Mind over Midnight

by Moproblems Moharmoney

Session 1.5

Family, it's an integral part of the human condition. Whil-

“Ain't nothin', ain't nothin', ain't nothin'!”

-st not at the base of Maslows hierarchy of needs, it's still an important element. We all have a family, whether it be by blood or choice. Humans are naturally a social species you understand, we need people, it's quite literally-

“Ok, that's the last set down. Pussy stuff.”

-hardwired into us. Your family heavily influences the first interactions you have with the surrounding world, they lift you when you fall, feed you when you're hungry, and even when the relationship is strained it's suggested that the electrochemical reaction for 'love' activates at the sight of family members. That-

“You gonna stare at the wall all day like some kinda droolin' retard Calmy, or you gonna pass me those plates?”

-said, you don't necessarily need to get on all the time.

At five foot two, you wouldn't notice much. One hundred and eighty pounds? Well, it was a little bit off but nothing too unusual for a modern woman. It's when you hit the twenty-inch biceps that Thunder 'Fun' Storm stood out like a hippo on a horse farm. To say my sister was built was an insult. She was 'carved like a greek statue' and would ensure the offender committed it to memory. Often by being used as an impromptu barbell. She had a weirdly popular love life.

“You know I don't like that kind of talk Fun,” I mumble to my baby sister, arms shaking as the hundred-pound weight attempted to break free from the drag I'd foolishly begun.

Lifting it would seem the obvious choice, but considering my lower back had only ceased aching a month ago from the last attempt at 'workout assistant' I'd taken the slower route. The burning in my arms (thankfully unrelated to those thirty-six marks) screamed at me to drop the plates. Yet if I stopped she'd nag me again, intent on 'bulking me up'. Decisions, decisions.

“Sorry bro, s'just force of habit, locker room stuff you know?”

Sitting there on her bench, the barely concealed grin indicated it was a bit more than just 'locker room stuff'.

My sister wasn't a bad person, she was just insensitive. Maddeningly so, sometimes to the point where it almost made me question whether it was all just a game to her. Another way to needle a world that didn't approve. Hell, I'd seen her work with disabled teens before, she ran them a weekly slot at the local gym for god's sake! I refrain from letting this mystification be known, Fun would inevitably crow about 'confusing her headshrinker bro' for years.

Inches away from the bench, sweat forming on my brow, she halted the plate. A single muscular leg doing what my entire body couldn't.

“Don't worry 'bout it bro,” Fun says to me, a soft look in her eyes that reminds me of the little girl I stopped bullies pushing into the mud. “S'enough for today anyway, go too hard too fast and you break something, least in my experience.”

I practically collapse to the floor. It's a nice floor. One of the better floors I've collapsed onto in fact. Funs gym-slash-garage was honestly outfitted better than some of the hotels I'd visited. Spacious, loaded with more equipment than I could name, mini fridge, the works. You could see where her paycheque went and it was clear the Golden Horseshoe paid well.

“You work with a lotta kids right bro, like teenagers?” she grunts, placing the barbell plate back onto its designated rack with the ease of familiarity.

Some men might feel emasculated, I was just glad she'd set the plate initially on the floor for easy reach. Grabbing it from that height would've broken something in me, I'm sure of it. Remembering her question though I mumble an affirmative, wincing as a wave of effort-induced nausea rushed through my body. I wasn't out of shape though. That would require me to have been in shape, to begin with.

“Cool.” she paused momentarily, reaching for a towel hanging off the squat rack. “If you ever see some punk with rainbow hair, you tell that idiot I ain't teachin' her 'how to lift like a badass'. Kids got the entirely wrong attitude.”

Flexing her back, the mountain of muscle that was my sister let out a bitter sigh, rubbing her face with the neon pink towel. I wonder briefly if I should say something. Working with family wasn't prohibited but it tended to...not end well. Objectivity and harsh truths don't necessarily mesh with the weave of lies we generate to keep the peace in a familial unit.

“It ain't about being a badass, it's about proving you got what it takes, both to yourself and the hunk of metal saying 'you can't lift me'.” she continued, finishing her quick rub down.

The towel (unceremoniously flung into a corner) was followed by a swiftly drained can of something from the mini-fridge. Taking into account the bright colours and excessive use of the word 'protein' covering it I'd guess a work out drink? Then again Fun had always had bizarre tastes in food, could be some Japanese abomination like that melon-coffee thing she'd forced on me last time. Yes, the irony was palpable, but I didn't choose the crap I ate. It was that or collapse. The food ended up cheaper than all the bandages.

“You hungry bro?”

Still, who was I to turn down a free meal?

00000

Cooking is an art form I've been told. If that's true then my sister is a decorated maestro in the brutalist movement. Or maybe minimalism? It's been a while since I've needed to see Steel Scryer, the guy's made excellent progress. I still miss his little rants about art though, made up for the unsettling nightmares he described in detail. On my plate though was something approaching one of his protoplasmic dream terrors.

I could just about make out the egg. It was a reassuring sight amongst the mountains of steamed white flesh and tear-inducing hot sauce. This was a meal that didn't so much say 'Have a good time' as scream 'YOU WILL BE FULL AND ENJOY IT'. Well, Fun certainly was.

“So,” she began, wolfing down her significantly larger plate with wild abandon, “what's the problem huh?”

Nervously poking at the jiggling monstrosity with a fork, I barely register a stern look that would make Mom proud. Is this what it's like to be one of my clients?

“C'mon bro, out with it. Ever since you got back you only turn up when you got a problem.” she jabs in my direction lightly with her sauce-stained fork “I get you wanted some privacy after...what happened. Didn't say nothing when you left. Not even when Mom and Dad split up and moved away.”

The wince is almost involuntary. They always had some cracks, but it's still hard to divorce myself from the feeling it was all my fault. The news, the accusations, the stress. Whatever cracks existed must have grown to chasms overnight.

A sour look was thrown at me, hurt dripping from her voice. “Kinda expected a bit more 'family time' when you got back from wherever the hell you went though. Not just 'hey sis can I borrow some cash' or 'hey sis can I crash the night?”

“I'm trying to get my life back on track!” I bristle. It's silly and dumb. She can't even begin to understand the facts, let alone comment on them. Still, it cuts deep.

I realise how much I screwed up by within seconds, a look emerging that I'd seen way too many times in the past. This was neatly highlighted by Fun stabbing her fork into the nightmarish meal, a quivering lily white hunk of meat holding it in place.

“Ok Bro, your little sis can get that. What she don't get though is this. Why IS it always problems with you?” she hisses, fists clenched, “You never write, never call, never text. Whenever there's a problem though you hoof it to the 'burbs for good 'ol Funs help. So what's the deal huh?”

Groaning from our combined weight (and no doubt the punishment endured in the past if Funs portion sizes said anything) I lean over, grasping her hand in mine.

“I-I trust you Fun. That's why.” I watch as an angry bull softens, the look many a bully learnt to fear melting away “When everything happened I..well I ran. There's no excuse. I just ran away. You stayed though. You did something even Mom and Dad couldn't.”

She shrugged in indifference, “You get used to telling reporters to eat shit after a while.”

“Well I couldn't, and that's something you'll always be good at Fun." a sigh escapes me. "You endure. I just don't want to strain you too much with all my crap. I have a hard enough time keeping it together. You don't need to deal with all my B.S. more than you do.”

It's a bitter admission on my part. She can see past the veneer of a well-put-together therapist but I refuse to burden her with all the knowledge. A struggling junkie for a brother isn't what she'd want, let alone the existence of the supernatural. Despite this, Fun squeezes with a gentleness belying her size, a sad, sweet smile on her face now.

“Bro-Calmy,” she stumbles, “you're not a strain. I mean you're not perfect. You're an anti-social, scrawny, goof, who'd wear a suit to a beach trip. But you're not a strain. So c'mon, what's up?"

I'm a psychotherapist with over a thousand hours of client interactions under my belt. I'm a student of Al'amr – altalab, the last bastion of magic on earth. I'm an addict who fell off the horse and climbed back up twice now. With blood, sweat, and tears I've fought demons both external and internal....

“I don't know if I'm qualified to help someone.”

...yet I've never felt so utterly useless in my life.

Author's Note:

Lots of notes everyone, check the blog to see them before reviewing.

Comments

[Wild Stallion]

Thunder 'Fun' Storm

No relation to Thelma Thunder Hooves by any chance?

My sister wasn't a bad person, she was just insensitive. Maddeningly so, sometimes to the point where it almost made me question whether it was all just a game to her. Another way to needle a world that didn't approve.

This sounds familiar. Right Dashy?

“Cool.” she paused momentarily, reaching for a towel hanging off the squat rack. “If you ever see some punk with rainbow hair, you tell that idiot I ain't teachin' her 'how to lift like a badass'. Kids got the entirely wrong attitude.”

Knowing Dashy the way I do, it's just as likely she just communicated her interest basically since she has a incredibly simple vocabulary.

But that's just me.

“It ain't about being a badass, it's about proving you got what it takes, both to yourself and the hunk of metal saying 'you can't lift me'.” she continued, finishing her quick rub down.

I mean that sounds like something EqG Rainbow Dash already understands in principle.

And if not, you could probably explained it to her if you did it slowly, and used fewer words.

I kid. Just explain it to her slowly and she'll get it.

[Moproblems Moharmoney]

11338711
I thought everyone got their Occult secrets from Tiktok, or is it just me? Lol

Seriously though, this will be covered in the future much like Calmy being a Para Psychotherapist.

[FanOfMostEverything]

It ain't about being a badass, it's about proving you got what it takes, both to yourself and the hunk of metal saying 'you can't lift me'.

If she told Rainbow Dash that, Dash would listen. Probably. Maybe. Definitely not if she's just doing it to try to catch up to Applejack's super strength.

They always had some cracks, but it's still hard to divorce myself from the feeling it was all my fault.

Oof. Unfortunate phrasing.

Lots of notes everyone, check the blog to see them before reviewing.

It'd help if you'd provide a link to it. Still, I do appreciate a good "yin and yang" sibling dynamic. I kind of have one with my own sibling. It's good to see that Calmy has something resembling a support network, even if he only uses it in emergencies. Here's hoping Fun can help. Sometimes you need a bit of bluntness to crash through all the crap your brain puts in the way.

[Moproblems Moharmoney]

11340265
You know, I honestly didn't think to link it in. I've edited it and will do so in the future. Thanks!