8530/After Starbucks

After Starbucks
Date of Scene:	03 November 2021
Location:	Recreation Lounge: Triskelion
Synopsis:	Cael and Jon relax after a mission - if by 'relax' you mean they discuss their magical trauma. ... right.
Cast of Characters:	Cael Becker, Jonathan Sims

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Cael Becker has posed:
    People have many ways of unwinding after a mission. Some go for a jog, or a swim, or head to the gym. Some go to the gun range. Some get a meal, or a drink.
    Today - Cael had opted to go to the Recreation Lounge. It wasn't her usual option, but apparently she was feeling a little nostalgic, because she was seated on a couch, controller in her hand - playing a little Final Fantasy XII. It's been a while since she's played the game, and she's clearly rusty, as she's getting her ass handed to her in one of the fights, but the blonde haired agent gamely persists, a determined look on her features.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has never been on a /real/ mission before, and the way his last group handled things--stumbling back to a bar and getting far too drunk and sometimes yelling at each other--isn't going to fly in SHIELD. Probably a good thing, too--that wasn't very healthy, all around. But Jon /did/ have long, long, /long/ shifts once upon a time, while doing intership and part of his residency at Arkham Asylum, and he had a little ritual then: take a long, /long/ shower, then go to the break room and get a cup of truly terrible coffee to keep him awake for the hyperloop ride back to New York.

    He's not going any further than the Triskelion quarters Peggy set up for him and his husband but the ritual is still soothing. The coffee at SHIELD is definitely better than Arkham's, by the smell alone. Jon's hair is still damp as he comes into the Lounge long enough after Cael for her to have gotten settled in front of the TV. "What's that you're playing?" he asks curiously, peering over. Doesn't hurt to be polite.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Final Fantasy," Cael answers. The 'duh' is entirely implied by her tone. Who could //not// know Final Fantasy? Clearly only weird, bookish men.
    There's a cup of coffee in front of her as well - slowly growing cold - it smells suspiciously like it might have just a splash of whiskey in it. Not enough to get her drunk - but enough to help her relax a little an to improve the flavor. It's nice to have at least //some// whiskey after a mission, isn't it?
    "You did alright out there," she adds - almost as an after thought, as she forces herself to try to 'be nice.' It probably comes across as a bit terse, and she doesn't look away from the screen as she says it - but look, she's putting in some modicum of an effort.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon snorts. "Thank you," he says as he pours himself coffee. Black, nothing at all added, but he actually takes a moment to appreciate the fact that it's not /terrible/ before taking a sip and then heading over to eye the screen. "Aren't there about twenty of those?" he asks. "I don't know, video games were never... a thing."

    After a moment, he adds, "You got the package out, so that's, ahh, commendable, right? And you didn't have to get all handsy with... well, no, I suppose alien gook is worse than men who wear too-tight trousers."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "There's fifteen," Cael supplies simply. "Well. Of the main games. If you start counting all the spin-offs and everything it starts getting ridiculous." Excessively ridiculous.
    She lets out a frustrated sigh as one of the characters drops to her knees mid-battle. "Shiiiit." No, it's not going the way Cael would like - not in the least. "If video games weren't your thing - what the hell did you do with your time?" she asks casually. She doesn't mean anything by the cursing - it's just how she talks.
    As for the issue of alien monster vs. Captain Tight Pants - an amused smirk crosses her lips at the remark. "I mean - I think an arguement can be made either way. And I didn't really have to fight the tentacle monster," thankfully. "I'm sorry I didn't stick with you the whole time, though. I said I was going to watch your back..." and then she walked away.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Read a lot. Played tabletop games. Gran approved of those, they were /creative/." Jon sighs and comes over to settle in a nearby chair. "Did other people's homework in exchange for cigarettes and not being beaten up. Started a band or two that never went anywhere." He shrugs and sips at his coffee. He says all of this in an entirely offhand manner, as if that's just how adolescence was in England in the 90's and 2000's, you know?

    "You did watch my back, until you needed to do something more important. If we hadn't gotten the package out of there..." Jon knows enough about clearances to not just blurt out what they'd been up to, there in the Lounge. "Anyway, it all worked out. Thank you for... worrying, though."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "The risk to civilian lives was too great," Cael agrees. "Well. And our own, I suppose - still. When I say I'm going to watch someone's back out in the field - especially when they're new to that sort of thing - I fucking mean it." And it was clear it bothered her, to at least some degree. "Still - it ended well, and I guess that's what matters mo- damnit." The last of her characters sink to their knees, and she barely resists the urge to toss the control. She sets it down on the coffee table in front of her, instead, picking up her mug to take a sip. She's out of practice.
    "Doing other kids' homework, huh? I didn't do very much homework until I went to college. //That// was an adjustment..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I thought it was how you make friends. Transactional, you know?" Jon frowns. Sighs. "I... later found out I was wrong. The homework at uni wasn't the suprise for me, though... /people/ were. I trusted that you had my back, for instance--and you did, in the way that /mattered/." He smiles slightly.

    After a moment, he says, "Where'd you go to college?" Small talk is easy. He's gotten used to it by now, and he's casual and relaxed enough to try to help ease the tension of the people who aren't used to it. Like Cael.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Penn State," Cael supplies. "I studied Security and Risk Analysis - which you'd think might explain why I ended up here. And yet - actually had nothing to do with it," she remarks - a little amusement creeping into her voice. She seems to be relaxing, just a little, as she glances towards Jonathan with a brief smile. She focuses back on her coffee almost immediately, though, taking another sip.
    "How about you?" As she asks that - she reaches into the inner pocket of her jacket, and pulls out a small, stainless steel flash. It has 'meh' etched into metal, and she offers this over towards Jonathan.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Oxford and then Columbia," Jon says. He takes the flask for a moment, eyes it, then shrugs. 'Home' is a few levels up, at least for tonight. So he pours a little of whatever's into the flask into his mug and hands it back over. "And then I interned and did half my residency in Gotham and the other half in Metropolis. I'm a psychiatrist."

    He chuckles, and adds, "Which... had very little to do with why I'm here. The Chief appreciates it but it's all the weird mystical stuff that got the interview."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Oxford and Columbia," Cael repeats. "Those are good schools, yeah?" She's heard them mentioned. She assumes if she's heard them mentioned - they must be famous, and therefore //good// school. She accepts back her flask of whiskey, tucking it away into her pocket again, before taking a sip of her coffee.
    At his mention of 'weird mystical stuff' a frown appears on her features, and a little tension - subtle but present - creeps into her shoulders. "What 'weird mystical shit'?" she /mis/quotes back.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon laughs. "Yeah, they're good schools." Columbia's got one of the top psychiatric programs in the /world/ but no need to brag. He takes a long drink of his coffee.

    Then, "Oh, right, you don't have clearance for the report I put in. Ahh... well. I woke up one morning with powers from... an actual god. I'm a telepath and empath, although I am keeping it as closed off as I can. I can do magic. There's some other business having to do with smiting evildoers that isn't much fun, to be honest."

    He tilts his head, peers at Cael. "I'm... guessing you don't know much about 'weird mystical shit'?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "If you'd asked me two months ago, I would have told you it was fucking bullshit and that you were probably a lunatic," Cael answers, her voice quiet, as she stares determinedly into the dark depths of her coffee - as if she'd see anything there other than opaque brown liquid. "But some things are hard to explain." And try as she might - and she's //tried// - she can't rationalize.
    There's lingering pain associated with the admission - as well as some genuine fear. She'd rather live in a world where things like //that// - the things that happened at the botanical garden - couldn't happen.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon regards Cael for a long, long moment, eyes quite serious. Then, softly, "I understand. It's..." He hesitates, stares down at his coffee.

    Then, slowly, like he's bringing long-unused muscles out of creaky disuse, "The first time I saw anything mystical I was eight. A man was... devoured in front of me, by a monster I still can't quite... describe." He swallows. "The therapists didn't believe me, they said I was lying to protect someone. Insisted I /must/ know where he went. So... I have always believed." He laughs. "But even I... well, I became a psychiatrist to be better than the people who wouldn't believe me, but even I've had a hard time believing some things. Vampires? Magic? Demons? Angels? It all seems like... /so/ much."

    After a moment, he looks up. "Have you talked to anyone about... whatever you saw?" Because he knows all too well the tone of someone who's /seen/ something.

Cael Becker has posed:
    At Jon's story, Cael glances aside at him, a frown pulling a her lips. "At eight? //Shit//. That'll fuck a person up," she remarks 'helpfully' - before looking back down to her coffee again.
    "Yeah - I've talked to someone," she admits. "I don't think they believe me. I mean- they have access to the classified files on what happened, so they know I'm not the only one saying that shit, but- pretty sure she thinks we all inhaled some sort of mind altering substance, or something." Plus, she keeps pushing hard for Cael to spend some time on vacation, or desk duty - neither are bloody likely.
    "Talking about it only helps so much though - you know?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    'That'll fuck a person up' gets /laughter/ from Jon. Deep, belly laughter, like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "It... it will indeed," he finally manages.

    When he's let the laughter die down he says, "Yeah, that's... sadly common. I... actually specialize in helping people who deal with this stuff. Sometimes victims, mostly the... actual ones fighting the bad, though. 'Superheroes,' in the parlance. It cuts a lot of time and work down when someone believes that yes, you really saw that horrific thing."

    After a moment, he adds, "Talk therapy only goes so far, yes. There's other things... other therapies, medications, diet and exercise... but sometimes..." He exhales. "Honestly, sometimes it's just like any traumatic event. It doesn't matter if you watched someone get eaten by a monster or blasted by an alien death-ray or had their head exploded from a high-caliber bullet--it's /all/ difficult to face. People wind up with PTSD, other problems. But... it's worth getting help if you can. I... think the Chief wants me to do that, in some capacity."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Or seeing someone turned inside-out," Cael mutters quietly. The sight of that moment - and the //smell// of it were both viscerally entwined in her mind. And it wasn't just the scent of blood, and entrails - but flowers, and other plant life. It gets a bit frustrating when the smell of //flowers// can trigger a memory like that.
    "My...friends believe me," she adds - with just the slightest hesitation over the word 'friends.'
    "So - must've been someone who believed you," she says abruptly, in a brisker voice, and slighly higher volume. "Or you'd be wearing a warm, white jacket in a padded room somewhere. Yeah?"% R

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't tell many people, anymore," Jon says softly. "The first man who believed me pulled me into a cult. The second, I married. The rest are dead."

    Then he shakes himself. "Well, no. /Now/ I know plenty of people in that world. And... I believe you. Whatever you saw, whatever it was..." He sighs. Taps his fingers on his knee. He doesn't know Cael well, yet. How to...? Hmm.

    "Is this a SHIELD therapist, or did they send you out of house? The woman who thinks you inhaled something."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I work with the FBI - in addition to SHIELD," Cael explains. "It's an FBI theraphist, someone I've been work with for a while not. I mean, she's reasonably helpful when it comes to unpacking stuff that happens in missions, or some of the stuff from my childhood, but that other stuff..." She gives a shrug of her shoulders.
    "I just avoid talking about it with her, now. You know? I mean, what's the point."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon manages to suppress a tiny growl of frustration. "Well," he says briskly, "I suspect I won't be overstepping to offer my services, as a SHIELD therapist. Formally or informally, though the former is the way to get HIPAA laws involved and thus patient confidentiality." To whatever degree that works in SHIELD.

    "Like I said--whatever it is? I believe you. And maybe I can help you... unpack it, figure it out. Put it to rest."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael doesn't answer immediately - instead she take first one deep pull at her cooling coffee, and then another - and then it's empty.
    "Yeah, maybe," is all she says as she rises to her feet. "Look - it's been nice talking to you Agent Sims, but I've got to-" be somewhere else. //Anywhere// else... "I'm supposed to be meeting up with my roomie," she fibs.
    She continues to the little kitchenette, shoving the cup into the dishwasher, without bothering to check if the other dishes in there were dirty or clean.
    "Like I said - you did good out there," she adds in passing, as she heads towards the door.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "So did you," Jon calls. There's a sympathetic expression on his face. He was half-expecting her to bail and... yes, it looks like he read her correctly. But he puts no pressure on her; the idea's been planted, and if she's willing she'll come to him for help. Hopefully not before things get too bad.