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Among his peers Kyle Foster was somewhat of an enigma. He lacked much of the formal education as most of the teachers and other specialized staff members and carried himself with about as much professionalism as a college drop out who spends his days smoking weed and playing video games. Sneakers and t-shirts were his attire of choice every so often his speech would shift into a strange, profanity and acronym laden language few understood but many were offended by. This was all to say nothing of his unorthodox methods. Rarely did he spend much time on campus and there was some debate whether or not he actually knew where his office was in the first place, let alone made use of it. And yet, through it all, he regularly scored high on performance evaluations and never seemed to get in trouble. A fact that made him a divisive figure among the few who bothered getting to know him.
Mid-morning found one 'Mister Foster' in the office in question, though from the looks of it the space seemed largely unused. The desk was empty, save for the sneakered feet propped up against them, the computer hadn't been turned on and the keys to the filing cabinet in the corner were still hanging in a small plastic baggie clipped to one of the handles. There were no pictures or degrees on the walls and not even a nameplate sitting on the desk. The only evidence that the office was occupied, aside from the well muscled, tattooed individual sound asleep behind the desk, was the name 'Kyle Foster' printed on the outside of the door above the words 'Integration Counselor'.
The halls were oddly crowded for an office area, and it did nothing for his nerves. Due to these nerves, after being dragged away from home and thrust into training pretty much on his first day, and having met a few other people in-between, he was told that seeing the counselor was probably the best next step. From what he was told, he wasn't exactly a counselor that dealt with issues per se, but did help one become more accustomed. Well, that's what he was told anyway. He was simply given directions to the office and told to be on his way. He had no idea what to expect. His hood, as per usual, was up, hiding his face as nervous blue eyes darted around looking at names on doors. He was looking for a Kyle Foster.
He eventually found the office he was looking for, he peeked in then stepped inside, he took a moment to look around. It seemed... empty. Just the white walls, filing cabinet and computer. Along with a man sitting his feet propped up on the desk. Rowan awkwardly lowered the hood of his jacket and coughed lightly to try and get the man's attention. He had no idea what to expect from the individual, and just by the appearance, he was slightly intimidated, but he knew better than to judge a book by it's cover.
The large man didn't stir even as his office door opened. He just sat there, feet propped up on the desk, arms folded across his chest, head bowed, eyes covered by a pair of dark sunglasses. He was, apparently, adept at sleeping anywhere and showing off this talent in spades. Only when the soft cough broke the silence of the office did Kyle move. He snapped awake, pushing away from his desk and dropping his feet to the floor with an audible *thunk*. He blinked a few times, wondering why his vision was so shrouded before remembering to remove his sunglasses to remedy the issue. Once free from the room-darkening menaces, Kyle turned his attention to the source of his sleep disturbance, studying the boy with narrowed, yet curious eyes.
Then it dawned on Kyle the reason he was at the Academy in the first place was for an appointment.
Immediately the cobwebs of sleep lifted and Kyle's face lit up. He got to his feet and crossed the room toward Rowan, offering a hand. "Rowan, right?" He asked even though he already knew the answer. He'd skimmed through the file folder given to him before the boy's arrival, at least enough to remember the name and face. "Come in, sit down."
The man's sudden movement, mixed with the sound of his feet hitting the ground, and narrowed eyes, made Rowan flinch back with a squeak. "I-I didn't uhm..." He stopped when the other had started to speak. This was definitely the counselor right? Well, it appeared so by the sign on the door, and the fact the the man was welcoming him in. Rowan stepped lightly further into the room closing the door behind him. "Y-Yes, I'm Rowan." He walked over to the chair and took a seat. Even though there was not much to look at, and he had already looked around the room, he couldn't help but gaze around. It was so... simple and kind of unnerving. The boy's eyes soon refocused on the man in front of him though. It was rude to look away from someone when in conversation (even one as small as currently).
Kyle Foster
I survive entirely on hate and caffeine... sometimes whiskey
Kyle strode easily back to his desk and reclaimed his seat behind it. He entire demeanor was light and relaxed despite the formality of the meeting. It looked more like he was greeting an old friend than beginning an evaluation or whatever it was people in his position were supposed to do. The feet didn't come back up onto the desk, though Kyle's elbows did, leaning forward he made eye contact with Rowan briefly, giving the young man his full attention.
"Alright." Kyle said after just a moment of studying his newest charge. He leaned back in the chair, clasping his hands together in his lap. "Here's the deal. We both know why you're here so I'm not going to insult your intelligence by spouting you some random, canned bullshit." Kyle always found treating these kids like equals and outlining his methods from the beginning to be beneficial and Rowan was no exception. "I got a copy of your file." Kyle paused and furrowed his brow. "Somewhere." He glanced over the near empty room before shaking his head and returning to his speech. "Anyway, I don't put a lot of stock in those. My job isn't to poke around and find what makes you tick, I'm not here to tell you you're wrong or tell you what you should be doing." He shrugged his broad shoulders. To him this was all painfully simple. Why some of his peers tried to make this role far more analytical than it really should be Kyle would never know. "What's going to happen is whenever we meet, or anytime you want, I'll give you my number, we're going to talk. We're going to get to know each other and that's it. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
Kyle gave another moment's pause, just long enough for his spiel to sink before abruptly getting to his feet. "And I fucking hate offices so we're getting the hell out of here." He rounded the desk like it was a wasp nest, something to be avoided at all costs, and pulled open the door to the hallway. "First order of business. I need to get something to eat 'cause this hangover is killing me."
Rowan just watched him as he made his way back to the desk. So... the councilor hadn't looked at his file? Wasn't he supposed to though? Not that it mattered, apparently, as the man continued to explain. So... when they met or talked, they were just going to get to know each other? That was it? Rowan usually found that most psychologists/psychiatrists/councilors made this a lot more difficult than it should have been. This was a refreshing take on the position the two were in, it was good, if not a little straight forward. But honesty was a valuable virtue, especially to him. It took a moment or two to realise that Mister Foster was at the door holding it open and saying something again.
Rowan got to his feet and silently made his way to the open door. So... the councilor hated offices, and was apparently hungry? That was a first. Most loved offices and the organised way they worked. It was an odd habit they had. People had odd habits and he wondered what his was. Mister Foster didn't seem all that bad, he was different to others, that was good. Rowan would know, he'd seen a few in his schools, them all trying to help him with his stutter and his nerves, all giving up, and none caring enough to give the boy a chance. Rowan stepped into the hallway and turned to face Mister Foster and wait for him.
Kyle Foster
I survive entirely on hate and caffeine... sometimes whiskey
The office door had barely swung shut behind him before Kyle was heading down the hall. He would never say it to someone he just met, let alone a student, but he was hungover (as usual) and hungry. The opportunity to get off campus and keep the meeting casual and relaxing was just a bonus. He quickly strode through the halls and pushed his way outside into the cool, midday air. He paused a moment, glanced up at the sun doing its best to squeeze through the cloud cover, then slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses. With a brief look over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed Kyle started for the Academy parking lot.
"Anyway." He continued as he moved across campus. "You've got enough shit going on with moving, being what we are and all that." Kyle fished a set of car keys from his pocket as he walked. "So I don't want you to think of our meetings as 'therapy sessions'." The title escaped his lips as if it were a taboo, four letter word. He then gave a bit of a contemptuous snort. "Because I ain't no therapist. Instead I'm just here to give you a place to talk, hang out, whatever you need."
Kyle pressed a button on the remote hanging from the car keys causing the lights of a large black truck sitting nearby to flash. He paused, furrowed his brow then turned toward his newest charge, looking to the young man curiously. "You don't talk a lot, do you?" He said, his words coming out in sort of a half question, half statement.
The door was shut and Mister Foster was already heading down the hall. Rowan kept pace, if not a few steps behind the man. He pulled the hood of his jacket up as they walked through the halls and stepped out into the clouded sun. It was cool. That was good. He hated it when it was too hot or too sunny. He was still following Mister Foster. and listened in silence as the man began to talk again. So... they were basically just two dudes hanging out when the need arose? That was fine. He could handle that, well, he thought he could. Then came the first somewhat direct question. Him talking. Not really. Not unless it was necessary. He figured he did fairly well with Miss Arazi, his trainer. But they had a few things to bond over. Though other students were the trouble. He could barely find one his age, not that it mattered much to him anyway. "N-n-no sir... N-not often." Rowan shrugged shoving his hands in his pockets, peering up at Mister Foster.
Kyle Foster
I survive entirely on hate and caffeine... sometimes whiskey
Kyle waved a hand, not dismissing the young man, rather any possible weight his reply may have carried. Kyle didn't mind. His role wasn't to get the kids to talk rather set them at ease and help them transition to their new life as a student of Bellefonte and a mutant. He figured if they felt the need to talk they would in due time. Otherwise, who was he to judge? "Alright." He accepted the reply with a shrug before turning his attention back to the truck. "Hop in." He said, gesturing toward nothing in particular. "Let's get something to eat."
Rounding the vehicle, Kyle pulled open the driver's side door. "Woobie." He spoke sternly. "Chill." The curt order caused the black and white border collie who was waiting patiently in the back seat for Kyle's return to promptly sit back on its haunches
Rowan gave a small smile and hopped in when he was told to. His smile brightened and his eyes lit up when he noticed the collie in the back. More dogs! It seemed like everyone owned one. "I-Is that your dog? Cute." Rowan put his belt on but still twisted in his seat to look at the collie. "Border Collie's were bred to herd flock on the border between Scotland and England. They're also energetic with high stamina, making them good competition dogs." Rowan stared at the dog's coat. "His coat is really shiny, has he been bathed recently?" Rowan turned back in the chair and looked at Mister Foster.
Kyle Foster
I survive entirely on hate and caffeine... sometimes whiskey
"Yeah." Kyle said with a hint of affection creeping into his nearly ever present smile when the conversation shifted to the dog. "She's been with me for the last ten years." He turned in his seat, reaching back to give the dog a one armed hug and to ruffle her ears. Kyle's brows furrowed, though, as the young man spouted facts about the dog's breed like he was reading directly from Wikipedia. Kyle, being the obvious scholar that he was, hadn't a clue about any of that. All he knew was his dog had been the only constant in his life over the past decade.
A nod followed the question. "She has." Kyle confirmed as he started the truck. "She has a habit for finding mud pits when we go hiking." A light chuckle escaped at the image of his canine companion happily wallowing around in various puddles. "You have a dog or any pet back home?"
Rowan smiled as the man fondly ruffled the dog's fur. Rowan liked animals, and the border collie in the back was adorable and soft. And he smiled brightly when Mister Foster nodded confirmation to having a bath. He laughed a little about her ending up in mud pits all the time. His expression turned to a dejected one. As quiet as he was, he was more than expressive enough in his emotions and facial expression. "N-No... p-parents were allergic..." His face brightened again though. "But I u-used to w-walk through a park on th-the way home f-from school, and th-there was this g-golden retriever called Aki, his owner w-was nice, so I g-g-got to play with Aki whenever I saw them. P-Parents kept reminding me a-about stranger danger th-though... but it w-was understandable." Rowan smiled at the memories of him and Aki.
