ArchivedLogs:Kicking Tires

Kicking Tires
Dramatis Personae Jax, Neve
In Absentia	2014-07-16 '
Location <NYC> Themis House - Upper West Side
There is a great deal of psychology to be found in Themis House. This is not just due to its staff of psychologists and social workers. The building itself was chosen for the effect it inspires on those who come inside. It boasts an open design constructed with glass, brushed steel and concrete, with floor to ceiling windows meant to let in as much natural light as possible. The two-story space feels immense and cool, but is saved from sterility by the use of an indoor water feature surrounded by ferns and comfortable modern furniture in cheerful shades of sea blue, lime green and chocolate brown. The lower floor is dedicated to greeting and meeting spaces, the immense atrium arranged so that one is faced with a low, wide reception desk upon entering. To the left behind a glass wall is a meeting room with a long table surrounded by rolly chairs; there's a flat screen TV up on the wall at the head of the table. To the right the area is open with the water feature and a collection of couches, chairs, low tables and even a snack bar stocked with fresh fruit, muffins, juice and coffee. Beyond the reception desk is another glass wall, inset with a number of doors that lead into smaller, more intimate meeting rooms for one on one visits and intake interviews. The second floor is open to the lower one, and overlooks it behind a circling glass-fronted balcony reached by spiraling staircase or an elevator tucked out of the way. Here is where the executive director and other staff keep their offices, and where records are stored. There are tiny cameras hidden within black glass domes in corners on the ceiling, silently recording what occurs below on both floors. Themis House has not been open for long. Maybe a month, maybe a little less, but it hums with a sense of quiet efficiency. The interior defies the thunderhead-swept sky outside, with inset lighting coming on inside--and they splurged on the expensive sunlight mimicking bulbs that lend warmth to any space. The staff is smiling, the clients are an odd and colorful bunch but there are smiles evident there as well--occasionally--and everything seems to be running smoothly. A young woman with pink skin and tiny red horns poking out from her brow is making a fresh pot of coffee, and the smell of expensive java is drifting through the lower level. At the reception desk, with her back to the entrance doors, is a short blonde woman in a white summer dress, its edges embroidered with a tiny teal paisley design. She stands casually, leaning over the desk with one wedge-sandalled foot hooked behind the opposite ankle as she points with a pen at the agenda book open before the receptionist. Each touch of pencap to page marks a new comment. "We'll be out of office for the Good Morning New York interview here. The book signing is here. I've requested a personal day there..." Jax is adding one more touch of odd and colourful to the place as he enters, vivid tattoos glitter-bright makeup, faintly sparkly purple Doc Martens -- he's lost the cast on his leg, now -- purple capris embroidered with metallic dragonflies, bright green tee with an image in one lower corner of a child hugging a cow out in a pasture. Huge mirrored sunglasses that don't /hide/ the messy tangled snarl of scarring spread down one side of his face. He has a sort of cautious-wary curiosity as he makes his way in that is probably fairly common among first-time visitors. His metallic blue-green nails tap against the flap of his FreakAngels messenger bag, and at first he hangs back by the entrance, just tipping his head slightly to look around the place uncertainly. It takes a moment before he makes his way closer to reception -- also hanging slightly back as though reluctant to interrupt Business. Business is quite happy to interrupt itself for him. When the receptionist glances up at the door's opening--well-trained, she is--the woman facing her also looks around. The seated lady's smile remains warm, welcoming. The blonde's goes fixed and startled. Brown eyes flick up, flick down, taking in the entirety of Jax's appearance and then that look is gone, as if it were never there. Warm, welcoming--she can do this too. Neve sets the pen down in the crease of the agenda and turns completely about to approach their guest. By her chosen greeting, it appears she knows him. "Mr. Holland, hello. We had wondered when we might enjoy a visit from you." Her gaze strays to the marbled flesh visible around the sunglasses and her smile dims--yet somehow that shift of expression lends something more warm, more gentle to her tone. "Welcome to Themis House." A dusting of pink flushes through Jax's cheeks at the recognition, though this bashfulness comes without much of any /surprise/ at being greeted by name -- something that evidently happens to him plenty enough even outside of mutant-specific ventures where people are more likely to follow mutant current events. His fingers splay flat against the front of his bag, steps carrying him closer to the desk with an answering smile. "Afternoon, miss," he greets both with a small dip of head, a tentative sort of reserve to his heavy Southern drawl. "Thank -- thank you. You -- was expectin' me? Cuz I weren't hardly expectin' to /come/ but I --" His brows crease, very faintly. "Got questions. Only but I ain't even real sure where to start with 'em." "Miss Leone. Neve, if you're comfortable using my given name." Neve visibly hesitates before extending her hand towards him to offer a handshake. In the meantime, her smile has grown roots, secure and unlikely to fade again. She's found her stride, possibly reassured by the southern man's civility. "We expected that you might be curious about the work done here. Some of our staff didn't think you /would/ visit but..." Here the receptionist slips into the conversation. Unlike Neve, /she/ is grinning and there's a merry mischievious twinkle in the eyes she has raised to the pair. "/Some/ of us hoped you would. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Holland." "Ah...this is Krystal, Mr. Holland. She's been with us since Atlanta. Could you let my father know that I'll be occupied for the next ltitle while, Krystal? If you have question, Mr. Holland, I'd be happy to answer them as best I can and give you a tour?" Neve cocks her head at Jax, her eyebrows lifting. Jax's smile gets just a little bit more /fixed/ at the repetition of his name, but it eases again a little warmer as he extends a rather fiercely /hot/ hand for a firm shake. "Please, it's just Jax. Mr. Holland is --" There's a tiny flicker of tension, a small twitch in his scarred cheek, but it slips back again into simple amusement soon after: "-- my dad. Mr. Zedner if you /gotta/, I know Holland-Zedner's kinda a mouthful." He gives his smile to the receptionist, too, blush deepening somewhat. "An' hi, Krystal. You -- too. I jus', I been seein' the ads, an'. I mean I gotta be up front, /I'm/ plenty happy bein' who I am. I jus', I got a -- a friend," he says with a faint troubled look ruffling his smile, "who was thinkin' about --" His hand flutters around their surroundings. "So I kinda wanted to come see. What kinda hands they'd be in." In contrast, Neve's hand is chilly--which makes the shock of heat in his grip that much more startling. Her fingers twitch but the shake after that is as they always are in the business world. Two short shakes and a release, before she clasps her hands together. "Mr. Zedner? That's...oh." Her chin drops as she thinks, eyes downcast. What follows is a murmur: "Of course, Micah Zedner." Then, brighter, "My apologies, sir. Jax. Of course you'd want to see what sort of place this is, especially with a friend involved. We've had more than a few come in for that same reason...mutants and non-mutants alike. If you'll follow me? Krystal...let my father know, please." Krystal's grin draws to dimpled proportions and she twiddles her fingers at Jax in a little good-bye wave before reaching for the phone on the desk. Neve raises a hand as well, but this is to beckon Jax along after her in the direction of that bank of doors leading into smaller rooms. "We can have a seat and you can ask whatever you'd like. Would you like something to drink while we speak?" "M'husband," Jax agrees, cheeks reddening again reflexively at the identification of Micah and his thumb curling in to brush against the ring adorning his left ring finger -- a fiery-bright schiller sunstone cradled in a setting of short rays on a white-gold band. His teeth wiggle at his lip ring for a brief moment after Neve's murmur in just a small trace of awkward but this restless fidget ceases when she brightens again. He trails along behind Neve, and though the sunglasses shade his gaze it's evident that he's been slightly distracted with more looking-around because it takes him a moment to focus his attention back on her and answer the question. "Oh! Um -- do you got any juice, mi -- Neve. Jus'. I don't know cranberry or orange or -- somethin'. Would be nice. How long have y'all been open here?" The little room that Jax is led to has no windows but it boasts the same warm lighting as the atrium and a seating arrangement that is more parlor-like than proper meeting room. Two matching upholstered chairs sit at slight angles to each other, facing a coffee table with a lace runner and a vase of fresh flowers. Bookshelves carry an eclectic mix of psych texts, Grisham thrillers and old Louis L'Amour Westerns. The only "clinical" piece of furniture is a file cabinet and even that's been clad in faux maple to give it a warmer cast. Before closing the door behind them, Neve pokes her head through the door to call to Krystal, "And bring in some orange juice, please!" That dealt with, she moves towards one of the chairs to settle herself. "This is one of our counselling rooms," she explains once seated. "I believe we've closing on our one month anniversary now. We thought about holding a grand opening but in the end decided that potential clients might prefer a more discreet presence." "Most likely, yeah. I mean, place like this kinda -- paints a target on everyone, I know. I work down at the Mendel Clinic an' -- tryin' to keep people's privacy's been such a huge thing, right? 'specially once y'start gettin' folks outside protestin' --" Jax's head shakes with a small rueful cast to his smile as he moves to shed his messenger bag and take the chair opposite Neve. "'course then the downside is s'harder to /attract/ clients without wider -- y'know. Notice. Have you /had/ a lot of -- interest here yet?" His head turns slightly as his eye sweeps the room. "What kinda couselling?" "I believe the Mendel Clinic's experiences were studied before the opening in Atlanta, yes. The challenges they faced. /You/ faced." Neve clasps her hands again, pinning them together and leaning to rest an elbow on the arm of the chair. It is a casual, comfortable posture she adopts. "I don't believe our operators have had a moment to breathe, on the phones. There have been fewer walk-ins than calls, of course, but still there has been considerable interest. Not all of it positive but that's to be expected. We offer..." She breaks off there as the Krystal comes sweeping through the door, a tray in hand. On it, a glass pitcher of orange juice and two glasses. "Your juice! I let Dr. Leone know you'd be late, Neve," she says as she places the tray on the table. "Enjoy!" The receptionist then flashes a smile at Jax and is gone as quickly as she'd appeared--and she quietly closes the door behind her, too. Neve unfolds and shifts forward to chair's edge to pour. "We offer a variety of different therapies. We have support groups for those who just need to speak about their experiences, and be around others like them, who understand what it's like to not feel comfortable in your own skin. We have groups as well for those moving through the process of integration, and one on one therapy to teach and treat a number of things...anger management, depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, self-harm, after care...you're no stranger, I think, to the toll it takes, being what we are in this world." She offers the glass. "Oh -- oh, thank you, miss." Jax's posture has seemed casual enough as well but he may be a good deal more tense than that lets on, judging by the small /start/ he gives when the door opens again. He returns Krystal's smile quickly, dipping his head once the juice is poured to nod his thanks to Neve and take the glass. He sips at the juice quietly as he considers her words, settling slowly back in his chair again. "Think it's this world that takes a toll, more'n who we are," he answers lightly once he finally lowers his juice, a tug at one side of his mouth pulling his smile a little lopsided. "S'pose changin' the world's harder'n moldin' yourself t'fit in it." His hand lifts, skimming fingers across the smooth top of his head. "But your website makes it sound like you can -- can /change/ us somehow, like --" He shakes his head uncertainly. "I mean, all the /talkin'/ therapy in the world ain't gonna make someone's skin less blue or stop me soakin' up sunlight, right?" "You're welcome." Neve scootches back in the chair and takes up her pose again, hands together, elbow leaning. All she needs now is to kick her sandals off and tuck her feet up to look completely at ease but...she doesn't do that. "The world doesn't like us very much," she says in agreement. "But many of us don't like ourselves either. You've said you're happy with who you are, Jax, but not everyone is. With that said though, we can't always do as some might prefer. Every client is assessed and given an honest assessment of their prospects for complete suppression, as part of a personalized care and action plan. We might able to help you transition from being fueled by sunlight. We might not. That would depend on the results of an assessment exam...mutant biology is complicated, as I'm sure you /also/ know. But if that's what you wanted we would explore it with you." There's a faint twitch in Jax's jaw, head tipped down to look down into his juice. He takes another sip, slow and lingering. "Ain't hardly a lotta ways to divorce one from the other yet, though, is there?" His voice is slow, too, just quiet, now. "When I lived down in the middle'a the Bible belt, I pretty much hated myself, too, for bein' gay. Was amazin' how much things changed when I moved somewhere I /weren't/ constantly bein' told it was wrong. Problem for mutants is, there /ain't/ hardly nowhere on earth where we're not constantly hated on. Kinda hard to get a untainted view of yourself in a world like that." His head lifts again, mirrored gaze focusing back on Neve. One finger rubs in an absent swipe at some of the condensation on the side of his glass. "Right, but /how/ would you do that? Suppression'a mutant powers -- I mean, folks have been /theorizin'/ about it for forever but I ain't never before seen nobody claim they could actually /do/ it. Not medically, nohow, I've known a couple /mutants/ who could do it. How would y'even do that, is it /safe/?" "No one lives in a vacuum. We have to do the best we can with what we have. And what we /do/ have..." Neve looks around--towards the door, the room's furnishings, up at the ceiling. "I think we've built something with a lot of potential, here. Potential to help. To improve lives." When she looks at Jax again, her lips have curled into a small smile. "I'm not the doctor that my father is, and it's a proprietary formula, so I can't speak to you of specifics. But I /am/ a patient, and I can assure you that the process is a little like having to treat yourself for diabetes. I was the guinea pig and thus far, I've suffered no ill effects. But really, it's usually only necessary in the most extreme cases, where the treatment /won't/ harm someone to suddenly have a part of their physiology turned down. Not everyone qualifies. Not everyone needs it. When it works..." Here her own expression suffers a shift. Until now it could be argued that she's been in interview mode. A very well-groomed interview mode, natural and at ease, but nonetheless. But here her gaze shifts from Jax again and goes distant. Thoughtful, maybe, or melancholy. Then her focus snaps back and she regains her smile. "When it works, it works very well. I no longer need to dream about finding some corner of the planet where I can hide myself away. I can be myself. The person I want to be." "Guinea pig." Jax echoes this term quiet and thoughtful, his head tipping back towards the ceiling. "Right. That sounds --" He doesn't actually finish this thought, just takes another sip of his juice. "So, what, like a drug you take to turn yourself /off/?" There's an uncertain furrow between his brows. "What about when it don't work?" "Frightening, I know," Neve finishes for him, tone gentle. "Worrying. We are an outpatient facility, Jax. We have turned applicants down for that method of treatment and we require full consent, and counselling /before/ it ever reaches that stage. What happened in those other facilities...that was...it..." Here, finally, words seem to get the better of the young woman. She trails off and lowers her chin again. A breath is taken and released slowly before she begins to speak. When she does, her eyes lift to seek out the lenses he wears before his own. Solemn and earnest, Neve says, "What happened there will not ever happen here. Our mission is to help those like me. People who...cannot accept what their genes have decided for them." "That --" Jax's lips twitch slightly, just a small thinner tug as he watches Neve's trailing-off. "Sounds real practiced an' all but it didn't actually answer m'question," he says with a hint of apology. "Do you got kids, Miss Neve?" "I'm sorry," Neve says, immediately. She lifts a hand, rubs fingers at the nape of her neck just beneath the hollow between spine and skull. "You asked what happens when it doesn't work. Thus far, we have yet to encounter a situation where it hasn't. But our vetting process is extremely strenuous and the cocktail in use has been effective where we have approved it." Another small breath. "I'm afraid I have not." Jax shakes his head just slightly, accepting the apology and dismissing it again just as quickly with a tiny touch of smile. It fades soon, his breath rushing out heavily as he lifts a hand to rub fingers beneath one lens of his glasses. "It's just, it kinda changes how you look at the world. S'a time in life y'wouldn't'a caught me dead anywhere near a place like this. 'cept maybe with a picket sign," he admits, a little wry and a little amused thought his fades back into just serious afterwards. "But then when you got another person dependin' on you for --" His nails click against the side of his glass. "Just feels sometimes like you'd do just about anything to keep 'em safe, y'know?" His lips press together thinner, and his voice is a little more distant with: "T'keep 'em happy --" He swallows this in a quick gulp of juice, running his other hand over his head again. His words lighten once more, a more normal conversational volume and back to just curious with his follow-up, "S'your father the one that /maked/ this treatment?" "I imagine it does. To have that responsibility on your shoulders. Loving and looking after someone shouldn't be in conflict but sometimes I suppose they must be," she says quietly. No argument there. Neve gives every appearance of understanding and when he has finished what he had to say, shifted back into interview style again, she takes a moment before answering. The silence is filled with an adjustment in her chair, shifting weight from one hip to full seat, with one knee lifted over the other. Conventional conversation, /on/. "You would have to ask him, I'm afraid. That is such a small part of what we offer and I'm not familiar with all of the details. I'm sure he'd be happy to set up an appointment to speak with you." Jax presses his teeth down against his lower lip, but nods after a moment. "Think that might be good, yeah," he agrees, "schedulin' a time my husband an' I could. Talk t'him." His brows wrinkle, teeth wiggling at a lip ring briefly. "How long have /you/ been -- in --" His glass-holding hand lifts, gesturing with the half-empty juice glass around the room. "Counselling? Treatment? Here." Neve inclines her head in acknowledgement. "I'll speak to him about it. His schedule...he is very busy but I'm sure he'll make time for you. Especially with a child involved. He'll understand." But ah, another question! This one returns the smile full force to her face, dimples and crescented eyes on display. "You do cover a range of topics. If you'd like, I can give you a copy of my book on the way out. It talks about that. But it will be a year come October. Not so very long, I know, if one is interested in the long-term effects of my treatment. But signs are good so far." There's another small tug at the corner of Jax's mouth. "Yeah. Guess he would." His shoulders dip in a small slump, his hand lifting the glass to his mouth to slowly drain a good bit more of it. "Yeah. I'd be interested in readin' that, thanks. I jus' -- want a good picture of --" He downs the rest of the juice, smile returning to his face a little uncertainly. "Maybe I should stop pesterin' you with questions jus' now. Y'said somethin' about a tour --?" Her own smile flashes out, as if its warmth could bolster his. "You aren't pestering me. You're concerned and you have every right to be. Perhaps more so than most. Come on." Neve slides to the edge of the chair and stands. One hand lowers to gesture at the pitcher. "If you'd like to top yourself off first, I'll show you around and you can ask whatever else you'd like." Jackson nods, leaning forward in his chair to pour the glass full of orange juice again. He slides the strap of his messenger bag back over his head, standing as well once it is back in place. "Thank you, miss. I really do appreciate your time today, it's --" He hesitates, pulling in a slow breath before his smile strengthens. Just a little. "Helpful." "But not entirely reassuring?" Yes, Neve has made a note of that hesitation. Her question is a gentle one, a little nudge--but one he needn't answer if he doesn't feel like it. She's already crossing to the door to open it for him. Her smile is immaculate. "You're welcome, Jax. I /want/ to help. Here, if you turn to the right, we can start with the group session rooms. We've tried to make them as comfortable as possible. It's difficult enough finding the courage to speak up in a group, even if you know they all feel as you do..." Jax answers this question with a soft breathy laugh, a small shake of his head. "Reassurin' -- gosh. I don't think I've /had/ a day freed of worryin' some since I /become/ a father. God Himself could come down from heaven t'tell me somethin's good an' safe an' I'd still prob'ly kick the tires 'fore I let my pups get in." He lapses back into quiet after this, faintly crooked smile on his face as he followed Neve out for a lot less questioning and a lot more listening on his tour.