abrightboy | Voicemail (IC Contact Post) NEW

[There was no way he was going to talk about this in a public space, though at least it's an option. And his cabin would just make his mind wander more. He doesnt need to be looking at his domestic space right now, that would be the worst.]

If now isn't a good time, just let me know, but your office would probably be best.

Now's fine; I'll meet you there. Do you like coffee or tea?

If it's decaf, I'm fine with either.

[He had been avoiding caffeine altogether in port because it had made everything worse. Now that he was back on board it has subsided for the familiar feeling of being on a vessel with nowhere to go. He didn't really want to try so soon though.] I'll see you in a few minutes.

[Malcolm doesn't consume caffeine after mid morning, so he arrives with herbal tea - a ginger-chamolmile blend that Neal gifted him - and he's setting it out on the desk with two cups when Abel arrives, along with a plate of what are clearly homemade ginger snaps, though he didn't make them. He turns when he hears Abel approach and offers his hand to shake.] Hi. Malcolm Bright. Nice to meet you in person. Have a seat. Have some tea. [He moves around the desk to his chair and sits, opening a notebook.] What sorts of questions are you having trouble with?

[Abel had debated over taking some of the work he'd been doing on his own. It was embarrassing, how used the one workbook was, obviously having been abused and thrown and crushed in frustration. The letters he had written were left behind, because he'll if he's going to share that, but some of those pamphlets he'd grabbed go in with the banged up book into a folder.

Just because he brought them doesn't mean he has to show them anyways. It just felt odd, going to some kind of meeting unprepared.

He'll enter, sit, and maybe glance at the cookies. It'd be like a reward if he waited a minute to take one, at least say something first.] Same, I appreciate your availability. I wasn't- [prepared to do this, but here I am so why not?] Expecting such a short turn around. I can imagine you're pretty busy.

Um. Can I maybe ask about this first? I don't want to assume anything about what you're offering and I'm completely unfamiliar with- [talking about his problems, dealing with his problems, admitting he had them in the first place.] What the protocol is.

Malcolm smiles into his tea and takes a sip before looking back up at Abel.

"I'm decidedly not busy. Not with counseling, anyway. Let's just say most people here tend to be reluctant in regards to self-reflection and self-examination. Are... you an Inmate or a Warden?" he asks curiously.

That was at least the right thing to say. Abel had a lot of shame associated with his problems, but if he's working in it when no one else is? That puts him ahead and it might be the slightest tip at his ego that will make this less of a struggle. "I'm a warden. It wouldn't be fair to expect someone else to work on themselves if I didn't do that work too. But I can understand reluctance. It isn't at all comfortable."

"You're not wrong about that. Any of that, honestly. And the process is... not that complicated. Basically, we chat about what's on your mind and I might ask you questions to dive into things that it might help you to examine. And when I say 'examine', that could mean your motives or your thought process or the stories you tell yourself about something. Please keep in mind that those questions aren't about your current motives or thought processes or narratives being wrong so much as looking for opportunities where you can evolve yourself onto the path where you want to be. Does that make sense?" Malcolm asks.

Abel listens, but there is this tiny part of him that wants to just get up and leave. "I think I read something similar in my book. I can't fix anything without being honest with myself. It makes sense." And yet that means just, talking about what he hates about himself.

He'd rather talk to his father about politics.

"Accurate," Malcolm tells him, "but you don't have to get there on Day One. Trust takes time. We'll do better work when this becomes a safe space for you to share. In the meantime, we just talk." He sips his tea. "What's on your mind today?

He almost laughs, but he smiles instead, nodding. Trusting had gotten him in this seat, though he supposed the lack of any kind of social worker helping him reintegration would have as well without throwing everything else on. That was easier to talk about. It was practically normal, given his career.

"We just met, so you wouldn't know, but this ship is a very familiar setting to me. There are definitely very frustrating differences, but I'm used to the closed quarters, same thing every day, same faces. I don't think I realized how comforting that was until we made port." His hand finds his pants, quietly rubbing his fingers against the material as a distraction. "Six years in space, at war is definitely harder to just let go than I expected."

"At war?" Malcolm asks.

Abel isn't sure what to do with the feeling of mild frustration every time he mentions his war and no one knows what he's talking about. There isn't anything he can do about it, but it's still there. "It's a territory dispute that's gone on for over twenty-years. Humanity against alien bugs." That sums it up as plainly as he can. He's testing the waters of details, unsure if it even matters. "I was a Navigator for The Alliance. The pilot half of a two-manned short range Starfighter."

The past tense he's testing out, it feels wrong to say it that way, but perhaps it matters.

"Navigation sounds like an important job in space. I imagine a wrong calculation can set you pretty far off course," Malcolm supposes.

He shakes his head, "while yes, it definitely can, I wasn't navigating the Sleipnir, which is the vessel we were stationed on. Most of the situations I navigated in was short range. If you got lost there you shouldn't be navigating at all."

"Ah. Did you get into flying before you went to the war or did they place you there for the war?" Malcolm asks.

"No, I enlisted when I was eighteen and was placed in the program at the Academy. I already had an interest in engineering, and I used to work on my motorcycle for fun, it was a good fit." He is reminding himself not to brag.

"Each team is in charge of repairs and maintenance on the ship they are assigned, and I definitely know my way around an engine. It's much more complicated than a motorcycle, but it was my life, so...I guess I found it fun." Useful, proficient, praised. "I wanted to be there so that also helped."

"That's a handy skill. Did you sign up to work in the engine room here?" Malcolm asks curiously.

"The spaces were filled, though from what I've heard the engine room isn't so...technical. I probably would just get frustrated by it. Perhaps maintenance would be better, but I currently work in the Gym." It's good for him, he's sure. That and knowing what other people are able to do with their bodies if they show up in the gym is a good tactical move. See who can beat the shit out of him if given the chance. "It was one of the only forms of recreation we bad available on the Sleipnir so it's what I'm used to."

“As long as you enjoy what you’re doing,” Malcolm tells him. “What about your life back there? Do you have a partner waiting for you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Abel wasn't expecting the question, his expression shifting for a moment, a frown, something in his eyes that might be guilt, maybe frustration. "No. No one is waiting for me."

“So… what are you here for? Do you know what you want for your deal?” Malcolm asks.

This one is easier, he doesn't mind talking about it at all. "The crew on the Sleipnir, after I left they mutinied. They're due a court martial trial when they return from the Baten Kaitos system, and they deserve to win their trial. The commanding officers on board the ship will never hold a position of power again if I can succeed at this."

“What did they do?” Malcolm asks with interest.

He had only talked to Shaw about the actual truth of Project Thebes and he isn't comfortable yet, sharing details with anyone else. There was something rather special about their trauma dump that kind of made him feel a little less stupid for being so easily manipulated.

"Gross misconduct and abuse of power. Personally I dealt with Commander Cook more than Bering, but they're both deserving of what ever punishment they get."

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