5th Cylus 720
Woe hadn't practiced therapy with anyone for some time. It'd been, in fact, more than an entire arc. Woe had not since he attempted to console to a gaggle of bellicose Yari, who had a strange outlook on death and mourning. After that adventure, it'd seemed prudent to move onto other forms of occupation, becoming a scummy adventurer or vagabond, wandering from one place to the next in search of some scrap of nel in exchange for service.
Yet, this Cylus he found himself yearning for that intimate connection between two hearts and minds. He was lonely, for lack of a better term. There were no friends nearby, just faithful old Fleaface, and he wasn't the best of company, always side-eyeing him like Woe was liable to self-destruct.
So he signed up like he said he'd do to that waif, Mouse, with the local Order outpost. Not many people came there for psychological treatment. Yet when Woe trialed with the cloaks there, they were impressed with his grasp of human behavior and matters of the mind and heart. So they gave him space to do what he did best, and treat people of their emotional maladies.
He saw a few interesting people in his time there. Mostly just fisherfolk and laborers. It never ceased to surprise Woe just how intelligent and sophisticated the ordinary laborer could be. Their tasks were as intricate and developed as any pen pusher or officer, and yet they outnumbered the former. And while the latter lacked strength, the former had it in abundance, under their occupation. It was a wonder that those in power managed to finagle a hegemony over such people under words on paper. Yet there they were.
Woe sat, taking notes of one of his patients. He'd seen this woman a few times, a blue-skinned woman by the name of Petrusa. She was an Eidisi, a high-class courtesan by trade. He'd yet to find out just why she came to him for therapy, by all accounts, she was happy with her life and rarely had given cause for complaint. He resisted the temptation to probe her with Empathy several times in the past. Yet, with the way she kept eluding his understanding, it made it much more difficult to resist. Still, he held himself in check, if only for the sake of knowing that he could control his urge to use his magic. This was not an emergency for his part, and Petrusa was not in crisis.
He hemmed in his curiosity, tucking it under a strand of disinterest. That settled his temptation reasonably well. Yet, with that token use of Empathy magic, he found a strange mood arising in himself. It was a deep and familiar sadness that belied his persistent calm.
"Are you listening, Wolstan?" Petrusa asked, and in fact, he had not. He'd been lost to that distant thought that led him astray. "I was telling... Oh, nevermind."
She seemed annoyed, so Woe sought to reassure her. He couldn't lie though, and he was lost in his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Petrusa. I was... lost in thought for a moment there. But you reminded me of something significant."
"Oh?" She perked up, ignoring the fact that he'd completely glazed over his recent statements. "What is that?"
Here, Woe sought to explore the woman's tangle. He reached out with tendrils. Not intent on manipulation, merely monitoring at this moment. As he did so, he kept talking. In his mind's eye, he could see shapes and forms and colors represented on the surface of her tangle. They formed a tapestry that showed a cage. Curious, perhaps she was feeling trapped, although sometimes this also signified anger or frustration. "Sometimes we feel trapped by our circumstances, yet that doesn't mean we are completely powerless. Is there anything or anyone who makes you feel powerless, Petrusa?"
She blinked at him a few times and then glanced to the side. An unusual tic and telling. Perhaps he was hitting on something. He called back the tendrils of his spark, to blend back into his tangle. It didn't seem he'd need them. Still, in Woe, that mood persisted. From whence was it coming? It'd only gotten worse with the attempt to observe Petrusa's tangle.
"Yes, I suppose. There's one client. He pays well, but he doesn't understand a respectable Videnese courtesan doesn't engage in copulation. Mine is to give them company and stimulate their minds. Anything else that happens is mere luck, and entirely my choice."
Woe's turn to blink, as he didn't realize that about Videnese courtesans. In idleness, he wondered how the lonely men kept warm up north. He swiftly shook himself out of that thought, though. He felt himself drifting into the gloom with every moment, and it was becoming near unbearable. He sighed. "Have you ever tried roleplay? It's like the child's game of pretend, but with more refinement and targeted direction. I'll pretend to be this man, and you take out your frustrations against him."
Woe couldn't resist the lure of his spark anymore, and it reached out to strum the feelings of frustration in Petrusa, targetted toward that source of her ire. "Imagine now, that I am he. What do you want to do to him?"
She stared at Woe, and he could see her eyes growing distant, and a furrow creased her pretty brow. Her lip turned upward in slight disdain, as she regarded Woe as he imagined she would respond to this man. "What do you feel like doing to him?"
"I want to make him feel discomfort, I want him to feel his own lecherous hands choking himself. I want..."
Woe cut her off there, entwining her feelings toward the man in question, and redirecting them toward his self with every envenomed word that slipped through his mouth. "Do you want to hurt me, sweetling?" Woe didn't know why he threw in dearest at the end but felt it might trigger something. Every moment that he persisted in speaking to her was drawing him into a deep abyss of sorrow.
Yet, for all his confusion, he wasn't wrong about her feelings and saw the anger flare up on her face and her breathing before it showed on her tangle. With a heavy and shaky hand, he reached for the copper scourge on his belt and took it out of its belt ring. With a single motion, he slid it over on the desk, toward Petrusa. "I wonder, would you... Could you hurt me?"
Within a few bits, she'd taken the copper scourge from the desk. Woe removed his overcoat, then his vest and shirt. He exposed his back to her over the desk, and leaned over, waiting for his punishment. He could almost feel her cold presence, standing some paces behind him. There was uncertainty to her emotions as if she was beginning to unravel the spell he'd woven on her. Before she could slip out of the web he'd woven around her mind, he spoke again.
"Well, my dear, do you intend to stand there?" He laced every syllable with lecherous intent which hit her mind, reflecting disgust back at him. "Make yourself of service, what am I paying you for?"
With a shriek of primal anger, she swung the scourge at his back. The strength behind the blow was about a tenth of what Woe usually managed, but it was well enough to cause him intense pain and discomfort. Lines of blood shone on his back with that first strike. He bit down on his teeth, almost chipping them. Soon enough though, he slipped a strap of leather that he kept for such purposes into his mouth.
His following words were full of lust and satisfaction, teasing her and taunting. They were slightly muffled, but their intent shone through nonetheless. "Oh my sweet, you are so deliciously..."
His next word was drowned out by the snap of the scourge, as it hit his back, creating a crosshatch of wounds across the first set.
He moaned and gurgled in satisfaction, not quite understanding his own response to her ministrations. Was this what Magpie had felt when he had him under the belt? Suddenly he felt he could understand the Dreamwalking mage's penchant for self-torture. Or perhaps this was a quirk of his own experiments of arcane manipulation on himself.
"Another stroke, dear. Another, another..."
Yet, Woe found he was not as prepared as Magpie was to endure such punishment. Within a few bits, she had him slipping from the desk, and onto the floor, crumpled in a heap.
When he came to, he arose to several blue-cloaks and one golden cloak. Their expressions and emotions were a mix of horror, curiosity, and disgust. Mostly the disgust was coming from the golden cloak, who presented a matronly disapproval of his antics.
"Mister Wolstan, you are not to practice your... 'therapy' sessions here anymore. You are hereby banished from the Order Outpost."
Woe winced as he moved to sit up, his back covered in a balm that stiffened his skin, and caused it to sting with every movement. At least they had the decency to heal him up before sending him on his way.
He shortly after awakening, he dressed himself and saw himself out of the Order outpost. He didn't see Petrusa on the way out and presumed she'd made her way back home.
