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Masa woke up and got out of bed, getting ready for his last day of sharing in a group, and to tell you the truth, he was actually excited. He couldn't wait to finally get out of there, and never come back. To tell you another truth, he was tired of getting up and coming down to the rehab to talk about his problems. He didn't like talking about his problems at all and he wasn't going to. It was his business and he has the right to share it or not to share it. If he did they wouldn't care anyway, all they would do is clap and probably clapping so the doctor wouldn't notice they didn't listen. He scoffed as he walked down the hallway, guitar behind his back.
Bernstein smiled as Masa-Chei walked towards the group of chairs, that was made out of a circle. "Good morning Masa-Chei, I am glad that you have came, please choose a seat and sit down." Masa looked at the doctor for a little while, and sat down at a chair away from him and the windows that brightened up the room. Bernstein nodded still standing up awaiting for the other to arrive and join the two men. The doctor was trying to help the group of people by teaching them how to communicate and control their emotions by telling everyone to voice their opinions on their story of life. He went through speaking with yourself, to talking with a person, to talking in a group, and now it was time for public speaking.
The doctor wonder how they would do, if people voice their opinions on how they deal with life. The doctor walked towards the glass podium and put his clip board on it, checking off Masa's name to state that he was present today. Watching the door where the two guards were standing, still waiting for the others to arrive.
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Two people, as it happens, were pondering this same question, but the answer evaded both of them.
In the case of the woman known as Murakami Akira...the answer was really quite evident. She knew full well why she was here. The question for her was, as such, more along the lines of "Why have I let myself be forced into this shit?" The question came upon her as she sat on the edge of her bed, her guitar in her hands as she played through Nile's Permitting the Noble Dead to Descend to the Underworld, singing along as she did so. "Hail to ye who art in the sacred desert of the west, I know you and I know your names--save me from these snakes which are in Rosetjau, which live on the flesh of men and gulp down their blood, For I know you and I know your names..." Her higher-pitched snarl didn't quite match with Karl Sanders' anthemic growling, but hell, she could care less. More of an irritation to her was the fact that they wouldn't permit her to plug her guitar in, and so she was forced to play the instrument unplugged, which...definitely wasn't the same.
But at least, she recalled as she gave a ragged, irate sigh and set the guitar facedown on the bed, this was her last day in this shithole. One last meeting and she was through with this shit--and then what? Her scowl, omnipresent as it was upon the cold, angular features of her face, intensified--she wouldn't be going back to Legion, that much was for sure. The band she'd spent two years of her life building and creating--and all it took was one moment in which everything got to her, one moment in which she'd finally lost it...and now Legion wasn't hers anymore. Not long after she'd been carted off to rehab, Akira had discovered that the premier death metal band of the region had found another singer and guitarist--oh, she'd been pissed as all hell. It was all fucking bullshit. This rehab shit, being more or less ejected from her own fucking band, all of it was just bullshit.
Well, to hell with it. She wasn't thinking about that now. She could find another band easily enough once she was the hell outta here. She stood up, shoving her music player back into the pocket of the leather jacket she wore--which, with all its chains, spikes, and studs, looked more metal than leather--still blasting the death metal into her ears as she departed the room she'd been given and began to walk towards the 'Circle'--the room in which those condemned to this hellhole sat in a circle and talked about their shit--or rather, they were supposed to. Akira sure as hell didn't. "The first one Osiris, lord of all mysterious of body..." she continued to murmur along with the song as her heavy boots thumped against the polished floor, carrying her closer and closer to that hated room. "Gives command--He puts forth breath into those frightened ones who art in the midst of the west--what has been decreed for me is lordship over those who exist..." And thus it was that she entered the room, ears still being assailed by music that could quite easily be heard by those around her--this, in combination with her steadfast sneer and overall appearance, what with her multi-coloured mohawk, torn jeans, and bullet belt, giving her the impression of a rebellious, stubborn teenager. "Sup, doc," Akira tossed lazily at Bernstein, barely capable of hearing her own voice over the din that issued from the headphones buried in her ears. She took the nearest seat to her, crossing her arms as she continued to listen to her music and more or less ignoring the other two present. What did it matter? This was the last time she was ever gonna have to see any one of the people here.
For his part, when Ian Frasier asked himself the question "Why the fuck am I even here"...he really meant it. Because he hadn't the slightest idea why he was here. They told him it was for his 'alcoholism', but Ian was pretty sure he hardly drank alcohol at all--a fact they didn't seem to take into account no matter how much he insisted on it.
And so it was that the twenty five year old foreigner had ended up in a rehabilitation centre with people who, frankly, kinda scared him. Not that they were all that bad, though. Hell, he'd even met Murakami Akira, frontman of one of his favourite local bands (and given how few death metal bands there were around here...that wasn't hard to determine). Then again, she kinda scared him as well.
As for himself, Ian was already in the Circle, quite some time before he was even supposed to be there. Why? Because he'd been wandering around boredly through the rehab centre, ended up here, decided to sit down, and then decided it was too much of an effort to get back up. The young man, dreadlocks hanging down over his face and back hunched over, was currently pre-occupied with tapping out a drum pattern he'd had in his head for ages with his hands, the fingertips rapidly striking his denim-clad knees before the sound of someone entering the room shattered his focus. Glancing up, he noted the 'new arrival' to be Bernstein himself--eliciting a sigh from Ian. "Guess that since it's the last day and all, there's really no point in reiterating that I'm not an alcoholic, is there?" he mused, before shaking his head. Of course there wasn't. Now that it was his last day at this god-forsaken centre, Ian's only complaint was that now his record was permanently going to display him as having gone to rehab--for something he didn't even do.
A few moments passed before the next person entered the room--Masa-Chei Yasuo, as Ian recalled. Ian just referred to him as 'Visual Kei Dude' because...well, he was just like those visual kei dudes who creeped the shit out of Ian with their make-up and...just their whole thing. Not to mention his aggressiveness and masochism kinda put Ian off, so he kept his distance. After Yasuo came Akira--music, as always, blasting into her ears and obscene levels, striding right past Bernstein as if she didn't give a fuck about him or anything he had to say--then again, she probably didn't.
Between the two, Ian felt...well, completely out of place. Both Yasuo and Akira were so aggressive and abrasive in their demeanours that it made Ian wonder how anyone was supposed to approach them without fearing for their lives. And that wasn't even getting down to appearances, where both of them again took the cake for being way more extreme than Ian, who felt that he looked downright ordinary in comparison to either of them. At least I'll be outta here soon, he mused to himself, eyeing the two precariously.
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Zola stepped out into the hall and closed her door behind her quietly. She nodded to a few guards down the hall and turned the other way. She was sure that she could navigate the hospital blindfolded. Soon enough, she found herself standing outside a circle of chairs. Ah, a good old fashioned 'Hey! This is my problem, what's yours? Maybe we can get through it together!' type of sha-bang before high tailing it out.
"Good morning doctor. Good morning fellow patients," Zola said in a soft voice. She smirked a bit at Akira and Masa before sitting down on the opposite side of the circle. She knew everybody here was a wild card, though Ian didn't particularly worry her. Sure, he was pretty strong looking, but he was also American like her. She wasn't even sure how he'd managed to land himself here either. She'd heard the stories, but nothing made sense.
Sitting back in her chair, she began picking at her fingernails anxiously. Oh, how she wanted a lighter to play with! Set this place on fire, watch it burn, feel the heat coming from it... No. This was what therapy and being locked up was supposed to solve- not encourage. Zola thought about her old apartment. She closed her eyes and was thankful that the scars were few on her body after she'd tried to kill herself.
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It was much too soon when Cleo found herself at the rehab centre. With an annoyed little groan, she entered just in time to see Zola walk down the hall. Too lazy to bother trying to catch up, she quietly walked down the hall just far enough away that the redhead didnt notice her. When she came into the room with the others, she linged in the doorway for a moment, a flirty tilt to her hips as she looked over the group. "Morning." She greeted after a moment, a slight English accent playing on her words. Cleo sat down between Ian and Zola, and leaned back in her chair.
Cleo didnt intend to say much more then 'morning'. Like everyone else here, she wasnt big on sharing her problems. So some bad things happened to her- that was her problem. Nobody else's. She wasnt very bitter or dark, but she wasnt a big ray of sunshine. Usually she seemed confident and firty, but she did not like people poking around her past.
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Walking down the hallway, he got to the room. He quietly walked into the room full of other people, people like him. He just stared at the others with a weird look, a look he didn't mean to give off, but did anyway. He awkwardly gave a small, nervous nod and sat in a chair that was farther away from the other people in the room. As he sat down, he found himself playing with his violin's case strap. He didn't want to talk about his problems, especially about the talking part. Talking was going to be very hard for him. He was glad for the sketchbook that he seemed to fit in his case along with a pen that he'd found two days ago. Maybe they would let him write his problems...Yeah, maybe.
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Masa stared at the doctor for a while as he talked, that to him was impossible to take in. The first fact wrong with that, was that was, he didn't like others opinions didn't care for them, and also hated opinions. They didn't matter to him, he only cared about things he thinks that's right or wrong. Looking at the chain that was attached to his belt, he rubbed the smooth metal, waiting for someone to go first, because he sure as hell wasn't going to.
The doctor waited to see if anyone would volunteer to share their problem's, "I know you think that it is your business and no one would want to listen to you, but it's not going to kill you. Ian, since you came here before everyone, would you lik to share first?" Smiling politely at him.
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So Akira, with an indignant aire, simply reached up and pulled the headphones from her ears, allowing them to hang around her neck. Which wasn't so bad, since they were still blaring music well loud enough to be heard.
...well, it wasn't like she could just go and make this easy on anyone, herself included.
"Who wants to volunteer to come up first and share with the group?" Bernstein asked, smiling again at those gathered there--his query met with a solid wall of silence. Akira sure as all hell wasn't about to go and volunteer to rant about herself and whatnot. It'd been that way all this time--Akira didn't say a damn thing about herself, her past, why she ended up here except for one word: heroin. And she'd say nothing more than that, though were you to meet her without her jacket, with her arms bared of all but the tattoos and scars engraved across the skin, you'd find the injection sites that were only very slowly beginning to fade away. Didn't matter at this point. She hadn't shot up in all the time she'd been here, of course, but Akira still felt that as soon as she got out of here, she'd probably fall right back into her old patterns. It was always that way. She couldn't change, and even if she could have...she didn't know if she would've.
"Ian, since you came here before everyone," the doctor turned at last to the Westerner, who'd been sitting there blankly listening to the song he could hear from Akira's headphones (which he recognised) before he glanced up at the mention of his name. "Would you like to share first?"
Ian sighed, and shrugged. "Don't really know what I'm sharing," he replied, words inflected with an American accent. "Since I really have no idea why I'm here. From what I'm told, I spontaneously became an alcoholic without even realising it." A note of bitterness wormed its way into his words.
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"Don't really know what I'm sharing... Since I really have no idea why I'm here. From what I'm told, I spontaneously became an alcoholic without even realizing it." Zola was happy she wasn't the only foreigner here. She gave Ian a quick nod, but remained quiet. She was craving McDonald's at the moment, or some salmon. Any real food would do right now.
"Well, that stinks doesn't it?" she commented softly. I wonder if it would be possible for him to choke on his hair? Or hang himself with it? It looks like a bunch of ropes. Her mind was a bit disorganized and off topic. She brushed her bangs away from her face and looked at the others cautiously, waiting for somebody else to say something, anything to get this over with.
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Sighing he was almost there seeing the two familiar guards from a lot of times before, he smiled while waving to them, stopping his track session a he got to the door. He walked nicely and carefully to an empty seat by Masa, who freaked him out a whole bunch1 But he was okay, he was cute to him, a little. "Sorry for being late Doctor, I sorta, over slept." He laughed a little to himself and looked down a little embarrassed.
He looked at the person speaking, who was Ian,"Doctor? What is it that we are doing today? I know that we are sharing, but is it the same like last time?" He knew that they were sharing their past, he just wanted to know if it was the same like the last group session. He didn't want to feel lost and the others know what they're doing ad leave him behind.
Then, looking at the doctor he silently waited for his response.
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Masa listened to Ian speak and didn't even bother to look at him, he looked at the chain connected to his belt, which wasn't really fascinating. "I don't know why I am here either, it does suck." He nodded still looking down at his chain belt, wanting to get out of here, because they were boring, 'this' was boring, talking was boring and he didn't like being bored.
He didn't want to talk, he hates talking, talking didn't mean a thing to him, he would rather run into a wall, than talking to a someone. That's how much he hated socializing with people. Hating it down to the bone, it crawled under his skin, and his voice just wasn't brought out for all that crap anyways.
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The violin player found himself looking at all the people in the room again, staring at Masa for a minute before looking back at Yin. He turned to Cleo too, but found himself back at Yin. His hair was really distracting.
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