Addressing the Problem-Child

[Atticus Renshaw]

ONE YEAR PRIOR

Atticus Renshaw hadn't been taken to Bellefonte Academy by force. He didn't come in kicking and screaming. He'd come quickly and quietly, still a little stunned to understand what was happening to him. In just under a month, he had attempted suicide, been admitted to a specialty psychiatric hospital, become a yapping Chihuahua, and shipped off to some school for mutants. Mutant. That's what he was. It's why the therapy dogs pulled his mind from his body and into theirs. It had happened so suddenly. All of it. All of it, he blamed on the hormone replacements, prescribed by his doctor because he just so happened to be hitting puberty a little late for a boy. He was certain that was what triggered all of it. The suicidal thoughts, the self-harm, the... dog thing. So, they sent a recruiter from the school, and pretty much told him straight out that it was not an option to opt out. He went, without a fight, from the hospital to the school. It was his psychiatrist who put up a fight, really, insisting that he was too unstable to leave. Atticus left all the same.

To his dismay, it was not only dogs that pulled him in, but other animals. Small animals, mostly. House mice and squirrels. He found too, when he was feeling a little more experimental, that he could willingly meld his mind with the fauna around him. It did not thrill him. Rather, it made him feel like a freak, and it made him far too uncomfortable to be outside. His dorm room became his haven. He was handed a schedule as soon as he came into the academy, but it was nothing more than a piece of paper that saw nothing more than the bottom of his wastebasket.

Tonight, after a day of skipped classes and a seven hour session of The Sims 3, where he could make his ideal life come alive, he was ready to let his veins breath. That's what he called it, anyways. That's what it felt like, too. He laid a dark towel across his bed, and rolled onto his back on top of it. He twirled a small pen-knife between his fingers, watching the light from his lamp glint off of it. At his time at the academy, attending the occasional class and training session, and skipping the rest to isolate himself and read books or play video games or cut had worked out well for him. At least, until a faculty member from the academy showed up at his door to address him personally. Atticus had to admit to himself, he knew it was coming. He knew that his record would be stacking up with absences and failed assignments. If he refused to go to the meetings that his teachers had requested personally with him, they were smart enough to know that they had to catch him on his own time.

The teenager had been teasing his wrist with the knife, when the door to his room had opened. He'd left it foolishly unlocked. He might have been able to pretend that he wasn't there, if he had thought to lock it. Instead, his head lolled to the side, and his lackadaisical gaze met a small man's eyes. Atticus was left too indifferent to even bother dropping the knife. "Evening," he murmured without breaking eye contact with the dwarf.

[Guy LeGrange]

Guy loved and hated the sessions like this. He got the folder, got notice that he had to pick up some kind of problem child or what have you, and then he had to go and find a kid who'd decided that the mutant thing had messed up their entire life. The worst part was finding out that about a third to a half of the time, their fears were true. Nothing quite like telling a kid that they'd never quite be normal again, and that they certainly couldn't pursue that career in "X" that they'd been dreaming of since they were small.

Atticus Renshaw at least had it slightly better than some. He didn't seem to experience much in the way of pain, nor did had he attacked or killed any loved ones yet. Guy knew it wouldn't do anyone any good to draw comparisons though. People, especially mutant teenagers, were each different. Trick was figuring out which was which and kicking their butts into gear.

This one hadn't even showed up for his scheduled training session. That struck Guy as a little weird, since he usually let them schedule it themselves. More often then not, he'd find out about halfway through a semester that he'd been pulling some kid out of math for weeks. who wouldn't rather work on their powers then crunch numbers? Though Guy had learned not to say as much to the math teachers.

Often.

He'd sent the report in to the Headmaster and all, but he still figured he should probably drop by and visit the kid. From the sounds of it, nobody was directly approaching the guy. They had a counselor or something, but Guy was pretty sure she was new or intimidating or something. Easier to talk to someone who was smaller then you, less threatening that way.

"Is it?" said Guy, turning and looking. "Suppose so. Bit weird though, as we were supposed to meet at two in the afternoon," he raised his brows, looking up at the young man. Animal Possession meant that Guy was pretty much safe. Wasn't like there were attack dogs waiting around the corner. Thankfully they'd turned down that security measure. "Mind if I come in?" he asked, gesturing. He'd even stand out in the hallway till the student gave in, if he had to.

[Atticus Renshaw]

After initially taking in the man's appearance, Atticus didn't seem to think much of the dwarf. Nothing negative, nor positive. Appearances never put him off, and his parents had at least instilled a decent set of morals in him before he'd hit his teenage rampage. Judging others did not come easily to him. The man was a tad on the small side. Then again, so was Atticus. Not quite as small, obviously, but small for a boy his age. Judging himself was too easy. He still held his height, or lack thereof, against himself. He condemned himself for not eating enough vegetables as a child. From the looks of it, the man in front of him probably never had that choice.

"Is it?" the man asked, "Suppose so. Bit weird though, as we were supposed to meet at two in the afternoon". Atticus glanced over to the window, where the daylight was fading quickly. He said nothing in response to that prompting. Two in the afternoon sounded familiar, but then again, he was supposed to do a lot of things at a lot of different times. Anyone else could have just as easily harassed him for not showing up to This practice at 10, or That practice at 12:30. He hadn't done shit today, or the day before, and probably for the day before that.

When the dwarf asked to enter, a courtesy that surprised Atti, he nodded, "Yes, please come in, sir" came the polite and well-trained response of what could be described as 'a boy who was raised properly'. It wasn't fake, certainly. Whatever beef Atticus seemed to have, it was not with the school, that was evident. After his cordial invite, Atticus broke his gaze and sat up to wipe down his wrist and pen-knife on the towel beneath him. He tossed the knife onto the nearby desk, then looked back to the trainer, "I'm sorry about that," he offered. This, in contrast to his welcome, sounded fake. He wasn't sorry for what he did, in the slightest. Although some inkling of him was sorry that the stranger was put in a situation where he had to witness it.

[Guy LeGrange]

Politeness in the face of Guy's brusqueness? That was somewhat new. Then again, students did sometimes respond with some kind of reflexive manners whenever they spoke with Guy. Had something to do with his exuding authority or throwing them off base. Guy didn't let it break his stride as he walked into the room. He'd started to look, but motion from Atticus caught his attention. Wouldn't have been the first time that a student attempted to jump him, figuring that a dwarf would be one of the easiest staff members to take out.

Instead, he saw a towel and some kind of knife. He looked at the wrist for a very long moment, before looking up at the young man. "So, were you attempting to whittle a token for some lost love, or do we need to have one of those conversations?" he asked, raising his brows. Students had to know that the staff couldn't very well ignore behavior like this. If Guy even suspected it, and he certainly did now, then he'd have to report it in to his superiors. He was already reaching into his pocket, fingering his phone.

Yes, he'd definitely have to report this in, but that didn't mean he couldn't talk to the young man first, get all the facts. Erroneous reporting, good-willed though it might be, could be harmful. Not that Guy wouldn't fulfill his obligations anyway. He just felt he should respect the student enough to listen for a few moments.

[Atticus Renshaw]

Atticus was not at all nervous as the trainer entered his room. He seemed fairly calm, as if he'd been expecting this meeting to happen, right at this moment and in this way. While that was certainly not the case, Atti presented himself well. From his polite attitude and childlike looks, he didn't seem like the problem-child type, but looks could be deceiving. Even Atticus knew that.

"So, were you attempting to whittle a token for some lost love, or do we need to have one of those conversations?" The Man asked, and Atti shifted and crossed his arms on top of his knees as an immediate response, then uncrossed them immediately. His old therapist had always told him that crossing one's arms meant you were shutting out whoever was talking to you. He'd worked very hard to address that behavior in counseling and was astonished that he was reverting to it now. Atticus pondered over his response very carefully for nearly a whole minute of silence. There were hundreds of ways he could handle this situation. Sass, denial, anger, tears. But the look on the dwarf's face before him, whilst piercing on the surface, seemed to be one of some concern. That in itself was probably the most anyone had cared for him since he'd showed up at the academy with his bags and a hospital wristband still on his wrist.

To his own surprise, Atticus just said what came most naturally and honestly to him, "There's nothing you can say that I haven't heard. I had it down to once a week at the psych ward. It's just regression. A completely natural defense mechanism for my current life transition," he spouted off neutrally, most of it word for word from his therapist during a similar past encounter. Then, a more personal conclusion of his own, "This all just happened at a really shitty time."

At that time, Atticus had spoken more words to one man than he had in his entire time at Bellefonte Academy. It came a lot easier than expected, considering how much he isolated himself. He wasn't a loner at heart, and so once he'd started talking again, it was difficult to stop him, "And besides, if you don't mind me saying, sir, I know that isn't why you're here," he continued with abandon, "Someone sent you up here for the menial task of, well... Probably disciplining me for skipping out on classes. Or sending me to detention. Or whatever you do to the other freaks here when they act like rubbish." Atticus did not define what he meant by freak, whether it be self-harmer, or mutant. Both seemed equally monsterous at the moment to him.

[Guy LeGrange]

Guy's brows raised slightly as the young man prattled off an answer that sounded almost textbook. So he'd already gotten help for this? Then surely he'd realize that Guy would have to report this, and that it would have to be dealt with. Bellefonte had experts around to handle just this sort of thing, as they certainly didn't want to have students hurting themselves.

Guy's quiet remained while Atticus continued. Yeah, he'd heard those before, though he certainly wasn't going to say as much to the student. Nobody wanted to hear that their problems closely matched other people's, at least, not right away. "You honestly don't know why your trainer would come and find you after you skipped out on a training session?" Guy asked. "I wouldn't think that one was particularly hard to figure out. We take training pretty seriously here, since we don't want our students to go around using their powers willy-nilly and all."

Guy moved around the room, looking about for a place to sit for a while. "I could assign you detention, but if you're just going to skip that, it's rather pointless. I will point out that skipping classes is probably the stupidest thing that you could do while you're here. Also," Guy held up a finger, turning to Atticus, momentarily stopping the search for a seat, "I prefer dwarf, midget, or person of appropriate height instead of freak, thank you. And do you have somewhere for me to sit? Or am I going to have to perch on your desk like some kind of adorable kitschy ornament?"

[Atticus Renshaw]

Atticus took his chiding like a good student. Quietly, patiently. He wasn't the type to interrupt. He never had been. What had him nervous was the way the trainer looked around his room. He wasn't an especially private boy, nor did he have anything to hide. In fact, his room was especially bare of character. It was kept neat, no doubt. There was not so much as a sock peeking out of the top of a dresser drawer. It was his desk that showed the most of his character. On one side, a line of alphabetized CD's that ranged from ragtime piano collections to boy bands. On the other, an equally alphabetized line of Atti's choice video games that he had thought to bring with him. Laptop in the middle. Then of course, the pen-knife he had tossed onto the desk's surface as well. Atticus felt that it was an item that described him well. A story-writer in blood.

"... since we don't want our students to go around using their powers willy-nilly and all." This conclusion of Guy's made Atticus smile wistfully. He didn't use his power at all. Or at least, he tried not to. But he wasn't the type to make excuses for himself. It seemed easier to leave the trainer to make his assumptions, give him a slap on the wrist, and leave.

The boy actually blushed when his word choice was addressed. freak. He hadn't even considered that the man would take it that Atticus was aiming it at his dwarfism. "Sorry, sir. I hadn't meant that about... You aren't a freak," he clarified, his neutral voice wavering for the first time. Atticus tapped his desk chair with his foot from where he sat on the bed, "Feel free to sit at the desk." The desk where his pen-knife was. That made him nervous. Visibly nervous. He'd gone through hell and back making deals with the patients in the hospital in order to get ahold of it, and he found that he had become quite possessive of the item. He turned his wrist back over, wiping it again on the towel under him.

"Can you help me make the pain go away?" He probed after a moment. He was genuinely curious, but he hadn't bothered to talk to anyone about it since arriving. "From the powers, I mean. It makes me sick. Can you train that away?"

[Guy LeGrange]

"Don't worry about it: I didn't figure you were," said Guy, loading each word with sincerity and knowing. He had a very strong hunch he knew exactly what Atticus had been talking about: he'd heard that from so many. They often meant it too, and in Guy's opinion, often had reason to feel that way. Especially those who'd already had problems, which Guy started to think might be the case here.

He took the offered seat, adjusting to sit as comfortably as he could. His height didn't allow him complete comfort in most normal sized chairs, but he could adjust. Guy still managed to watch the young man as he wiped with the towel, remaining silent and stony while the young man worked it out.

"Some of that will go with time," he said, looking up to meet the young man's eyes. "Listen: if you're looking for someone to sit there and tell you it's all going to get better, you're better off talking to someone else. Being a mutant is damn hard, Atticus. Living usually is. But it's a hell of a lot better than not," Guy nodded, then looked back at Atticus. "If you train, there's a chance that you could get a better handle on your powers. Some people can work hard enough to completely ignore side effects: it happens. It doesn't happen as often as some of us would wish. Some people live with the drawbacks of their 'power,'" he actually raised his hand to make the air quotes, "every day. But it won't get better unless you try."

He paused for a moment. "Two things," he said, holding up the fingers, "one: you do realize I'm going to have to report what you've been doing. I'm required, and I'd do it even if you weren't. But I'm also here to help. And second," he held up the second finger, "my ability allows me to suppress powers for a limited time. So I can, temporarily, give you some relief, if you need it."

[Atticus Renshaw]

Watching as the small man clambered into his desk chair, Atticus felt a small amount of guilt. It was fairly clear that the man looked out of place in the looming black swivel chair, no larger than a child. A fairly disproportionate child. Atticus thought that maybe he ought have offered a seat on the bed instead, but he had to consider that the man would probably decline due to nature of recent activity that took place on it.

Atticus had to clear his throat anxiously as the man spoke, clearly off-put about his miniature speech about how living was better than not. He'd heard it a thousand times in the last few months. Right now, he wasn't so optimistic about the whole concept, especially if it meant not being able to walk through the streets with his friends or family without being forced into the mind of whatever four-legged beast crossed his path. Though, if what the trainer said was true, Atticus might come to handle his gift more adequately.

Atticus scowled as Guy Legrange told him how it was. He'd be reported. That meant counselors, therapists, spontaneous room checks. He was pretty sure it was for his own good, but nobody liked being told that they were going to get in trouble. Atti nodded reluctantly, "Yeah, so go ahead tell them," he murmured. He was clearly unhappy about the situation as a whole, but the boy at least seemed to understand that it had to happen. Atticus gestured towards the opened pen knife on the desk, "And while you're at it, take that too. I'd rather you take it than someone who's been told to come." His voice was sincere. Something in him was really flattered that the teacher had come on its own accord, or at least that was how the trainer had made it out. He wasn't particularly up for telling the trainer how much effort it had taken to come by that knife. He got the feeling that if he did, he'd leave Guy more concerned than he already was about Atticus's sanity.

"And I'll come to your training sessions, too, if you honestly mean what you're saying," Atticus concluded. The quick cave might have seemed like he was just trying to get rid of the trainer as quickly as possible, but the teen genuinely meant what he said, "But if you can't keep these goddamn house mice around the campus buildings from sucking me into their stupid food-focused brains, it's not worth the effort."

[Guy LeGrange]

Guy felt slightly abashed for having to report the young man. Only slightly though: he'd experienced this before, after all, and he knew where it could go. He couldn't help but get the feeling that Atticus had experienced it a few times, and that Guy's little lecture was just one of several. Which was precisely why Guy had followed it up with something a lot more specific.

He took the knife when offered, nodding. He could understand what Atticus said. Guy didn't do anything else with the knife for the moment, simply holding it and waiting while Atticus worked through the rest, responding. "In that case, we'll certainly see each other again, which means I'll be able to return this to you in person," He held up the knife. "Hopefully sooner rather than later, but whenever you think you're ready will be fine."

With that, Guy actually moved to slide it back into his pocket, patting it a few times. "Well, you do go into animals, and they've a tendency to notice things like that," he said, looking back up at Atticus. "Still, there are ways of getting around it. If nothing else, you can put in a request to get a more rodent-proof room. The Academy will help get you in a room that will make you comfortable: they're required for that matter. And like I said, I can give you some relief for limited bursts."

Guy nodded and then adjusted into the chair again, getting as comfortable as he could manage. "Now, do you have any other questions you'd like to ask? I promise to be as honest as I can, if that makes any difference."

[Atticus Renshaw]

Atticus watched as the man pocketed the knife, pondering whether or not he should have tried keeping and hiding it anyways. Although, this was a a teacher who seemed to be quite invested in him already. Maybe it was an idea worth humoring, trying to turn his life around and gain control of it again. From the way Guy Legrange spoke, he seemed optimistic. He even seemed to trust that one day, Atticus might be able to reclaim ownership of the pen knife, and maybe even use the other side of it. Of this, Atticus was not so confident. The temptation to cut was still there as he looked at the pocket into which the pen knife had disappeared. Other tools could be used. Razors, broken pencils, staples, anything sharp. Still, Atticus felt an even stronger urge to keep himself from caving to the need.

"Well, first, I'm curious as to who I'm speaking to. I know that you're at trainer, and not much else. You probably already know that my name is Atticus, but I don't know your name." He started, once Guy had encouraged him to ask any more questions. It only seemed fair that Atticus knew the name of the trainer who, in the course of five minutes, had somehow talked him out of his pen knife and into attending a training session. "And second, are you here because you want to be here? Remember, you said that you'd be honest." That was a concept that mattered a lot to Atticus, and it would show through his tone how seriously he had meant that question. Too many times as a child, he was attended to by counselors, social workers, foster parents, and not because they wanted to. There was something humiliating about that--having attention paid to you because someone was told to. Someone was told to, and they had to drag themselves over to you and do their best not to seem indifferent. With Guy Legrange, Atticus could imagine that it went something like that. With hundreds of students, Atticus realized he was nothing new, or nothing special. But it felt nice to think he might be.

[Guy LeGrange]

"Ah, forgot the introduction thing. I blame the knife," said Guy, tapping his pocket. He took a breath, letting it out slowly before continuing, buying himself a few more seconds to ready himself. "My name's Guy Legrange, and I've been working here as a trainer for quite a while now. Trained here myself, even. You can probably ask around to hear stories about me: quite a few of them are even true."

He paused then to consider the next question, tapping his fingers against his leg again. "Some," he said, nodding. "I don't particularly like having these conversations with students, and I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I've had to confiscate something from someone and give them the 'life's worth living' lecture. They assigned you to me though, and that makes you my responsibility on some level. I'm not a fan of students ending up falling through the cracks, regardless of whether I know them or not.'

Another pause, Guy tapping his fingers as if to check if there was anything else in there that needed saying. It was already probably more of an answer then Atticus had expected. "I will smack you around and lecture you if that's what it's going to take to get you in a training room and stop looking for other ways out. I'm not going to sit here and claim I understand everything you're going through, because I'm not you. I do know that you can get through it, and that there are people who will help you. I'm just one of them."

There, that sounded about right. He'd given variations of that talk before too, but he always stopped to think, to make sure that he talked to the student and not the overly familiar problem. Each face and the mind behind it was just a little different, after all.

[Atticus Renshaw]

"Ah, forgot the introduction thing. I blame the knife," Internally, Atticus laughed. A knife for a great icebreaker--just ask a mugger. Although the teenager could understand how introductions had been bypassed given the circumstances. When he did get a name, Guy Legrange, Atticus was sure to roll it over his mind a few times, to be sure he would not forget it. Although, Guy was a unique man. Atticus was sure not to forget him anytime soon, his appearance especially.

When told that Guy had, in fact, been sent to chat with him, Atticus could not help but appear a little crestfallen. Still, Guy handled his answer tactfully enough that he hadn't lost the boy's attention. He almost seemed a bit humored that the trainer was threatening to 'smack him around' to get him back on track. The trainer's thoughtful tapping, however, did not go unnoticed. No expert at reading people, Atticus took it for nervousness at face value. For Mr. Legrange, this was a lucky assumption, as Atticus was feeling his own share of anxiety over the current situation. He felt that at the very least, even if the trainer had been sent off to scold him, he seemed to care about his student's well-being in one way or another.

"Well, there'll be no smacking necessary. I'm usually pretty compliant as long as I'm asked nicely," he chuckled, emphasis put on the word 'usually'. The exclusions for this were if asked to stop cutting, stop playing video games, and stop drinking all of the milk within a five mile radius. "I'm a bit curious about these training sessions, too. Are they, like... Alone? I don't really like the idea of people watching me. Forgive the imagery, but when I collapse--and I do collapse--I feel like I might as well be slitting my wrists in front of a crowd. It's embarrassing." This was an odd sentiment coming from Atticus, who had never been a very shy child. He found that he was increasingly ashamed of his recently manifested powers. Just as much so as his cutting and suicide attempts.

[Guy LeGrange]

"I'll be the judge of how much smacking is necessary," drawled Guy, smiling a little more easily. This he could do: lead a student along with a more pleasant conversation, put them at their ease and hopefully get them to feel just a little bit better about their situation. That Atticus followed with questions only made things that much easier for the trainer.

"It depends," he replied. "Usually the first few sessions are completely alone, unless you need a target for your ability to work, then sometimes a student or another faculty member will volunteer. We want you to get comfortable with your ability in something like an ideal environment first. Then, we can worry about moving in front of a crowd. And we almost never put new or uncomfortable students in front of one," Guy paused for a moment, considering. "Unless, of course, we need to. With you though," he nodded, "that's very unlikely. Besides, your power isn't likely to be one where you'll need a crowd to operate correctly."

And yes, Guy had seen powers that required people watching, and the more people that watched, the better the reactions were. If it was one thing he'd learned in his time here: it was that you shouldn't count a power out. If you could think it, chances were that someone had been able to do it.

"If you'd like, we could pair you with someone with a similar power. Sometimes we do mentoring programs like that. But otherwise," Guy shrugged. That was probably more of an answer than Atticus had been expecting but, well, that was what Guy was endeavoring to provide here.

[Atticus Renshaw]

When Guy began to smile, Atticus was put more at ease. Guy seemed considerably more calm now, as well. It was a relief to him that his early training sessions could be one-on-one. After all, his power was probably better off without others around, considering that his human body was essentially rendered useless whilst using his ability. Anybody could do anything to his body while he wasn't in it, and that was a concept that really frightened him. There were students he'd heard of who could really do some damage to another human being. Meanwhile, Atticus sat there limply and unconscious while he possessed some rat. Needless to say, it was a little more than discouraging.

When the idea was proposed that he partner with someone with a similar ability, Atticus was quick to shake his head, "No offense, but I've still come to terms that I'm some kind of mutant, let alone that mutants are a thing that exist at all," he explained. He was sure that it was a familiar sentiment amongst the new students, particularly the older ones who had had their lives together before manifesting their ability.

"You know, I wanted to be a veterinarian before all of this, but now I'm not so sure. Do you have any idea what goes on in their heads? They're so clueless about what's happening to them," He said after a few long moments of silence. Atticus rose from his bed, turning to bundle up the towel that he'd been sitting on. He did so neatly, which seemed out of place for a kid with such an unorderly mind. At least, despite all of his faults, Atticus kept his room clean. "What do mutants do for their careers, anyway? Save lives?" He joked halfheartedly, but there was some inkling of curiosity in his question, "Take them?"