Posted by Commander Heathcliff Rinker (Chief of Psychiatry) in The Art of Psycho-therapy…Rinker meets the Elders....When the past doesn’t match the present… or the future

Posted by Fleet Captain Kelly Bordeaux (Commanding Officer) in The Art of Psycho-therapy…Rinker meets the Elders....When the past doesn’t match the present… or the future

Posted by Commander Heathcliff Rinker (Chief of Psychiatry) in The Art of Psycho-therapy…Rinker meets the Elders....When the past doesn’t match the present… or the future
Posted by… suppressed (5) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Ian paced outside the Brig waiting for Rinker. His body was being fueled at the moment by high octane emotions. The end of Jessa’s session with Rinker was brutal. He could not deny a part of his anger was with Jessa and her outburst towards Rinker. It was probably not uncommon for patients to lash out at their therapist but to Ian, Jessa not only crossed a line but obliterated it with photon torpedos. Even though he had apologized for the confrontation, it didn’t help to ease the embarrassment, Bordeaux felt about it.

The more he paced, the more he let his mind drift to all the other things that were pissing him off. The theological fascists of the Galactic Union, Jessa’s mother, and the people in the brig held the brunt of his anger. Ian had no idea if Rinker wanted to see all three Elders as a group or individually. He would leave that up to the counselor. He was only there to listen and try to glean any information out of the conversations about to be had to figure out first what was actually going on and second to try and understand how Jessa became the way she was. Glancing down at his wrist, Ian checked his watch again. Rinker was not late. Ian was just early.

Ian Bordeaux

“Hey Ian, what’s shaking?” Ian seemed far more agitated then he was familiar with.

“Hey Heathcliff,” Ian replied rubbing the back of his neck. “Just ready for all this to be over and a return to some sense of normalcy.” This was as close as Ian got to a counseling session in the five years he had been on the Altantis.

“It ain’t never going be the same for you again.” He suddenly had a pre-pubescent child who already hated him for no reason....

“You know Heathcliff,” he grimaced and patted the man on the shoulder, “you could candy coat that just a little bit.” Ian held up his index finger and thumb creating an almost imperceptible space between them. Bordeaux had always used humor to mask his true emotions. This was no exception. The moment of brevity soon evaporated at Ian turned his attention back to the Brig’s main entrance. Things were never going to be like they once were however if Ian had any chance of finding some peace for him and Jessa, the route was behind that door.

Rinker paused… “I could.” It sounded like he was going to say more but just didn’t.

“Yeah but you are just gonna rip that bandaid off without counting,” Ian countered with a slight smirk. He could have continued the light banter. Rinker was a likeable guy but that type of talk could be saved for a drink at another time.

Ian crossed his arms and looked at the door separating the two men for the three people they had come to see. “Do you think they are going to be any more help than Jessa has been?”

“Jessa has been incredibly productive in therapy months of progress in days… fantastic. What she has also been is less informative in mission intelligence, which I care less about.” He shrugged. “I’m not spying on her. My obligation is to do my best to make her better.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, Kel and I haven’t said it but thank you. I know you are gonna say it’s your job but to us it’s personal and we appreciate it.” In true male bonding, Ian ended the thank you. It was not that he couldn’t have said more. It was just men didn’t tend to go on for an hour when they could get the point across in two sentences.

Rinker gave a genuine smile. “Its is, and she is a pleasure.”

He looked to the door. “Now these guys, they aren’t my patients and I couldn’t care less about squeezing information out of them.”

“This probably will be an exercise in verbal sparring. I presume you will be recording these sessions and I imagine that these gentlemen are untrustworthy and perhaps have some sort of secondary weapons, perhaps pheromones, probably telepathic. I want to be monitored medically… I have taken the liberty of taking a neural inhibitor on the telepathic sections of my brain making me even less receptive than normal, but that is only a minor defense if they are truly powerful.”

“I have Dr. Shan monitoring us from sickbay. They have been taking scans randomized scans and so far nothing is abnormal except for when Jessa was placed in a cell down here. About two minutes in the cell and Jessa started to exhibits signs of distress. Bloody nose, crying…they called in the medics who found some residual traces of psychic telepathy but it faded.” Ian clearly didn’t understand exactly what he was reading except for the basic definitions of the terms. “Bottom line is she is watching us like white on rice.”

He tapped his fingers on his leg. “They haven’t demonstrated that level of force, but who knows a Commander might seem worth the effort.”

Rinker

“Thank god Kelly didn’t give me that promotion last round then right,” Ian joked with a half-smirk. It was easy to see why people trusted Rinker. The counselor had a way of effortlessly blending humor into the serious. “So since I didn’t get the neural inhibitors that makes me the control. Just do me a favor and if you gotta sedate me because they brain jack me stab me in the left arm because I am right-handed.”

Ian Bordeaux

Rinker tilted his head, “Making me a commander, is kind of like giving a dog a medal. It looks cute on its neck, but you know damn well that he isn’t going to do anything with it.”

Dropping the humor, Ian became serious. “Okay so how do you want to do this? See them all at once or individually? I have read the security reports and the basic personality assessments from that counselor Dela Marx in your division. We will have the meeting recorded for review later. I think we should do the meet and greet with them in their cells. We have the firepower to put them down if they get frisky but it would be easier to just use anesthizine if we need to control or contain them.”

“OH, one at a time, I’m not letting them outnumber me.” He paused as he thought. “Although maybe a set would get them arguing....” He stared slightly off. “I’m not an interrogator, I’m a therapist. My understanding is when people are together they are harder to get to turn on each other. That’s why the first thing police do is separate them. This isn’t a therapy session to me, its a questioning. There is no confidentiality, no protections of that nature. I’ll make it clear....”

“Or don’t,” Ian said as they entered the Brig and looked at the three darkened doors each one holding an Elder behind it. “Hear me out for a second. Mardusk has had these guys under lockdown for the past few days. The big guy already read them their rights and offered legal council. They have refused. The way I see it unless they lawyer up or ask for one of those adjudicators, Jessa mentioned there is no expectation of privacy or confidentiality. We need answers so question away.” There was an iciness to Ian’s tone that rarely surfaced. Bordeaux’s anger was simmering just under the surface however, the man was smart enough to know Rinker would be able to get far more answers out of the Elder’s than he could at the moment. That is why Ian would remain silent and be a second set of eyes and ears to Rinker. “Do you have a choice between door number one, two, or three?”

He looked at Ian, “Send me to the nicest or most slimy of them…” Rinker was willing to see who was better with the word games.

Rinker

“Well according to your junior officer Ms. Marx, Cell one has Rogan, no last name,” he read off a PaDD the highlights of her report for review. Mr. Rogan seems to suffer from narcissism with sociopathing tendencies. Cell two has Elder Da Mu Unka San Zomeil but with a notation that we are not worthy to use his surname. Mr. Mu in Della’s opinion shows psychopathic tendencies. Ms. Marx hasn’t gotten to the Cell three and the female.” There was more information on Da Mu but if Rinker was going to see them individually they could review it later. Setting the PaDD down, Ian felt a headache coming on.

“Marx works pretty independently so I don’t necessarily read all her reports.” There was a Freudian theory that you don’t ever read reports because each dynamic was unique and when you knew too much you were artificially coloring the relationship and weren’t being a true ‘blank slate.’ “Give me the narcissistic one, they tend to think they are so much smarter than everyone else… maybe I can get him monologuing like an arch-villian in a movie.”

“It amazing that the isolation isn’t getting to any of them.”

“Does it make me a bad person to say I don’t really care,” Ian said in a neutral tone. “I am pretty sure they wouldn’t if the shoe was on the other foot.”

“Seems they are all… what does Jessa say…varpholes,” Ian shrugged before pointing at a door. “Open up cell one,” he commanded assuming a parade rest posture next to Rinker.

As the forcefield shifted from opaque to transparent, Ian and Rinker would get their first view of Rogan. The man was lounging on the ledge that served as both a seat and bunk in the cell with his hands interlocked and resting behind his head. One of his legs was bent with the knee pointing up at the ceiling with the other leg dangling off the edge of the seating ledge. The calm and carefree posture would have been more suited to a couch or hammock instead of a brig cell. “Della my dinner angel you are er,” Rogan said in a happy tone sitting up before realizing Ms. Marx was not his current guest. Sitting up, Rogan’s smile did not falter but his eyes seemed to flash from warm and friendly to murderous glare and then back again.

“You can continue, I can always take your order…” Rinker responded. He smiled deferentially. “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to do, but I try as befitting you.”

Maybe you could open the door and let me out, Rogan said reaching out and grabbing the man that spoke around the throat tightening his grip until the flesh went from pink to white to red. Rogan’s fingers around Rinker’s neck began to sink past the top layer and dug into the deeper tissue below cutting off any ability to breathe. A flicker of a grin toyed with the edges of Rogan’s mouth as he watched Rinker’s eyes bulge and the man beside him desperate to pry off the fingers slowly strangling his friend. Rogan held the man a second longer before flicking his wrist and dragging the man to the invisible wall between them. Slowly approaching the force field, Rogan leaned against it silently enjoying Rinker’s panic starting to build. It felt like an aphrodisiac of sorts knowing what would happen.

What is befitting me, Rogan began to speak again, would be for you to treat me like the god I am. Flicking his wrist, Rogan began to use his telekinetic ability to beat Rinker’s face on the force field as he continued to speak using the field as if it were a fist. You should be on your knees begging me for any triffing scrap I throw at you. You pompous varphole. Let’s see how humorous you are with every bone broken in your face. Releasing Rinker the man slid bonelessly to Rogan’s feet. Every bone in his face and skull fractured or shattered. Blood streaked the invisible field in thick globs and watery thin lines obscuring a clear view of how the man paid for his hubris. Unfortunately, this scene only played out in Rogan’s mind. The only indication of the fantasy playing out in Rogan’s head with the slightly tensing and flexing of his hand as he imagined strangling and beating Rinker. The brutal retribution would have to wait until they were free from the cell. Right now, Rogan needed to bond with them instead of breaking them.

“Well well I gotta say for the record,” Rogan moved from the ledge towards the door with a confident swagger. “If Della is your wife or wives,” he waggled his finger between Ian and Rinker, “she never said a thing about not being single.” Rogan punctuated the sentence with a wink at both men as his tone conveyed bravado and mirth. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Rogan crossed his arms loosely over his body and waited for one of the two men to speak. While his actions and words were calm and gregarious, his inner thoughts were a maelstrom of rage. One of the two men had to be Bordeaux. Rogan did not have a clue which one it was but he was about to find out. When he did, he would slaughter the other one for not dropping to their knees and begging forgiveness over the way the Elders had been treated for the past three days.

Ian Bordeaux

OOC: Okay that’s morbid.

OOC: Gotta find a way to make even the most rational person despise these guys and vote for spacing and not rehabilitation right?

There was a pause, not long… in fact very brief. He was collecting his thoughts perhaps to think of an avenue of attack. It was noticeable because of its short length, not long enough to be confusion, not so long to be premeditated thought for an average person… but for a sociopath… just right. Perhaps this Marx character had it going on.

Rinker chuckled.. “You’re funny,” He turned to Ian. “He’s funny… you didn’t tell me that.”

“I am a triffing riot when you get to know me,” Rogan let a soft smirk spread across his face. “Maybe with that dinner you promised you could get us a couple of ales, put on some sporting event,” he let his voice trail off as he eyed up Ian.

No you’re not.

“Unless of course, you two are a matched set and you aren’t coming down here to defend Della’s honor. Not judging here. Love comes in all shapes and forms. Doesn’t it handsome?” Rogan watched Rinker and Ian for any sign of emotion. Emotion meant attachment and attachment was something that could be twisted and tortured for advantage later.

And sexually-oriented for purpose of manipulation… Rinker looked at Ian for a moment. “I can do better. Maybe not younger… Nothing personal.” He was going to end his feeble attempts to put him off balance sexually. He’d have to try a different attack and with changes in plans came errors.

“I have yet to try the marriage thing… much less the multiple marriages. Am I’m certain that Della can make those types of choices without my input.” As he turned back to Rogan. “Good afternoon, I’m Heathcliff Rinker… Mr. Rogan, It’s Mr. Rogan, or is it Rogan something? I want to call you by your correct name and title… due honors and respect and all.” He paused.

You triffing smug varphole, Rogan replied mentally. “Well since we came here to be friends I say let’s stick with first names…Heathcliff.” Since Della was not Della Rinker, that bargaining chip was now of the table. Time to make nice with the man on the opposite side of Rogan’s jail. Moving from his leaning position against the wall, Rogan stood in front of Rinker appearing casual. “So what brings you down here for the visit…Heathcliff and who is your friend?” Rogan’s tone was friendly but the way his eyes narrowed slightly saying Rinker’s name showed Rogan was eager to understand the substance of the visit.

“I guess we are all friends. I’m on first names basis with you after a minute, and Della is your ‘darling’ and well my friend over there is ‘handsome.’” Rinker regretted that right after he said it. It wasn’t a gullible conclusion… he put the fact together too fast… perhaps so fast Rogan would figure it out.

“If we are throwing out nicknames I want Heartthrob,” Rogan countered. Rinker wasn’t a bad looking man and the man with him was ruggedly handsome however neither of them could match his looks. They needed to know and remember this fact even it was just friendly banter. Rogan would make any girl swoon with a look when he turned his smile on them. These two second rate cassanovas could have his scraps. This would not be the first time Rogan narcissism clouded his judgement nor the last.

“So again what brought Handsome and Heathcliff the Hammer down here to meet me?” Rogan could barely contain the smile on his face. The name Hammer fit the man talking. It was a such a play on words. Not only did it have a literary quality but the man was in no way a physical threat.

“Perhaps I found your story curious…” He smiled as seductively as he could manage… which was perhaps a 5 on a scale of one to 10… then paused for a moment… “But actually I hadn’t heard too much about you.” What was it called.. a neg… he never remember the new-fangled terms.

“Ask away,” Rogan spread his arms. “I am an open book.” Rogan felt his anger settling some. This was like toying with prey. All they had was Jessa and for all her simpering the kid was a product of the Galactic Union: devout, fanatical, and loyal. Rogan was all in knowing Jessa had not said a single thing to paint them in a bad light. How could she? Jessa was a product of enlightenment.

“All that being said, I’m coming to speak to you partially for the Elder Jessa. She really would like to speak to you, but there are some barriers and a chat between the two of us could go a long way in greasing the wheels for that…”

Rinker

The mention of Jessa’s name made Rogan stiffen. The edges of his eyes narrowed as Rogan momentarily exhibited laser focus on the alien officer addressing him. He held his breath for half a second trying to control the rage threatening to boil over the calm persona Rogan had been exuding. “She is Guardian Novar,” icy words spilled from Rogan’s lips. “You said you wanted to use correct titles. Hers is Guardian, not Elder. She is a child and does not have the experience or education to be an Elder or of my status.” So many questions ran through Rogan’s head however before they could be addressed, there was a situation that needed to be rectified. The stormy, roiling fury behind Rogan’s eyes dissipated and was replaced with a well-honed expression of worry and concern.

“Its important to get her title right, but not yours… you must be very modest.” Rinker spoke very slowly. “A noble trait.”

Rogan nodded listening to Rinker’s words. “Nobility and modesty is the hallmark of being an Elder. My job is to serve and protect. Jessa is mine to protect so it concerns me that I have not seen her. Tell me,” Rogan let his gaze settle on Rinker. The attempt was to show concern but it still retained a hint of aggression.

“Has she done something?” The inflection in his voice was well-rehearsed. “Please,” Rogan let a slight plea coat his tone. “She is just a kid. If she has done anything I beg you to remember that. In our society children are cherished, seen as a gift.” Walking up to the forcefield, Rogan placed his palm on it letting his mouth dip down into a frown. “She has to be scared out of her mind. I know the barrier between her and I and its you. If I could have just a minute with her…to let her know I am here for her and that things are going to be okay.” These people were soft. That would be their downfall. If they needed to see a distraught and worried parental figure, that is what Rogan would show them. Once he was out of this cage, Rogan would show the officers on this ship what it meant to have the power and use it.

Rogan

OOC: I give you full permission to make up whatever you want to gleen from this about Rogan. I assume Rinker would pick up on things and if you need to add to Rogan’s parts for Rinker to “notice things” feel free to add or change the post. As a psychologist, I think there are things Rinker would pick up on about human nature. If I left something out or did not expand enough add it in. I will run with whatever sparks your creativity. ~ Kate

OOC: Absolutely… I predict this will be very engaging… for me at least. Your writing is very detailed. There’s tons there I don’t have to make anything up. In fact there’s so much i have to ignore stuff.

Rinker hated playing the sucker. He could do it and pretty convincingly but he patience drew thin in about 20 minutes. Rogan was particularly slimy… he wondered if he could even make twenty. He was too over the top with his fake concern. He was almost reading from a script of terms that he thought would pull at the heart strings. “We feel the same way about children. Part of our concern is the last time she was even in the same room as you we had had some moderate medical issues. Could you help explain that? I would be really interested in trying to help her.. and as far as she’s concerned. Helping her means getting her back in contact with you and back on whatever you were supposed to be doing.” His statement had the value of being honest. Here’s a little line… swallow the bait… you arrogant ....

Rinker

A flash of shock spread over Rogan’s face, moving closer to the invisible wall. The kid must have done or said something to not have them returning her to them. This part of the mission was taking far longer than they expected. The question was why was it taking so long. Most civilized groups revered their children. The way to control a populace was to control their offspring. You did not need bombs or weapons to control able-bodied men. You just needed to secure their child. Was that what this Rinker was trying to do? Use Jessa to control them? Long seconds elapsed as Rogan weighed his response. Rinker was a clever interrogator. That was clear to Rogan. The question was which room was he referring to. Was it the transporter room or the prison cell.

She had been in contact after the injury of the arrival room. While that injury had been severe and required immediate medical treatment, it was necessary to ensure Jessa had access to the ship. Since Rinker did not seem upset or agitated by it, this meant whatever excuse Jessa invented had been accepted as fact by this crew. Rinker had to be talking about the kids trip to jail.

Rubbing his jaw Rogan paused for a second as he thought. Jessa would not be stupid enough to mention the neural link that could be established when the four of them were in close contact. This was also the reason, Rogan knew Jessa was not in the cells with them. Sure she at times had a small neural bleed from her nose when the connection occurred but Jessa was clever enough to fake it as nothing important. These people could not be so soft they were worried about a nose bleed. It was then Rogan’s face fell. Da Mu ordered her to perform the Ritual of Cleansing and the stupid little varphole did it, he put the two events together. That was why this Rinker was preventing access to Jessa. Time to play the concerned father figure, Rogan let out a breath he was holding.

He took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair. Rogan paced a bit just for dramatic effect to present the persona of a distraught caregiver. “Oh my god....trife,” he cursed in a low breath looking up at the ceiling. Moving back to the forcefield, Rogan placed his palms on the invisible wall. The symbolism of the pose would help to create the image of Rogan helpless, powerless, and giving up. “Tell me she is okay? I…I heard her screaming. What did you do to her?” Rogan instantly forced the blame on the crew instead of the Elders.

“How could you hurt her? She is just a child.” As if to punctuate the point, Rogan slammed his fist against the forcefield for show. It would be a normal reaction for someone distraught over their child. Rogan would know. He had seen it hundreds of times when they separated parents from their children. “I demand to see her. You can’t tell me she got hurt and then expect me to take your word she is okay.” Rogan’s pulse quickened allowing his breathing to increase. He loved these games of cat and chrisven mouse.

Rogan