Astrid was not in a good mood as she was escorted through the Sanctuary by a gruff older cop. His hand rested heavily on her upper arm, forcing her to walk forward rather than turn back.

How had she ended up back in the Sanctuary against her will? That was a good question. One with an answer that she didn’t particularly care to think about. She’d gone to that convenience store with the intent to rob it, and had ended up being arrested. She had rotten luck.

It was all to do with that shadow guy, really. If it hadn’t been for him, then she would’ve been able to kill that guy no problem and get away without being arrested. If only. She sighed heavily as she thought of the outcome that almost was.

However, instead of being taken into the precinct to be charged with her numerous crimes, the shadow man had suggested that she be taken to see one Devon Hadden, a mutant psychologist. The cops had, for some reason, agreed, and taken her straight there. Apparently they hadn’t bothered to look at her file and see all the other crimes that she’d committed, so they decided to let her off with a warning since it had ‘just been a petty crime’. Uh huh.

Rather than arguing and defending her name, Astrid had taken the out. So, she was being taken to see some random man that was supposed to fix all the broken things in her head. At least that was what she’d garnered from what she understood. It all sounded like a load of bullsh*t to her.

She simply hoped that the man would at least speak French.

The cop opened the door to the man’s office, having simply flashed his badge at the woman at the front desk. He thrust Astrid inside and then made quick work of handcuffing her to the chair opposite the man. He put the key to the cuffs on the desk and then nodded at Devon.

“Thanks for agreeing to this. Hopefully she won’t give you too much trouble. If she does, though, feel free to use a bit of force-” he paused as Astrid shook the chair angrily “-all off the books, of course. Let her out when you’re ready. Shout if you need backup. I’ll be outside.”

With that, the cop turned around and left the office. Astrid and the stranger were alone.

Blue eyes narrowed at the cop as he grabbed the key. It disappeared behind the desk, maybe a drawer or maybe a pocket. Devon wasn’t sure exactly what the avian girl was capable of aside from those wings and some crystalline threat. Well, winged adversaries were easy enough to deal with. More importantly, “Thank you, officer. I’ll leave the force to you unless either of us are in harm’s way. Happy to help here.”

“Yep, very well,” the cop said with a dubious glance toward the girl.

Devon got up and closed the door after the cop had left. He sat back down and pushed a small tablet ahead on the desk. Something was open on it. “I was told you have a French accent so if it’s easier, you can speak French and the app,” he glanced, “Will translate. We have quite a few people come through who speak different languages. This is New York after all.” He then held up a finger.

A moment later the tablet began to speak French in a distinguished masculine tone. Everything Devon had said was translated nearly perfectly. They’d paid for the app, after all.

“I’m Devon Hadden and I work with mutants often. Apparently if you talk with me you don’t have to go to jail,” he said with a stern tone. “What’s your name?”

And then there again, the tablet repeated it in french.

The man had a translator. That was... surprising and rather nice. Not that Astrid would let her feelings toward it show. Instead, she stayed completely still and tried her best to keep her eyes from brightening. With a straight face, she leaned forward to examine the thing that he'd just put on the desk. 

The cuffs forced her to stop short of a good view, but from what she could see, it didn't look particularly high-tech. Just an app on one of those smart device things that Muninn was a fan of. She thought about stealing it for a second, but then decided against it. She was in handcuffs, flanked by a police officer, and already teetering on the edge of a sword. If she did too much there, she would be sent to prison, and the rest of her crimes would undoubtedly come to light.

Maybe she would just ask Muninn to set her up with something similar.

She listened to the masculine French voice come from the speaker in the device. The information was all stuff that she knew, so she didn't pay much attention to it. She'd been half expecting him to race out of the gates with a million questions about her childhood, like the people she'd seen on t.v., but he didn't. Instead, he just asked for her name.

The teen narrowed her eyes and stayed silent for a second. She glanced back at the cop, who she knew would be trying to listen in through the door. It wouldn't do her any good to stay silent and wait out her time, it seemed. Both the cop and the shrink would be able to report back that she was uncooperative, which would not be good for her. It appeared as though she would be sinking to a new low: therapy. 

"Va-" Astrid began to tell him her codename, but stopped. Valkyrie was the alias under which she'd committed her crimes. If she led with that, she'd be a goner. The cop would hear, he'd inform his superiors, and they'd find the multiple arrest warrants against her. A few of which even included assaulting a police officer. 

She sighed and started again after a few seconds. "Astrid," she confided. She knew she would have to tread carefully from then on out. 

A young woman’s voice with a distinct French accent repeated the name, “Astrid.”

“Well hello Astrid,” Devon replied. “Armed robbery for some petty cash? If it’s for food or a place to stay, you can come to Sanctuary. We don’t ask questions unless you threaten yourself or someone else. Or is there something else going?”

While the tablet translated Devon studied her carefully. Astrid was an avian woman and not simply for her wings. She had raven black hair, eerily familiar eyes, somewhat pointed ears, a thin long-limbed frame, and porcelain skin. She reminded Devon of a magpie. The magpie was often used in folklore to represent a trickster and thief. More than one tale his grandmother had told involved a magpie.

She didn’t look old enough to be on her own but many mutants were runaways or turned out by their family. That’s why Sanctuary existed after all. Hopefully his offering of Sanctuary would either trigger some sympathetic interest or some apathetic hate. Rarely was there a middle ground for kids living on their own.

Astrid's face remained stony. She knew what she'd done and she didn't need him to repeat it back to her. She also didn't need him to look for a deeper meaning behind why she'd done it.

She rolled her eyes quickly, and then dove into telling him exactly why she'd done what she'd done. <I did it because I wanted to, that's why.> The voice repeated what she'd said back to the man in nearly perfect English. It was more feminine than the one that was used for French. She figured that there must have been a setting that changed the way they sounded based on language.

In truth, she hadn't really needed the cash. She'd robbed a bank just a few months earlier, and she'd been careful not to spend all of the cash. She was making it last. The convenience store had been... because she was bored? Because she wanted to do something that seemed simple? She wanted to say that she'd done it? She wasn't actually sure, but it really hadn't been about the money.

After a second, she addressed his second statement. <I don't want to live in this God-forsaken gutter, thank you,> She announced, slightly louder than she'd meant to. She was doing just fine in Ragnarok housing, and she would not stoop to the level of having to live in a homeless shelter.

Devon didn’t need the translator to read that body language. Face a mask of emotion and a quick eye roll told him a fair amount. He nodded slowly at the translation, wetting his lips as he inhaled as quickly as he’d nodded. She added more to the explanation, thankfully.

>> <I don't want to live in this God-forsaken gutter, thank you,>

She was louder this time and the sarcasm came through just as clear. Considering the reputation of Sanctuary, Devon doubted very much she had an issue with the dubious reputations of some or the stories of previous years: theft, violence, organized crime. Instead, this sounded a bit more personal and her word choice – or at least what the translator picked up on – were interesting too. God-forsaken and gutter painted a place left without hope for people left behind, discarded by society.

“Sanctuary is a lot better than it was. Many have tried to make this place something more and often-times it’s suffered because it’s been forgotten or ignored by those with the power and influence to do something about it. Adults and kids alike then go along to get along, however that might be,” Devon explained with a soft tone. It changed to something harsher, “But I went through my homes and shelters too in my time. I hated them too. I often lived on my own; it was a struggle. You have what you need at home then?”

Astrid narrowed her eyes at the man. Was he trying to make a sales pitch for a dirty homeless shelter or be her shrink? From what she knew about psychologists from television, they were supposed to ask more questions than talk. She figured he must either be the suckiest therapist on the planet, or he was really new.

<I have been here before, and I did not like it,> she announced indignantly. It had not been a great time for her. Sure, that was mostly to do with the fact that she'd attempted her first real kill and it had totally failed, but that wasn't the point. Anything good that the Sanctuary had been known for, like the infamous Isabel Duskmoor and the Order were long gone, so she wanted nothing to do with it.

Was she getting what she needed at home? Was that his roundabout way of asking about her home life? He really was entirely terrible at everything concerning psychology. Astrid rolled her eyes again, confident that her time spent there would be a complete waste of time.

He was even trying to connect with her. Him. A perfectly normal looking man who probably had a clean record was trying to empathize with her, the mutant teenage murderer. That was not going to happen.

At least it saved her from getting out of jail, though. Plus, at that rate, it was going to be easy not to slip up and admit to any crimes. She had half a mind to thank him for that.

<Yes,> she raised an eyebrow as she answered his question. Leading questions. That was what he needed to learn to ask. She had absolutely no experience with the subject, and even she knew that. 

Devon met those narrowed eyes with bright, warm blue ones. He nodded at her first comment, noting the tone. He wasn’t writing anything done; there wasn’t reason to. Not yet, anyway. He smiled at her answer in the affirmative, happy to hear that.

“Ah great, glad you are!” he nodded excitedly. It was important a comfortable, safe environment is provided to a person in their formative years, but also through adulthood. The amount of stress, lack of nutrition, encouragement or lack of recourse for certain behaviors tends to paint one’s world review. Otherwise, you tended to make it for yourself and not always through the best of means.

He smiled, “It must be something of the external environment causing an issue then. Mutants do get a lot of negative impressed upon them from society. What exactly do you feel you need from you home, those things it provides that you are getting? I figure you must know pretty succinctly as you answered rather quickly.”

Teenagers always knew exactly what they needed after all.

He was so cheery. It was actually rather sickening.

Astrid leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes yet again. If she could have crossed her arms and slouched any more than she already was, then she would have in a heartbeat. The picture of teenage angst, she was.

Well, teenage angst mixed with a propensity toward murder, that was.

<What do you want me to say? Tender loving care? A mother and father who loves you? If that's what you want to hear, then sure. Got all that,> Astrid lied through her teeth. She had none of that, but saying that she did seemed like the thing to do if she wanted to get out faster. It made sense to say it. 

She considered what it would actually be like if she did have those things. Would she still want to be evil? Would she still want to kill people? She couldn't really imagine not wanting those things, but then again, she couldn't imagine having a family, either. She hoped that in any scenario, she'd be the person she was then and there. When it came down to it, she actually did like herself. 

Plus, she did not want to be a stupid regular person who sat around and went to school or something. That would be real torture. 

Devon kept smiling as the girl rolled. Her eyes went back, she went back, even her attitude came back. She wasn’t amused; she was frustrated; she wouldn’t be moved. She was definitely annoyed.

He didn’t care what she said. He knew at first she’d either lie through her teeth or bite back. The girl was clearly a fighter too, not merely magpie. She came back at Devon rather quickly and then lied anyway, not that he figured she expected it to be believable. Did she think that’d be the end of it?

After a pause, Devon’s smile went away and his tone grew more serious. “Now that you’re actually thinking about what you do need and how that might affect you, know that we’re already aware you aren’t getting what you need if you’re randomly sticking up stores for the heck of it,” he nodded slowly. “I want to know what you think you actually need. Don’t worry about what you think society expects you to need or have. It doesn’t even have to be as a teenager, but as a person who’s already living more or less independently.

“Besides the keys to the handcuffs of course, though maybe you don’t need those either,” Devon glanced, checking on how well those were secure. “What do you actually need?”

With her lips pressed into a thin line, Astrid stared at the man for a few minutes. Were they really going to do that? Was he really going to make her list all the things she'd want in an ideal situation? 

What. A. Joke.

She let out a throaty growl before beginning to answer the question. <I don't know, food? Money? A bed?> She almost said something along the lines of 'people to kill', but figured that that wouldn't be all that good of an idea. She did want to get out of there without going to prison, after all.

She rolled her neck back and let her head hang backward off of the chair for a little while, not wanting to deal with the subject at hand. What was it that people always did on television when they didn't want to talk about something? She remembered suddenly. They deflected.

<What do you think that someone should have?> She asked him, lifting her head up to gesture toward him. She could care less what he thought, but she didn't want to talk, so having him fill the time himself seemed easier. 

Devon responded to Astrid’s glare – that went on for a few minutes – with a faint grin. She growled and he canted his head to the side while lifting a brow. Someone really was frustrated.

He nodded as she listed the typical: lodging, food, and then she said bed. Not everyone said bed. For some it was simply assumed when they thought of home but others never knew having their own bed. He wasn’t sure what had prompted that but she struck him as someone that took a bed when she wanted it.

It was amusing to see how frustrated and ‘over this’ she already was. It had been, what? Five, maybe ten minutes and already she was practically laying down in her chair. It appeared she gave up on giving up and instead turned things back on him. That was good; at least she was responding to a shrink like most kids.

“I think the needs are typical like you said,” Devon replied, nodding slowly. “You went for the necessary items as most do who move from home to home or find themselves living on their own at a young age. It’s about survival, right? You’ll survive, no matter what.” He nodded again.

“So okay, you recognize the basic necessities, but what then do you need after that? Maybe think on what Astrid needs versus what all people need. What helps you be you? Consider your mutation for example,” he gestured to her wings.

It seemed that trying to turn the question back on him hadn't work. How many times could one girl roll her eyes over the course of a conversation? Astrid was going for the record, it seemed. She rolled her eyes yet again.

>>“So okay, you recognize the basic necessities, but what then do you need after that? Maybe think on what Astrid needs versus what all people need. What helps you be you? Consider your mutation for example,”

Did he seriously ask her what helped her be her? That was just about the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. Was part of the training that therapists had to go through learning how to phrase things in the weirdest way possible? If so, he must've passed that class with flying colours. 

<Music,> Astrid shrugged. She liked music. Plus, she wasn't about to say murder, or something. Music seemed like any easy answer that wasn't very deep. Best case scenario. 

She had started a game with him, though. She was going to make their meeting as difficult for him as she possibly could. She was going to try to say as few words as possible in response to each question and see how many words he responded with. He liked to talk after all, and she was ready to count. 

Her eyes were rolling so often Devon was afraid they’d fall out of her head. Her pure black eyes were oddly familiar, though he hadn’t any avian features. He longed to fly but it was going to take some supernatural mastery of weather to achieve that feat. But there she was, Astrid was rolling her eyes yet again. How many times could one girl do that over the course of a conversation?

Ah the power of the teenager. She liked music or claimed to anyway.

“What kind of music and why do you need it?” Devon asked, canting his head slightly. He frowned slightly as if considering something, “If you have trouble knowing what kind of music it is, you could hum something and I could try to place it. They have an app for that too, especially if you mean a specific song or artist.”

He smiled brightly.

>>“What kind of music and why do you need it?”

The man was clearly picking at straws. Astrid could tell from his stupid grin that he had no idea what he was doing. What an idiot. Whose dumb idea had it been to send her there of all places?

Oh... right. It had been that man's idea. The one who had saved her. The one that she'd made a promise to be helpful to. Why did she make promises? She hated keeping them, and this one just sucked. Yet she still felt bad for not doing what she'd said she'd do.

But ugh. Could the man make it any more difficult?

<I play the cello,> Astrid said with her usual eye roll and sigh. She didn't know how that was going to do anything at all in terms of helping her, but she answered the question. She was being helpful, and not causing that much trouble.

She would not, however, do any more than that.