Posted by Lieutenant Commander Janusz Korczak (Counselor) in Counselor’s Office - Cadet Taurean Seeks Therapy

Posted by Cadet Anders Taurean (Scientist) in Counselor’s Office - Cadet Taurean Seeks Therapy
After nearly two years in and out of doctor and counselor offices, Cadet Taurean couldn’t tell if that was where he felt most comfortable or if he just didn’t know how to talk to anybody else at this point. But those two years of tests and surgeries and therapy and more therapy, Anders found himself running out of words, thoughts even. It was unavoidable this time.

Realizing that he was standing just off to the side of the Counselor’s office, Anders let out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. He thanked all luck that, for once, the halls of the Challenger seemed empty enough to avoid other officers. It was as if every time he went to check in - be it the Counselor, CSO or doctor - Anders was caught in his own little world. Since his injury, since Lillian passed, the young Cadet found his mind wandering off into its own personal cosmos. Every time to this point, Anders would come to reality and find himself making eye contact with another member of the ship, only to play it off like a bad actor.

‘Okay, man, it’s not that bad. Just go, just go,’ he went from self-reassuring to self-pleading, and took another deep breath before pressing the door chime with a focused determination. ‘It’ll be quick and easy and then you’re ready for duty…’

Foolishly, Anders hoped that would make everything seem okay in an instant. It didn’t.

(Cadet Anders Taurean, Science Division)

An oddly accented voice sounded out from inside and “You may enter.” and the door slid open to reveal a space unlike any other on the ship.

The office was lit in a more subdued manner than the rest of the ship; with the light coming from wall lamps rather than the typical overhead lighting and giving a less harsh and much warmer glow. Multiple bookcases with glass enclosed shelves lined one wall, filled with copies and originals of many texts on many different subjects, and a quick glance would show multiple languages as well. The desk was set at an angle against the opposite wall to the door in the corner, allowing for a large open space in the middle. Here there was a couch and a few chairs, one of which sat in front of and facing away from the desk. Pictures hung on the walls, some were even old photographs. Each depicted either places, individuals, or groups of people, and many were in black and white.

Seated at the desk was a plain looking human male with brown hair and brown eyes. He average looking; the kind of person that would be lost in a crowd of more than four or five people. He wore the blue uniform of the Science and Medical Sections, and Lieutenant Commander pips showed on his collar. There was one distinguishing feature about the man, however. Actual glasses were perched on his nose. He looked up, and the very odd accent issued forth, as if multiple accents were vying for control. “Hello, Cadet. What can I do for you?”

Lt. Cmdr. Korczac, CNS

“Hi, Counselor, eh,” for some reason Anders lost his capacity to transfer words from tongue tip beyond the caverns of his mouth. Maybe it was the man’s competing accents or maybe that was just an easy excuse the cadet could cling to, “I’m just, checking in, you know. New cadet and all.”

He let silence fill the comfortable-by-design office, with an invasive, high-pitched mandolin riff playing at the top of his mind. In the depths of that mind came 20th-century basketball play-calls he would sink into as a teenager. Looking about the room with meaningless noise in his mind, Anders noted that the counselor seemed steeped in ephemera - paper books and printed photos and glasses - and just as quickly let those notes float from his head. Every so often one could run into such a person, and they somehow seemed more pleased with life than the digital-reliant humans of the 24th century.

Another second or two of that and the thought broke out, like a signal through static, and Anders realized he should probably introduce himself formally.

“Cadet Anders Taurean,” he said in almost a whisper. People often expressed shock at his soft, unassuming voice in contrast to his somewhat imposing physical framework. Loud and boisterous was not a setting available to this cadet.

With every utterance of his surname, Anders worried that whoever he spoke to would know him in some way. His father, DaJon, cut his teeth in the Dominion War, rising from Lt. Commander to Captain in the two years the war engulfed the Alpha Quadrant in flame and detritus. DaJon Taurean spent the final months of the war, and the following fourteen years, at the control of the USS Marmaromenos. The son, however, was entering the end of his sixth year in the Academy after taking a year off that hung over his record as the clouds of an endless ice storm. If someone didn’t know him for one reason, it was for the other. And the high profile didn’t sit right with the quieter, more academic Taurean.

No amount of counseling seemed to ease these discomforts, and this was visible in his eyes, which seemed unable to meet the Counselor’s own for more than a moment at a time.

(Cadet Anders Taurean, Science Division)