//------------------------------// // Therapists Are Useless // Story: The Prince's Hounds // by TheTobacconist //------------------------------// "Doctor Daisy will see you now." The secretary gestured at a wooden door. Frosted glass was set in the pane, with hand painted yellow flowers across the edges. Octavia nodded to the secretary as she stood up. She picked her messenger bag off of the bench, and walked into the office. It could hardly be called an office though. There was something of a homey feel to it. Lace doilies rested beneath vases filled with flowers. China dolls lined the shelves. Octavia winced. She did not appreciate the clear attempt to make the room as non-confrontational as possible. Well, she appreciated the thought. It was the execution that bothered her. She could only think of one word to describe it. Tacky. As tacky as the mare who sat at the simple desk. She had clearly made a decision to avoid appearing professional. Her sport coat had the air of a business pony, but that hot pink blouse ruined the image, and that cornflower in her lapel did her demeanor no favors. Her grey mane was done in a simple bun. Octavia understood the idea. The Doctor was clearly making an attempt at being a 'cool granny'. "Doctor." Octavia nodded as she sat down in an overstuffed chair. "Daisy is fine," The Doctor informed her, and put on her reading glasses. "How are you today, Octavia?" "As good as can be expected." Octavia did not look her in the eye. "I'll forgive you because this is our first real session, but let me explain something." Daisy leaned on her desk, looking directly at Octavia. "I understand that it's normal to just respond like that." She leaned over her desk. "But when I ask a question like that, it's because I seriously want to know." She waited for Octavia to look at her. "How was your day?" "Vinyl stopped by my office today," Octavia admitted, "It was a little awkward." "Go on," Daisy instructed as she bit down on the end of a pen, and held up her clipboard. "It's just," Octavia looked out the window. There was nothing interesting to look at, but she was determined to look outside anyway. "It's just that she doesn't seem to understand that this is my life now." She sighed, and slumped in her chair. "Like she thinks I'm some filly playing pretend." "Can you give me specifics?" Daisy asked, and gestured at Octavia with her pen. "Something relevant to your statement?" She peered over her desk. "Maybe something Viny said?" "I-" Octavia held her head. "-I honestly don't remember the specifics." Octavia tapped her head. "Wait!" She looked up. "She called my old cello a 'big violin'." Resting her head on her hoof, she wondered, "She knows what it's called. Do you think she was just trying to get a rise out of me?" "Hrm." Daisy considered her clipboard. She had no notes on Vinyl's character. Notes were always difficult to take in preliminary sessions. She would be able to sort it out later. "Well, I don't like to speculate with this sort of information." She scribbled on her notes. "I would also caution you against doing so." Daisy shook her head, knowing what sort of thing could result from that line of thought. "That action only serves to drive a wedge between friends." Tapping her clipboard with her pen, she advised, "Other ponies' motivations are rarely what we think they are. It would just drive you mad if you tried to do it with every pony." "Mad, huh?" Octavia looked up at her. "I think we're past that point." "Why do you say that?" Daisy crossed her legs. "The armor," Octavia answered flatly, "I don't always see it, but I hear it all the time." She held herself. "I know it's not there, but that doesn't mean I can handle it." "Why would knowing it's not real make you mad?" Daisy's eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. "You've experienced a very stressful event." She wrote some more on her clipboard. "Auditory hallucinations are to be expected." There was no mention of the visual hallucination. "Just give it a few more months. I'm certain that it will go away." Flipping back through her notes, she asked, "Now, how are your dreams?" Dreams? Octavia couldn't honestly speak of them. As often as Vinyl had asked her about them, lying about nightmares had just become second nature at this point. In her nightmares there were white faced demons, collars, candles, and cellos. Her subconscious seemed to have even picked out a fitting theme for it all. Danse Macabre. Shame about that. It had been one of her favorite songs to play for Nightmare Night. "Miss Melody!" Daisy's words finally cut through her thoughts. Octavia blinked a few times. "They're fine." Recognizing a lie was easy for Daisy. She had raised three foals, and had seven grandfoals. Lying was something she had learned to detect a long time ago. She used a technique that she had perfected a long time ago. A technique that was looked down upon by those in the psychiatric community, but appreciated and understood by mothers and grandmothers everywhere. A wordless stare was often all it took to oust a lie. Perhaps some therapists would consider it abusive. Some therapists thought it would bring back harsh memories of silent judging authority figures. Some therapists thought it would be emotionally damaging. Daisy knew it would do all these things. It was why the wordless stare worked. Octavia sighed, "They're not very good." She let out another sigh, this one longer than the other. "I don't really want to talk about them." She scratched her foreleg, and sunk deeper in her chair. "They're just-" She sighed again. Daisy scribbled in her notes. "I..." She trailed off, unsure of how to word her complaint. "We can talk about it later, dear," Daisy suggested. Unlike other therapists, she understood just how far to push. There would be no prying, but honesty was an absolute must. Even if that honesty was only through silence. "There's no need to talk about it." She rose from her chair, and walked over to Octavia. Daisy understood professionalism. Other therapists touted on its importance constantly. She would admit that it was important, but for her it always took a backseat to the most important part of her profession: Making her patient comfortable. "Octavia." She placed a hoof on her shoulder, and sat in the chair across from her. "What would you like to talk about?" "I don't really know," Octavia admitted. It was not something she had really thought about. She was only here because she had promised Vinyl she would be. Mostly she had just focused on getting this appointment over with. "Work is going well." "I'm glad to hear it." Daisy used a wrinkled hoof to lift the lid of a silver candy dish. "Tell me more." She pushed the dish of hard candies towards Octavia. Daisy knew that it was a cheap trick. But it always worked, and that was what she focused on. It was simple: you had to make the patient comfortable, and let them talk. So many therapists made the mistake of attacking the central issue. Daisy knew better. She knew how to be subtle. "Well." Octavia selected a soft peppermint. She didn't like the taste of it, but it reminded her of summers spent at her grandmother's lake house. "We're implementing some changes on the production floor." She bit into the peppermint. Even the silver candy dish reminded her of those summers during her foalhood. GramGram had had one just like that little dish. It had set on the kitchen cabinet, underneath a similar doily. "We expect manufacturing to increase greatly." She rolled the peppermint against her teeth. She laughed, "The boys in the accounting department crunched some numbers." She leaned on the coffee table, laughing until she felt ready to burst. "They're not based in fact at all. They think I don't know that, but I do." She picked up another peppermint, and looked to Daisy. "Have all you like, dear," Daisy instructed, and pushed the dish even closer to Octavia. "That's what they're there for." "Thank you." Unwrapping the candy, Octavia continued talking, "I just find it funny. The investors want numbers, so I give them numbers." She popped the peppermint in her mouth. "Then I get praised when the actual results are higher than what the numbers indicated." She laughed, "Isn't it funny? So long as I make the money, they don't care how wrong I am." Octavia smiled. The peppermint was terrible, but she enjoyed it anyway. It reminded her of long talks with GramGram. "I wish that it was that simple with Vinyl." "You mentioned her earlier. Is she important to you?" Daisy asked, "Who is she?" "My... roommate," Octavia paused, and looked to Daisy. Recognizing a lie was easy for Daisy. She had raised three foals, and had seven- "Marefriend," Octavia corrected herself, and sank just a little deeper into the couch. "And what makes it complicated?" Daisy did not reach for her notepad. She would have to write it down later. It would make things a little more convoluted, but playing the therapist wouldn't do much good at this point. "Is she supportive of your work." "Not really." Octavia resisted reaching for another peppermint. She found herself enjoying the taste, but moderation was the key to success. At least, GramGram had always said that it was. "Vinyl thinks I should go back to playing for the orchestra, but I don't want to." She sighed, "We're making so much more money now." Octavia looked at the floor. "I'm just trying to make life better for us. Is that wrong?" "No, dear," Daisy put the lid back on the candy dish. Moderation was the key to success. At least, that was what she always told herself. It didn't hurt to encourage it in others. "But have you talked to Vinyl about it?" "We're supposed to talk about it when I get home." Octavia scratched her ear. "I'm just not sure." "You need to be honest with her," Daisy encouraged, "Honesty and love work well together." She placed a hoof on Octavia. "I'm sure that she'll listen." "Thank you, Gr- Daisy." Octavia blushed at her slip-up, and happened to glance at the clock. "Do you think we could call it a day? I have to get home." "Of course." Daisy nodded, refusing to comment on the near slip of the tongue. It happened sometimes. Mostly because Daisy used her grandmotherly image to her advantage. After all, ponies had to be made comfortable. "You can schedule our next appointment with-" "I'd like to apologize," Octavia interrupted, "I skipped out on what was supposed to be our first real session." She felt a lump in her throat. "I thought that therapists were useless, and I'm sorry." "It's all right, dear." Daisy patted her hoof. "Therapists are useless," She explained, "I'm a terrible therapist, but I make for a good granny."