15th of Cylus, 721
It was a crazy office designed for a man to go mad. Everything in it was so saccharine, so false and unfit to the imperfection of the mortal spirit it made Peake feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t one particular thing but a cumulation of many. Firstly, there was this strange evenness and symmetricity to its design. It was a perfect square, not too big but whitewashed fully and cleaned so thoroughly even dust was inexistent. There were no windows save the door, which was placed directly behind Peake’s chair, making him feel uneasy and vulnerable. This uneasiness made him try to move the chair, at least a bit, and he found it was either glued, screwed or nailed in place. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t budge unless torn out from the pearly white tile. In front of him laid a bare desk, one as white as the walls, and a white, uncomfortable-looking chair behind it. There was nothing else in this room but that. No art, nothing sitting atop the desk, nothing at all and so nothing was out of place. Even the lighting, Peake checked, was as otherworldly as the room. It was a sort of light panel fused into the vertices of the instance, a sort of white, gleaming, steady line of light cracking through the corners. It was so intense the room was as bright as a sunny Saun noon. One of his fingers had went on to tap this mysterious light source and found it a viscous something or other he neither wanted to touch again nor disturb. It seemed alive, even if its light felt dead. Despite being Cylus, the room seemed heated somehow and yet not enough for him to depart with some layers of fur.
There were some strange people in Fensalir, and Peake was, apparently, to meet all of them soon enough. Here, in the psychologist’s office, the nobleman felt he, perhaps, didn’t need all this knowledge. Maybe it was best if he half-assed his doings for once, just skip this whole ordeal and just go home and fuck his wife, kiss his children and feast like a pig. There wasn’t a lot of mental hassle with this prospect, and soon enough he rose from and moved to the black door. It was so black in comparison to the room it seemed to swallow the light. It had certainly swallowed something: the knob, for it was missing. Peake stared at the flat door, somewhat confused. He knocked on it, and found it was so solid it seemed a wall had been built behind this exit. It was an illogical thought for an all-too-logical place.
“Hello?” he called out. His voice reverbed in the near empty room as if it didn’t matter. “Open the door, please.”
Maybe that dumb cow, the receptionist, hadn’t heard him yet. He banged again, and again, and again, and yet it seemed the sound was trapped inside just like he was. Peake thought he was dreaming, pinched his hand, and found it stung just like reality often did. What was this place?
“Listen, I’ve got to get going,” Peake spoke out loudly. “Let me out!”
He banged again, more strongly now. The brutish part of him – the biggest part, in truth – was taking over, and so his bangs soon became attempts to break the door down. He kicked, punched, and tried to ram it with his shoulder only to find it futile. A deep sense of dread was settling over him over the prospect of his strength, of his might, not being enough. All his life he knew, for all the things he failed, for all the mistakes he made, he always had his strength to rely on. Now, it seemed even that assumption was incorrect.
“I need to get out!” he called out into the nothingness. His voice was losing its character. “I need to go!”
Peake had had it by now, and so he moved to the patient’s chair and tried to tear it off the ground. He tugged, leveraged and pulled, and yet it felt as impossible as trying to lift a mountain. He then tried the desk and the doctor’s chair, but they too felt impossible to even budge. Even the cushions on those chairs felt solid like rock in hand. His next move consisted of his least favorite option: the strange light from the corner. He approached and dug his fingers into the gooey substance they were made of. It felt like snot, smelled of clay, and bled like fresh sausage. This blood began coating his fingers, dripping down his fingers into the whitewashed tiles. A smell of putrefaction began emanating from these lights as they died, Peake’s fat fingers digging their way past and tearing it from the corner. The nobleman felt like a coroner digging through rotten intestines. At last, he had scooped out enough substance to see on the other side. A careful brown eye looked through the gap and spotted those gleaming, burning red eyes, those eyes he had met in Andaris many arcs ago, those eyes that carried a guilt and a deep fear that truly disarmed him.
His legs froze, and arms fell, and his knees began to tremble as the door, solid shut until now, began buckling under the animalistic, monstrous growls of the Sesser, pounding and clawing on the other side of the door. The pounding was so furious and so violent the door, Peake knew, was to give at any moment, and here he was, unable to even move his eyes from that black abyss of a entrance. An entrance from the other side, and a prison from this one. This door contorted and flapped its hinges like slapped jelly. Finally, it broke, and Peake felt the urine running down his legs.
The coin dangled by its cord in front of his face with its pendular motion, the fireplace cackled gently and the wind whistled past just outside the windows. The cigar smoke rose up Peake’s face like mist gliding a frozen lake, and his arm pits felt warm, smelly and sticky. Kalina retracted the coin, leaned back on her chair, crossed her arms under her superb bosom, and gave Peake a suggestive, naughty smirk. She knew she had won.
“Okay,” Peake spoke slowly, his voice tied into knots. He tried to clear it. “I believe you now.”
“You do, hmm?” Kalina replied. For all her angelic beauty, she sure knew how to behave like a bad girl – and sound like one.
Peake puffed some smoke. He looked down and patted his pants and found them dry. “I thought I peed myself,” he confessed, scoffing.
“Thank the spirits you didn’t,” Kalina replied with a feminine giggle. “I’d hate to see a man like you with damp pants.”
“Depends on what kind of dampness, though,” Peake wise cracked. He leaned back as well and settled comfortably on the chair. The sexual tension between the two was so intense it felt unnatural to not be rolling down on the floor keeping warm together. “Do you always try to terrify everyone you hypnotize?”
“What you see during hypnosis I cannot control,” she replied professionally but warmly. “I can guide and offer instruction, but hypnosis is a process wherein a person is connected to their inner world – the Dreamscapes, as some circles refer to it. Everyone sees something different, but it most often revolves around unsolved or unmanaged emotions repressed by the person. Do you want to talk about what you saw?”
“Not really.”
“Come on,” Kalina insisted, propping her breasts up a little bit. “Wouldn’t you love to have me in your head?”
“I’ve already got you in my head, woman,” Peake replied, blowing some smoke. He was enjoying this, even if he was terrified out of his bones moments ago. “But I’d love to have you somewhere else.”
She tried to keep eye contact, to appear unbothered by this sexual energy Peake replied with. A blush came into her pale cheeks, and the doll was forced to look down, embarrassed. A faint, nervous giggle escaped her as she tried to wrestle her female nature with her deep sense of professionalism.
Peake scoffed to himself, then took the moment to look around the office. Much like every study he had visited on this trial, Kalina’s office was small, warm and cozy. Bookshelves formed most of the left wall, whilst every other wall was the hanging place of strange, abstract colorful art. A large window with the curtains drawn stood to Peake’s right, and a small fireplace gave some heat from the south-eastern corner. Peake’s cigar was giving the room a powerful aroma, and the smoke floated mindlessly and shapelessly around man and woman.
“Could you teach me to hypnotize?” Peake asked at last.
“Oh,” Kalina exclaimed. She seemed confused by this sudden twist in conversation. “It requires a lot of training for what it offers. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason,” Peake lied. He thought about it, shook his head, and retracted his words. “Well, there is. I’ve told you I’m managing Glynt’s accounts, and I’m planning on running a, er… diagnosis on his employees. Maybe motivate them if I find it needed.”
“I’m not sure hypnosis is the answer for motivation. It’s just one tool between many for the sake of personal growth and emotional healing. Therapy takes many arcs and it’s just not practical for your intents.”
“What do you recommend?”
“I’m still unsure of what you’re looking for,” Kalina confessed. “Is it leadership advice?”
“More or less,” Peake pondered. He tried to gesture with his hands, as if that would make his reasons clearer. “I know how to lead. I just don’t know, ugh… how to approach it.”
“Mhm,” she hummed. Her blue eyes flew up on the ceiling, and a finger tapped rhythmically at her shoulder. “Well, the literature suggests meaning as the source of most positive motivations.”
“Meaning? What do you mean?”
“Yes, the pursuit of meaningful action. It used to be all the rage arcs ago, mostly in Viden’s research circles. It’s basically an attempt to make individuals engage in sacrificial action for the sake of meaning, or goods to be gained later on because of that sacrifice. It’s a complicated matter, and very hard to pinpoint. Or explain.”
“How is meaning pursued?”
“Well, the literature states a set goal is the first step. Usually, that goal is bigger than the individual and requires some sacrifice in order to be obtained. For example, a man trying to become an accountant,” Kalina winked at him, “for a group of grisly people must figure out a way to befriend them, motivate them or analyze them in order to further his goal as an accountant. That pursuit requires knowledge and a slight adjustment in the way of being, and so this whole process gives meaning to this accountant.”
“How can this accountant then reproduce the process in those grisly men?”
“It begins much like a psychologist would do: with a careful, quasi-objective observation of the patient. The payment of attention, so to speak, and the building of trust between psychologist and patient is what really starts the process. Trust is the basic requirement for therapy to begin. Once trust is established between the accountant and those grisly men, it would be for the accountant’s interest to find a way to try to motivate the pursuit of a noble goal in those grisly men.”
“And that would accomplish what the accountant has set to do?” Peake asked, puffing smoke.
“That I cannot answer,” Kalina replied, apologetic. “Each person has different points of view and different values, especially in the mercenary circle. The pursuit of meaning can be found in both constructive and destructive action, and so it much depends on the personality matrix of each individual.” Pause. “Meaning could be found in trying to derail the accountant in the same manner it can be found in an attempt to help him, even if
the former is statistically more rare.”
“Is there a way to psychologically evaluate individuals?”
“There exist a number of tests to determine a person’s values and the like, yes,” Kalina explained. She obviously knew what she talked about. “I’d suggest a Beia-Kataro Personality Matrix Test, as it can gage personality predispositions quite accurately. It’s easy to fill out and it can give you quite the insight into what kind of people you’re dealing with.”
“I doubt they’d let me test them,” Peake confessed.
“It’s doubtful, yes. Mercenary types tend to be quite disagreeable to engage in such activities to begin with.”
“Any advice on that?”
“Offer them coin in return,” Kalina replied cleverly. That naughty smirk returned upon her red lips. “Then again, you can’t pay them to fill it out honestly. What you can do, which will be a much slower process, is to observe their behavior and fill out the test yourself according to what you’ve seen. It won’t give very precise results but it’s better than nothing.”
Peake thought about it. It was a faint, distant glimmer of a light but better than a shot in the darkness. ‘Half a gift is better than none’ he remembered. “I might just do that,” he agreed at last. “Where can I get one of those tests?”
“I can have a couple sent to the Mountain Pride Reserves for you, if you’d like,” Kalina answered. She was flirting again. “You’re already in my debt, no?”
“I am,” Peake replied. If she wanted to play, he’d give her play. He leaned forward. “And a little more might just tip me over.”
They locked eyes. Suddenly, it seemed Cylus was too cold to wander down the streets, and Peake’s legs felt lazy to make the long walk back. His body wanted to stay, and he wanted to stay as well. Surely he would be well taken care of here, in Kalina’s home. The image of those blazing red eyes during his hypnosis, however, lingered with him.
“Well, if you send them, I’ll make sure you’re paid, Kalina. Thank you for your hospitality, but I’ve got one more visit this afternoon.” Peake said, standing up. Kalina followed suit.
“No need. I owe a lot to the Reserves. Consider it a gift,” the ash blond said. She approached, her femininity so potent, her figure so appealing, and her eyes so naked…
“I’ll make sure you’re repaid in some other way, then,” he teased. Peake’s resolve felt weak. He puffed some smoke. “Thanks for your time.”
“Good luck, mister accountant. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.” She offered a delicate hand to him, which Peake shook gently. They locked eyes for a moment, then Peake let go, turned around, and left the way he came.
The Dragon patted his pants on his way out. Miraculously, they were still dry.