RP:Facing Your Fears

From HollowWiki

Summary - After sending a few letters to each other, Loravelle and Noah agree upon a time and place for their first therapeutic meeting. The young girl seems to have quite a few difficulties she wishes to address and Dr. Atwood understands that she’s going to be a long term patient.


Location - The Broken Barrel Inn in Rynvale.


Noah Atwood arrives at the Inn with at least a half hour to spare, mainly because he wishes to get there before his new patient and also because he’s always prompt. Despite the fact that he’s corresponded with Loravelle quite a bit in letters over the past week, he still has minimal to go on regarding this meeting. Thus far, all he knows is her name and that she’s a woman that will be wearing the color green. She hadn’t wanted to meet at all, least of all in a crowded setting. He ponders if she has some sort of social phobia, or perhaps she’s physically disabled. Noah strides over to Simon and after a very brief introduction, he’s directed to a table on the left side of the room. For now, he orders nothing more than a cup of coffee. There’s a window that allows light to filter in and Noah sets up his notebook, folders, quill, and inkwell, and he takes a seat to wait. He’s dressed professionally in a black slacks, a white button down dress shirt, a blue checkerboard tie, and a pair of leather loafers. If Loravelle doesn’t stand him up, she will find the doctor with an inquisitive look in his hazel eyes and a hand outstretched in appropriate greeting, “I’m so glad you could make it. I’m Dr. Noah Atwood… Would you like to order something, and then we can begin?”


To say Loravelle is anxious about this meeting just might be an understatement. Before she's even stepped through the Inn's door, her hands tremble. If anybody asked, she'd swear her blood runs ice cold, and her already pale skin, or what's visible of it at least, makes her sickly, waifish frame all the more sickly and waifish. She lingers just outside of the door for a few moments longer in order to gather herself, play her breathing and counting game. Inhale, exhale, list the five senses and tick off a certain amount of things she can feel with each one before stepping on in. Lora is a short, modestly dressed woman, covered from chin to ankle in layers of robes commonly seen in her homeland, all green. She did write that she'd wear green, right? The outermost layer is a light green shafu, embroidered simply with a floral pattern. Her lengthy hair, a dull and inky black, is swept up in the winged, liangbatou style she typically wore when not veiled, with nary a strand out of place. Floral pins styled to look like pink cyclamens decorate her hair with one small piece on either side of her head in effort to look symmetrical, though with her trembling fingers working to adjust one of them, they look just slightly lopsided. It's to the bar and Simon that the woman steps over toward first, head lowered toward the old barkeep to speak in a hushed tone. He pulls a face, likely due to not typically seeing her alone, but he not so subtly points out the Doctor with his index finger. Pale grey eyes follow said finger, and there he is. There he is. Her fingers clutch tight to her own notebook and ink-filled green 'pen' of sorts, one of many in a small collection she was gifted with its nib covered in a square of leather to prevent leaking. Her father was a doctor, so she anticipated something a bit more impersonal during this first encounter even if she didn't quite understand what psychiatry is. A mind healer, she gathered. One that required talking and vulnerabilities with a stranger... Perhaps it won't work out and she can return home, of course after apologizing for wasting his time. She adjusts her high white collar to ensure only hands and head are exposed, glances down at her plain and soft, black shoes. Bié dānxīn, she tells herself. Bié dānxīn. Do not worry. Loravelle isn't mute, but it wasn't unusual for her to feign such from time to time. Unfortunately for her, Noah very well might have been keeping an eye out for her and might have seen or potentially heard her speaking to Simon. “L-Lora,” she stammers as an introduction. Her voice is quiet, soft, what one might expect from a caregiver and servant like she once was. Despite her decade in Lithrydel, handshakes were still an oddity to her, but her hand extends to shake his all the same. Her skin is cold. Her hand trembles. Then her head shakes as she lets go, refusing his offer to order something for herself. With her stomach in knots already, food might not be wise to swallow. Instead she waits for an invitation to sit down, notebook and pen held in white-knuckled grip in front of her with both hands once more as if they might shield her from whatever is about to come.


(1-2) A sip of coffee is taken as the man idly scans each of the letters that his new patient has sent his way, as though he’s looking for clues into the mindset of the woman. She’s vague about why she needs to see a psychiatrist, but she’s not the first to be hesitant to see a doctor in this field. So many disregard mental health issues as a weakness and do not realize that the mind is fully capable of fracturing, much like a bone. Emotions are akin to blood. Thoughts are much like the actions of wielding a blade. Noah discerns from the letters that the patient dislikes social settings and that she realizes she needs help, despite the fact that she doesn’t bother to elaborate. The recess of his mind has a feeling that she won’t show up or that she will be late to their appointment, so it’s to his surprise when the young woman enters the establishment. Noah rises and his gaze pours over Loravelle, noting that she has worn green just like the letter had mentioned. She walks over to Simon and is then pointed in his direction and Noah offers a reassuring smile, hoping to put her at ease, “Please, join me.” An arm is extended to offer her a place to sit across the table from him, as they both take their seats.


(2-2) Noah waves the barmaid away when she nears their table, because Lora doesn’t seem to want anything and he feels inclined not to order, either. It would be rude to enjoy a muffin while working, wouldn’t it? For now, he’s content with his coffee. “So Lora… I’m relieved that you agreed to meet in person, because as I’ve said, it’s much easier to converse. I find that in letters, one cannot tell if something is said in anger or jest, and the last thing I’d want is to confuse or upset you.” He pauses and takes in her attire, as she’s covered from neck to ankles, and it’s a rather warm day in Rynvale. Does she suffer from a physical ailment? Perhaps she was the victim of an attack and feels that she must hide her skin? It’s difficult to get a read on this shy girl, so Noah tries a different tactic, “I want you to know that -everything- we discuss will remain between the two of us. I will not judge or betray you, nor will I force you to speak of anything that you declare off limits. I do hope you can grow to trust me, because I do want to help you and to assist you in overcoming the things that have led you to seek my counsel.” Noah’s gaze is focused on Lora’s face as he speaks, but he drops his eyes to a clean piece of parchment and reaches for his quill, “What was it that drove you to write me that first letter?”


(1-2) Loravelle :: Simon is given a quick, sidelong look before she obediently takes a seat in the chair the psychiatrist indicates. He may look busy, but she trusted that the old man would keep an ear open. Never once did she think she might find ‘protection’ or safety within the walls of a tavern and inn, but here the woman is, caught in a mix of discomfort and comfort. Noah’s smile is met with the ghost of one, with hardly a lift of the corners of Lora’s lips present. Her face isn’t set in a frown, but she does look somber. On instinct, after setting her notebook and pen down on the table before her, Loravelle touches the strand of jasper and gold prayer beads coiled around her right wrist like a bracelet instead of their proper home around her neck. Warlord Aramoth, grant me courage and strength.


(2-2) There’s a pang of guilt that passes over her as Noah speaks. She didn’t intend to converse much. His reassurances, while kind, don’t entirely put her nerves at ease. Her gaze lowers itself to her notebook the instant his lifts to meet hers, and it’s there that her grey eyes will likely remain. Eye contact with strangers, men in particular, put her on edge. But she's curious about this mind healer and what he might do. Her father is a doctor, but he dealt in medicines, not minds. Doctor Noah’s question has her opening her notebook to retrieve two sheets of paper which she carefully removes and turns so they’re right side up for Noah to read. They’re cautiously slid across the table to him. “These things,” is her voiced reply.

The top sheet is a numbered list of questions.

1. How do I let go of the past? 2. Is it okay to let customs from home go without feeling ashamed for doing so? Will I lose part of myself by letting those customs go? 3. How does one put themselves first without feeling selfish or guilty? 4. How do I do better at making and maintaining friendships? 5. Is it okay to not forgive someone and remove them from your life? Even if it’s a parent? 6. How do you forgive yourself for past actions that may have endangered others and yourself, even if they have forgiven you? 7. What conquerors stage fright or fear in crowded spaces? There is more that I fear. Please see the second list. 8. Is it okay to question my faith? What if I'm wrong? And finally, a pair of questions clearly recently added based on the different shade of ink: 9. What are the best ways to be a supportive partner? 10. How does one learn to trust themselves?

The second sheet lists several fears.

1. Mother. 2. Magic. 3. Most canines. 4. Sudden movement. 5. Speaking. 6. Disappointing my family. 7. Disappointing my partner. 8. Darkness. 9. Confined spaces. 10. Playing music or dancing in public. 11. Men. 12. Being alone. 13. Disobeying orders. 14. Being given orders. 15. Vampires. 16. Surprises. 17. Saying ‘no’. 18. Exposed skin. 19. Loose hair. 20. Nightmares.


(1-2) Noah isn’t sure how best to reassure Loravelle that she’s made the right choice in seeking out a therapist, because it seems that her nerves are growing more frayed with each passing second. She’s going to be a tricky case, he can already feel it in his gut. Still. He’s not one to back down from a difficult patient, it just means that they need more care. Patience is a virtue that Dr. Atwood has in spades, it seems. As the lists are passed his way, he reads the top twenty fears that Lora has written down and he nods at each one. She’s fearful of many things, linking a diagnosis with paranoia quite possible. Issues from her youth, predominantly involving her mother, seem to be what has caused all of these things to transpire throughout or later in her life. “Okay… It seems to me like you have an obsessive-compulsive type of disorder, along with paranoia and agoraphobia. Those are just science-y terms and don’t mean much, aside from classifying your condition! But, it will help me as a guide to treat you.” Lora seems to be praying on the beads that are worn about her wrist and he wonders if religion plays a factor, as well. Seeing that she wishes to avoid eye contact, Noah either stares at her left shoulder, his notes, or the long list of questions that have been set before him.


(2-2) “I believe that most of these questions will be answered in time, through therapy, and that you will apply the answers to your own life as you see fit. However, I will answer them to the best of my knowledge, to put you at ease.” Noah reads the list and decides to answer a few at a time as they all can be combined into categories, rather than listing them one by one. Lora may not wish to speak, but she seems capable of listening and Noah doesn’t mind switching the roles up for his patient. “You are a product of your past, Miss Lora, not a prisoner of it. In time you will let go of things that haunt you as new, good memories, fill that slot. In addition, it’s perfectly normal to adjust to different customs! I find that as the years go on and the realm evolves, it’s necessary to shift the way you dress or the things you do on a holiday. If things remain stagnant, life would be boring, wouldn’t it?” He pauses, “As for relationships, you need to remember that it takes -two- people to be in a relationship. That could be siblings, friends, romantic partners, mentors and students, co-workers, all different types. As long as you put your best foot forward and make a decent first impression, things should move smoothly. It’s an old adage, but it still rings true that you should treat others the way that you wish to be treated. If someone mistreats you, it’s understandable that you would break ties. It’s also alright to forgive others if they prove that they feel remorse.” Noah picks up his mug and takes a sip of his now cold coffee, his hazel eyes trained upon the paper, “Most won’t admit it, but they question their faith rather often. Myself? Every day! Experiences happen that will put those questions in your mind and it’s not as though anyone living has the answers, right? You’re simply being normal, human, by having these thoughts. Just as you are questioning if you can trust yourself! It depends on the day and if your heart and mind share the same wavelength. You’re being human.” The list of fears are eyed again and he takes his time in answering that last question, “There are many coping mechanisms that can help you with these fears. A few include breathing exercises, counting, tinkering with a lucky charm, natural herbs and medicinal treatments, group therapy, one on one therapy sessions, and of course, facing your fears in a controlled climate.” He’s not too fond of the latter, because he doesn’t think it’s wise to invite a vampire, darkness, a group of canines, or magic into his office. “Would you like to answer a few questions for me, now?” His tone is tender as he tries to coax Lora a little more out of her shell.


(1-2) Loravelle's brows knit at the names he uses to describe her problems. Even with the multitude of tongues that she knew how to speak, read, and write, those particular words weren't words she had much reason to know. She mouths them slowly to commit them to memory. While Noah continues speaking, going so far as to briefly answer her questions, she listens attentively. Though her gaze is in a clearly forced focus on the table instead of anywhere else, grey eyes lift momentarily with surprise at his comment about questioning faith every day. “You do?” They don't settle directly on his face for risk of eyes meeting, but just above the top of his head, with an occasional, risky shift downward toward his forehead's center. Her fingers remain on the strand of beads around her wrist to silently count them. The notion of being normal is reassuring, even if there were times she didn't believe it to be true. Ever curious and constantly full of questions, his answers only cause her to want to ask more, but Lora refrains from doing so. ...Though, she is paying for Noah's time, isn't she? The thought has her momentarily fluster and cease mentally counting her prayer beads, hands moving to pat the sides of her robes for a pocket that concealed coins. Relief washes over her at the feeling of a weighted pouch. Thank Sven, she didn't forget.


(2-2) “I have a counting and breathing game,” she murmurs then after recomposing herself. It doesn't always work. Perhaps playing her instruments was kind of like tinkering with a lucky charm, and the notion of facing fears in a controlled climate elicits a rare and brief, but bemused smile on the woman's lips. “My father is a doctor,” Lora decides to volunteer as well. It seemed like a harmless piece of information about her personal life to share with Noah. “He makes medicine for me.” Her hands fall to her lap then, instead of fidgeting with prayer beads while her eyes wander from the doctor's forehead to glance over at Simon the barkeep, her unintentional rock in this current situation. She owed the old man, even if he very clearly looked busy with other patrons. With it being Noah's turn to ask questions she frowns, but obediently nods. It is only fair, but Lora anticipated his questions wouldn't be handed over to her in the form of a numbered list that she could just write answers to and slide back, and she definitely can't pretend to be mute now. “I'll t-try,” she replies, mentally cursing herself for that stammer. Her fingers close into fists and flex out again a few times within her lap. “It's only fair.”


Noah realizes that Lora is slowly lowering her guard with the more that he talks, and it’s a relief. Treating a patient that mistrusts their doctor is nearly impossible, but after reading the lists that she provided, he understands her need to keep others at bay. Fear is an awful thing, because more often than not, it doesn’t have a face. Instinctually, a person's psyche is triggered and the body sends off warnings to raise its impenetrable walls. Loravelle will be a difficult case, but he’s fairly certain that they will find common ground and make socializing in the future easier for the girl. “It's wonderful that you are familiar with counting and breathing exercises! Do you feel that they help? Or do you feel that it’s mostly out of impulse that you -need- to focus on counting and breathing, otherwise the situation worsens?” He’s trying to see where her compulsions come into effect. The comment about her father being a doctor has Noah smiling, but he also wonders just what sort of medications the man is giving his daughter. Some of them can have bizarre side effects and with the mind, it’s tricky to find the correct combination. “What sort of medications are you on?” Noah thinks about where to steer the conversation as there are far too many questions in both of their minds, and getting to the root of these issues will take time. After Lora’s through with glancing at Simon and states that she is willing to answer some questions, Noah gently thrusts forth his first inquiry, “Why don’t you tell me a little about your childhood, Lora? Some fond memories you have, stories about your siblings, your school years, that sort of thing. Also, you’ve mentioned that your father is a doctor… Does your mother work, as well?” Starting at one’s upbringing is sometimes dangerous territory, but he’s hopeful that he may get to learn more about his new patient.


(1-2) If only she had one of those terrifying magic tricks that Mister Ernest Crane had, to magic the air around herself and the doctor so her words wouldn't be heard by others. Granted, everybody else in the inn around them wasn't paying much attention, save for subtle Simon, listening and working away because she asked him to before this visit happened. Her lover couldn't be here, and since he seemed to trust Simon with just about everything, it seemed the safest place to Lora in her hasty planning and decision-making to try a therapist out. The question Noah poses isn't answered right away. “...Yes. To both.” Sometimes it just felt good to count, others it felt mandatory, or she might crumble. She rephrases her thoughts. “I like counting so I can focus. Sometimes I feel like I have to or I might do something wrong.” Mention of her medicine suddenly feels like a very unwise decision on her part, and one of the hands in her lap instinctively clutches at her stomach, as if her small, splayed hand just might hold her insides in. “I have stomach pain,” she explains, vaguely, and unfortunately for her, his next question will lead directly into the reason for that. While fond memories existed from her childhood and later teens, she wonders if Noah only wanted to hear the bad memories.


(2-2) This would require more talking than she could do with a dry throat. It's only then that Lora decides to flag down a passing serving girl and ask for a pitcher of water and two of the stemless wine glasses she knew Simon kept behind that bar, which she knew were cleaner than the others, just in case Noah wanted water too. She might as well start divulging her life story to him while she waits for water, and after finding something else to keep her eyes fixated on – in this case now, Doctor Atwood's checkerboard patterned tie, she begins.“I was born in a country southwest of here that we called the South Shore in Common. It's mostly desert... Specifically the palace of the Grand Capital, just like all nine of my sisters. I'm the youngest.” Water and glasses are delivered then, so she takes a period of a pause to fall into old habits, to stand and pour a glass of water for Noah first, then herself, continuing while doing so and after she sat back down. “I started training for servitude within the palace at age ten. I learned to read, write and clean. I learned to play pipa in one of the music houses. My mother served in the Embroidery House. Father was an Imperial Physician until we were sent here. Mother didn't work. She went back home, recently...” Thank the gods for that. Fond memories? Lora had a handful of those. “Before all of my sisters entered the harem, my sister Yanwan and I would sneak out and get into the library. We hid under a shawl and ate halva, and we learned different tongues.” Lora typically wasn't one to brag, but she's proud of her grasp on a multitude of languages. “I know the most tongues out of anyone in my family.”


Noah doesn’t quite understand why wine glasses without stems are asked for, but he doesn’t voice any concerns. It’s his first time at this establishment and Lora seems to know the barkeep and the customs of this area. For all he knows, it’s normal to ask for such glasses when one is drinking water! “Thank you…” A sip of the water she poured is taken and he offers an encouraging smile. A note is scribbled when she mentions that it’s both out of necessity and as a coping mechanism, regarding her counting. “Stomach cramping can sometimes be caused by anxiety.” His attention is glued to the young woman and he finds himself intrigued by her story as he has traveled to places similar to where she hails from, yet never learned much about the inner scope of things that went on behind closed doors. “Nine sisters?” Noah’s eyes widen as he cannot imagine having ten children, all of them female! He jots down that Lora is the youngest of her siblings and he writes down the word ‘servitude’ and circles it several times. Perhaps that is where her fear of failure stems from, because it was ingrained in her at a young age to serve and please. Lora shares a fond memory of her and Yanwan rebelling and learning different languages and Noah chuckles, “I think it’s admirable of you to know so many languages!” She’s well learned but she has reservations about speaking with others, which sort of stumps him for the moment. “So, you enjoy reading and learning new things, I take it? Since you didn’t enter the harem and are living in these parts now… Are you still a servant to someone? Or are you in a new line of work?” The comment about her mother returning home is noted, but he leaves that alone, for now. There’s a story there and likely not fond memories, from what he’s gathered, and he doesn’t want to spook Lora in the middle of their session.


“...This isn't caused by anxiety,” she interrupts, but doesn't elaborate further. They're treading close to one of the many hearts of her issues, so Loravelle feels a lot more on edge. It's then that she resorts to her counting game. Deep inhale in... and Noah may notice her eyes wandering the immediate area surrounding them. Five things she can see. Simon. The doctor's tie. Her trembling fingers wrapped around her glass of water. The glass itself. A sweet waitress walking nearby that introduced herself to Lora as Jan once, who had the patience of a saint. Exhale, then inhale again. Four things she can touch. The table, the glass, her prayer beads, which she briefly touches, then her high, white collar to adjust it, unintentionally revealing scarred pale flesh. Claw marks, four jagged lines down the front of her throat. Three she can hear, well...Doctor Atwood's voice, some couple a table or two away bickering, not the sound of her own heart pounding, but she wants to think she can. Another breath, two things Lora can smell. Her perfume. Cedarwood. Someone ordered some kind of fish dish that has her crinkling her nose at its aroma. And the final breath, one thing she can taste. Her water of course, and she empties her glass while listening to Noah's questions. “I do...I like reading,” she nods. “Y-yes, nine sisters... Four of them live here with me and their children. The other five stayed behind. I'm free now, but...” Her hand gestures to the pitcher and his glass that she poured. “Old habits.” Did she work now, really? Was essentially being the Rogue Guild's accountant a job or more of a hobby? Or just assisting her dear one? There was her music, too... “I play music for money sometimes,” she murmurs. “I play pipa and sing. I know how to dance.” A pause follows, in which Lora almost makes a face at her words. This isn't a job interview. Without much else to say, she falls silent again. Pours herself another glass of water.


The doctor leans forward and watches Loravelle look around the room as she goes through the exercise in which to ward off a panic attack. Her breathing seems to improve once she gets to sipping at her water and he wonders which question it was that triggered that reaction. A glance at his notes reveals that mention of her stomach cramps and her mother seem to be the biggest issues at hand, and he’s unsure how to counter those questions yet still obtain an answer. Nothing needs to be solved during this first meeting, he’s just hopeful that Lora will grow to trust him and work hard to show herself that she can be a fully functional being that bests her mental health issues. Leaning back, Noah eyes the girl's attire and listens to her say that she plays music for money. Is she homeless? The thought hasn’t struck him until now and he clears his throat before asking, “Do you live with one of your sisters or another family member? Perhaps you rent a place with a roommate? Or are you on your own?” If she’s living in a homeless shelter or in a back alley he will be sure to find some sort of affordable housing for his patient, so that she’s safe. However, she looks immaculate in appearance and he doubts this is the case. “I enjoy music… It’s a wonderful way to release pent up anger or sadness, I find. I don’t play any instruments, but I enjoy listening because it helps to clear my mind. Some people enjoy writing in a diary or painting, whereas others volunteer at a church or animal shelter. I’m glad that you have reading and playing pipa as your outlet.” Noah pauses to go over his notes again before looking at Lora’s shoulder, so that she won’t be embarrassed by eye contact. The scars are within his line of sight but he doesn’t comment on them. Should she wish to speak of them, she will do so when she’s comfortable. “I can recommend some herbal supplements that you can try to help with anxiety and sleep. I’d also recommend weekly visits, if you wish to continue therapy. I do have a little homework for you before we meet again… I want you to write a letter to yourself about how you feel at the moment you are writing the letter. Include your fears, questions about life, goals in therapy, dreams that you want to accomplish, and where you see yourself in five years. Mail that letter to me, and trust that I will -not- open it or read it. A year from the date I receive it is when you will write another letter and we will compare them together, okay? Because I truly believe that I can and -will- help you to overcome these fears and other issues you are having.” Speaking of issues, he glances at the list, “Choose the top three issues that you wish to work on most, and pick one of the questions that you most want answered. We will start there at our next session.”


“I live with my family in Gualon. ...Father owns the building now. My sisters, nieces, nephews, grandmother, a few aunts and uncles, cousins and their children... Everyone that survived the ship.” Realizing how foolish she must sound, a body of water and miles away from her family's second home unattended has her timidly over-explain herself. “Traditionally, I wouldn't be allowed to leave the house without someone else, but Father has allowed it since we were sent here. Lithrydel is...different.” In a way she isn't unattended, given her familiarity with Simon. He isn't the man she'd prefer shadowing her, but Lora will take what she can get, given the circumstances. This is easier to discuss, so she finds herself speaking a little more freely. “I lived on my own for a while because I was curious, but I don't think I'd like to try that again.” Music is one of those topics that seems to brighten the woman's features, turning the anxious, doom and gloom expression into something a little more open. “I sing, write music, and play better than I speak. It's easier.” Even with the multitude of tongues she knows, which has her feeling silly once more. She decides to volunteer more information. “I write hymns and ballads. Love songs are my favorite.” Grey eyes narrow with some concern as the doctor looks to her shoulder, and on instinct she wonders if somehow her robes might have slipped, despite their sturdy fastenings. She reaches a hand to touch the spot where his gaze settles, finding her fingertips touch cloth and not bare skin. Thank Sven for that. “Weekly visits?” Her expression shifts to one of alarm. Surely he can't expect weekly visits. Can she brave this alone? Her sisters don't have time to accompany her, nor her father, and any of the rogues might think it silly. Especially... The woman's shoulders sag a little.


“I'll do your homework and consider visiting again.” This doesn't seem like something she can really negotiate, but perhaps good fortune will be on her side in this case. Silent once more, she leans forward in her seat just enough to glance over the lists she provided to Noah, skimming them despite them being upside-down. From the list of fears, she gently taps the following three most pressing issues in her mind. Magic, most canines, even if that particular issue was in a way being resolved, and her finger hovers between 'disappointing my family' and 'disappointing my partner'. Instead of choosing one of the two, her finger ultimately settles on 'nightmares', as she believes that will naturally flow into the others with time. As for her questions, she selects the last one: How does one learn to trust themselves? It's only then that her gaze lifts, grey eyes settling very briefly upon hazel, but leaping away to one of the decorations covering the inn's walls. Payment, she remembers, and fusses with a pocket concealed in her robes to give a drawstring bag of gold coins to the doctor. “I don't know your price, but you have shown me a kindness and patience that I do not deserve. Thank you, Doctor Atwood.” As she tended to do with some strangers, if Lora managed to remember, she removes one of the silk pink cyclamen pins in her hair and places that atop the small purse as well. With that out of the way, she gathers her pen and notebook, both unused and more tools for distraction for her if necessary, and waits for Noah to dismiss her.


Noah is charmed by Lora’s admission of her love for music, and he smiles encouragingly. It helps to pull her out of her shell when she speaks of things she loves, and so he remains a patient and enthusiastic listener throughout their visit. The woman grows worried when he mentions weekly visits and Noah gnaws on his cheek and breaks one of the cardinal rules, “Perhaps we can space the visits out a little more? Would you feel more comfortable with meeting every two weeks?” He is the doctor and she is the patient, yet he finds himself bending to her will, if only because she has some obvious mental health issues that he knows he can treat. Most of his patients are easily treated and their states aren’t all that complex, but Loravelle is intriguing and he doesn’t want to scare off someone that needs his help. He knows that meeting, even in this public place, has been difficult on her and he respects her input on her therapy. “That’s quite a household! I cannot imagine living with that many people for an extended period of time.” The doctor lives with an old woman that he views as his grandmother and his dog, Buddy, an aging golden retriever. “Alright. Nightmares, fear of canines, and magic…” He jots the three fears down and smiles as Lora speaks about how she doesn’t travel anywhere unchaperoned. His smile is genuine when he lifts his gaze, “I think that we come from a very similar place, perhaps? At least our society's work in a similar fashion. I find myself not quite understanding how different Lithrydel is, same as you. The women speak freely, travel on their own, and a few of them have jobs that are very masculine! It’s been a bit of a culture shock to me, so I can relate.” Internally, he knows he’s not supposed to reveal anything about himself, that he’s possibly blurring the doctor-patient lines. It just feels so refreshing speaking with someone who understands the social system and things that are proper. Noah lifts a brow when Lora drums up some payment and plucks a barrette from her hair, “Please, that’s not necessary. I find that first visits are a trial situation where you decide if we continue therapy or if we part ways. There’s no charge for today. But! I will take this…” He pockets the hair clip, because Gram will love it, and because he doesn’t want to offend Lora. “Hopefully, I will see you again… Either way, it was a pleasure to meet you.”


She wants to say no, that she would very, very much prefer writing only, but Loravelle thinks that might be pushing it. Besides, you don’t talk back to men. Once every two weeks seems less nerve-wracking, but not by much. She’ll take what she can get and nods slowly, with some obvious reluctance. “It’s all I’ve ever known,” in response to his comment about her home life. Surrounded by family, faith, and traditions. That building in Gualon was a bubble that resembled her true home as close as it could possibly get. The notion that she and Noah may be from a similar place has her intrigued, then, and she dares to be so bold as to give his face a good, long look. He didn’t possess monolidded eyes like the folks from her father’s side of the family, nor the dark and long hair found on both Mother and Father’s sides…and his clothes, which she peeks at briefly, they don’t match her homeland either. Perhaps he swapped out traditional clothing for what she and her family have dubbed ‘Lithrydel style’, since they all seemed to lack the creativity for a more interesting name. “Perhaps,” Lora nods. It’s interesting to hear someone that wasn’t a family member speak this way, and much like discussion of music, she’s coaxed just a little more out of her shell. “Even after a decade of living here, I haven’t really ventured away from the house until recently…A delayed culture shock.” A soft laugh follows, but fades quickly. Her jokes had a knack for never really landing. “It’s so strange how they,” a pause, in which her gaze settles momentarily on one of the serving girls that passes by, “…How they keep their hair unbound or unveiled, and they’re so brave to have their skin exposed.” Though she often shied away from such behavior, Lora found herself breaking decorum from time to time, and she confesses such. “I let someone that isn’t family touch my hair once, but we were alone in a room with only a few other people. …I swore too. It was…” she struggles to find the right word. It reminded her of the safety that came with being behind closed doors and out of sight, in the company of her sisters and the other women in the household. Liberating felt silly to use as a descriptor, but it was in a way. “I felt included, even without my family beside me.”


She falls silent then, feeling that she revealed more than a glimpse into her world and now she desperately wanted to shrink and disappear from sight. When Noah refuses her coins she frowns, initially believing that she may have been offensive, but after he takes the hair piece, Lora sets her notebook back down, then reaches out to take the coins back and pocket them once more. “I'll send you my homework soon,” she murmurs, carefully avoiding the comment about hoping to see her again. Words on paper would hopefully be enough. “And you, Doctor Atwood.” Bending at the waist in a quick, low bow, Lora straightens and quickly checks that she has collected all of her things before stepping outside and far away from The Broken Barrel. In her rush to vacate the building, her notebook is left behind. Within, if Noah collects the notebook and decides to read it, he’ll find the pages are filled with some sort of musical shorthand for jotting down notes, portions of verses in a handful of tongues with their respective scripts, and full songs written from start to finish. There isn’t anything particularly special about the notebook, save for one page with sketches of a lantern whose replicas now hang in Gualon’s garden path.