next person would likely fare any better. They were starting to run out of qualified therapists on staff. More troubling still, he was smart enough to know it, and probably more than a little curious about what they'd do once he'd been through them all with no results. Another thing to work against. Last session she said that if he wasn't willing to talk about what he'd experienced in the Trial setting, that she would have to view what he'd endured. It had been difficult, and only moreso because it also made her wish she could also be made privvy to what Rory endured as well, but he was not a patient, and there was a conflict of interests there which prevented that from being possible. She'd also told him that if he wasn't willing to open up and talk in session, she'd have to ask more questions [b]ABOUT[/b] him [b]OUTSIDE[/b] of this setting. She'd laid the foundations, made it clear and kept things as transparent as possible, he seemed completely unperturbed by this at the time, but she had made some basic inquiries. He had a girlfriend, long-term, named Calliope De Leon who was also on his team and been in the same tragic incident. His behavioural records seemed supported by peer comments, if anything they were perhaps underdone in the records. And he divided opinion, although most were overwhelmingly negative in their opinions of him based on interaction. A few people closest to him suggested his mood had seemed a little darker of late. The question was now how to use this information. He walked in the room, closing the door behind him and sat down in the chair. She noted he was dressed in full Strigidae uniform, despite the dress code having been lifted. Probably in spite of it. He looked over the door. The clock was still gone. He chuckled to himself. She was pretty sure he'd started counting. So what now? [/color]