(Takes place sometime after Schrödinger's Kat.)

Katrina had an appointment with the music teacher. Not a music related one though. Apparently she also was the school counselor. Katrina had never had a counseling appointment before, and she kind of wished she didn't have one now. She wasn't going to argue that she didn't need one, but it didn't mean she wanted one.

She was getting better. At least, she wasn't hiding in her room any more and refusing to get out of bed. She had stopped doing that and started pretending to act normal again when she realized that her mother was going to obsessively check on her every forty-five minutes or so. If she had known what had really happened, she wouldn't even have let Katrina be alone to go to the bathroom. But she didn't know. No one did, except her tormentor and her rescuer. She didn't want to tell anyone else either, she would rather forget the whole thing ever happened if she could. It seemed pointless to talk about it.

Her pretending to be normal hadn't worked as well as she had hoped, because she still got stuck with counseling. She didn't think talking about something she didn't want to talk about with someone she didn't even know very well was going to help anything. She just went along with it to keep her mother from worrying so much. She had even walked herself down to the office a few minutes early, partly because it seemed like the responsible, well adjusted thing to do, and partly so she could walk by herself and not have to talk.

She found the door open. The red headed counselor was sitting at the desk, facing out the window and wearing something more slinky and low cut than Katrina would expect from a counselor. Meh. Katrina slipped into the doorway and stood quietly waiting for instructions.

Counseling. Once Roland had hunted down his office and name, he had shifted around in the drawers of the desk to try to fathom what exactly his/her role was in this place. Apparently he was both a music teacher and the school's counselr. Though his voice was beautiful now, the idea of singing and dancing just seemed to push the envelope, even for him. So, listening to the problems of mutant children would have to suffice. Looking at his appointment book, it appeared that one Katrina Dumonde would be arriving shortly.

His gaze lingered out on the great estate grounds before him. Two kids were on the grass, doing a bit of shoving. One , who seemed smaller and easier prey, brought a fist up in anger. When he did, flames wreathed his hand. The two of them looked at the flames and a realization passed over their features. It seemed that the school truly did have ah and in the use of control. No adults were needed for the two kids to realize the power they could wield and what that meant. His focus and attention was so intense that he did not notice the young girl enter. Good thing she wasn't an assassin.

" Close the door please, Katrina." He turned his attention toward her and attempted a sweet smile, unsure of his success. Shifting in his seat and crossing his legs, he bumped a knee rather fiercely, since it was such a foreign movement. A string of expletives ensued out of habit. He cleared his throat and folded his hands before him on the desk. " Sorry about that dear, I am so clumsy today. So, have a seat and tell Miss Raina what ails you."

Katrina closed the door as she was instructed, but remained standing. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to sit or lay down somewhere or just stand. It almost felt like she was in trouble, like she had been sent to the principal's office or something. She looked questioningly at the chair that sat in front of the desk and then back at the counselor, who at that very moment was making herself comfortable, or perhaps uncomfortable. A rather unladylike stream of words spilled out of her mouth when she hit her knee on the desk.

Katrina blinked. This was the school counselor?

>>>"Sorry about that dear, I am so clumsy today. So, have a seat and tell Miss Raina what ails you."

Obedient again, the fourteen year old slipped into the chair. Now the red haired counselor sounded like grandmother talking to her granddaughter. She was very affectionate and cutesy, especially for a woman who a moment ago had sounded more like a sailor. Normally this would have made her incredibly curious and she would have asked dozens of questions and tried to figure out what this person was truly like. Right now, she just didn't care.

She forced herself to smile at Raina's kind sounding words. If it came out more like a grimace, she was unaware of it and wouldn't have cared even if she had known. She just wanted to get this over with. Would staying silent until the woman gave up trying to talk to her get her out of here the quickest? Maybe, except that her mother would likely hear about it and force her to come back. No, she'd have to at least say something to make the woman think that she was actually doing some good.

Katrina swallowed, letting the silence stretch on as far as it could go, like a rubber band that was almost at the breaking point. Finally, “I'm not sure what to say. I didn't really want to come here.” The truth slipped out. She didn't even really care if there were going to be repercussions for that.

Katrina looked around at first before taking her seat. It made it seem as if she were going to the Headmistress' office as opposed to a simple counseling session. Anxiety was written in volumes across what appeared to be an otherwise cheery face. Perhaps it was her hair that made her so uncomfortable and awkward. It looked as if someone had taken sheep shears to it, making her look like as much of a little boy as a girl. A simple movement and the child was seated, her eyes shallow.

He had seen eyes like that in children. Growing up on the streets of London, most of the children had that lost look in their eyes. It struck Roland as odd though here, considering what seemed to be luxurious standards for any child, orphaned or not. The crooked road on the child's face looked like a hideous attempt at a smile. Forced it was, manufactured no doubt to attempt to sway what appeared to be an authority figure. If she only knew.

“I'm not sure what to say. I didn't really want to come here.” From the mouth of babes. Roland appreciated truth. It made life so much easier. He couldn't help but grin at the deadpan honesty of the girl before him."Well, that's understandable. You probably feel like you are in trouble. Nothing could be further from the truth. If you like, we can just sit here until the time is up. I am not going to make you talk." She would probably guess at some weak version of reverse psychology aimed at her. This was not the case. Roland really didn't give a damn. The sooner the kid left, the sooner he could get back to his vacation.

Katrina's expression was startled for just a moment before it slipped back into the more vacant one she'd been wearing most often as of late. She hadn't expected someone whose job it was to listen to people to come right out and say that it was okay if she didn't talk at all. It was strange. She could just sit here, not talking, for the whole thirty minutes or hour or whatever her mother had signed her up for. And it was okay.

It took a moment for that to sink in. At first she did suspect that the red haired woman was perhaps playing some kind of mind game with her, but her tone seemed sincere. Once Katrina had decided that the counselor might really mean it, she relaxed. If she didn't have to talk about the experience, it meant she didn't have to remember it either. It could stay buried in the back of her mind, shoved in the closet with all the other outcast thoughts to gather dust and to eventually fade into nothingness.

At least, that was what she hoped would happen. Things she didn't want to think about had a habit of sneaking their way into thoughts when she least expected them. A perfectly ordinary corridor would suddenly seem sinister, like green eyed monsters might be lurking around every corner. Perfectly ordinary sounds became the hollow dripping of water in the sewers. Dreams that started out perfectly innocent and normal contorted themselves into twisted nightmares full of blood and pain. Sometimes the harder she tried not to think about it, the harder it became to wipe those things away from her mind's eye. Like now. The teen shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

She tried to distract herself by asking the counselor a question, “You're not psychic, are you?” Even her somewhat sullen sounding question, though, was not entirely free from strings attached to darker thoughts. If she couldn't stop thinking about it, and the woman heard everything she thought, was that the same as just telling her?

(Eventually continued for Katrina in [FF] Raina as Roland visits the mansion.)