"I wish." Beck's disinterested croak announced his arrival before he materialized into view a couple steps away from the setup. The commander himself wasn't sure where the idea had come from; maybe he had seen it on a sitcom before and therapy magically solved all the actors' problems, or maybe he had spoken out of impulsive need to vent about nothing and everything. A genius concept on paper, until he realized he would have to participate as well. One thing that kept the clan's respect for him was how little they really knew about their ghost of a leader, and Beck hated even thinking of the past. Sooner or later, the boy supposed someone would become too curious, and he would be interrogated until he snapped. Doesn't sound too bad to me, then they'll all see how much of a fraud ya are.

    Biting back a hissed response to the venomous voice festering in his mind, the scrawny ghost unceremoniously plopped himself on the muddy picnic blanket a distance away from the two cats, the common scowl darkening his freckled features. An anxious paw idly kneaded at his shallow chest hard enough to leave bruises as a method of distract himself from other stubborn pains -- no one was willing to talk, were they? Beck visibly gritted his teeth, wondering if setting a good example was really worth making himself vulnerable to creatures liable to betray him at anytime. After a pulseless beat, he  slumped in defeat and forced himself to mumble, "Guess I'll start or somethin'," Glassy eyes flickered in thought, carefully choosing his words as if Malphas was an enemy dead-set on detecting any weakness that had wormed its way into his speech. "What -- what exactly wouldja say to someone, um, someone who was just... bored... a-and sad and angry all the time? And, and didn't really... wanna trust folks?" the poltergeist finally wheezed, wincing as he realized his mistake and hastily added with a wavering giggle, "Hypo--the--tically speakin', right?"

DELILAH EVERGARDEN
trans femme ♥ tanglewood ♥ 15 m/o

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[div style="background-color:#F0B1DB;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"]]Group therapy. Something that Delilah herself knew that she needed, but never bothered to go to. She was stuck in her head constantly, and the paranoia that constantly haunted her, lurching over her shoulder like a helicopter parent.. It never went away. The voices, the crying. She remembered it vaguely, when her lover had been taken from her. It was like a quick, eager bite of fate. It clawed at her heart, begging to be let loose. The memories, however vague they were, enraptured the voices in her head. The soft moans that kept her company at night, despite the cold side of her bed that she couldn't quite confront ever again.

He was gone, and Delilah didn't save him. She was useless.

But somehow, someway, Delilah had made it to the group therapy hosted by one of the medics. It didn't help her that the food seemed just as unappetizing as everything else recently since she had gotten caught in the trap. She couldn't trust anyone, the food could be poisoned. Maybe everyone else was just immune to the poison, but she wasn't. She knew she didn't have the bloodline to not die. How hasn't she died already, anyways?

The voice of Cavalrychoir was like a song in her head, the only thing that could calm the screams and echos of her conscious. She wanted him here, she wanted to see the lynx again. Was that too much to ask, for one person? But then again, Choir would get hurt because of her. Everyone would, one day. She was a broken record, playing again and again on repeats that she just couldn't bare to give anymore.

But Delilah stayed silent, eerily so. She remained a prisoner in her head the whole time everyone else ate, the voices of others around her a mere blunder. Lost, magenta eyes found the so-called therapist of this session, and she turned to Beck for a moment, trying to find some sort of comfort in the male which had been so comforting when she joined. Why was he here, anyways?