The "Psycho"therapist

[Kanarik Tajiin]

Kanarik Tajiin shuffled through his papers as his shuttle approached the new Jedi planet of Ossus. He had been sent to the planet by some higher-up to evaluate the Jedi for any psychological issues and to make sure they had mentally adjusted to the new location. Honestly, it was a bit of a surprise to him that he was sent to do such an important job. He had been kicked out of three different institutions for being too “creepy” or “harassing”. He was only trying to do his job. Ish. He noticed he still had a few minutes before the shuttle arrived to the planet, so he took a quick look through his papers. He had been given the general background and medical history of each of his potential patients. Most psychotherapists would treat the patients in order of urgency, or alphabetical order if no urgency could be determined. Kanarik had his own way of doing things, however. He would decide his patient order by throwing frozen rat carcasses at each patient’s paper with his eyes closed. He would then see each patient in the order that their paper was hit by a flying frozen rat. That would all happen once he had set up shop on Ossus. He realized that he was landing, so he packed up his suitcase and rubber duck and waited for the ship to finish landing. He hoped that the Alliance had told the Jedi he was coming, or at least warned them.

Once he arrived at the designated office, he took a quick survey. The couch was suitable, although he missed the bloodstains from the couch at his old residence. The chair was a little too close to the couch; it had to be at least 1.4762 meters away before he was comfortable. Unfortunately, his tape-measurer was lost in his bag, most likely sandwiched between his hazmat suit and supply of eggplants. The room did contain a refrigerator/freezer unit in the far corner, so he had a way of keeping his pets nice and frozen. He set his supplies to the side and picked up his briefcase. Laying the profiles out carefully, he closed his eyes and grabbed a frozen rat. Without hesitation, he hurled three frozen rats right after the other. The first two made the satisfying sound of frozen rat on paper, but the third resulted in a loud crashing noise. Opening his eyes, he saw the frozen rat in the middle of a smashed vase. Glancing around to make sure no one saw, he kicked the shards under the couch and replaced the vase with a similarly-shaped eggplant.

He quickly returned to his work. The first profile hit by a wayward rat corpse was Halajiin Rabeak, a Jedi reported to be nuts by the others of his order. The second was Akasha Khan. Unfortunately, the profiles did not include pictures, so he had no idea what their appearance would be. He wrote the names down on his clipboard and posted it outside the door. Hopefully the Alliance had given the memo to the Jedi to come for evaluation. He settled in, quietly stroking Mr. Tibbles, his former pet cat, and waited for the Jedi to arrive.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Over a week had passed since Hal moved back into the main grounds of Sanctuary One from his self-exile in the Ossan jungle. Anibra and Loki had both been persuasive - in their own distinct ways - in convincing him that a life alone was not for him, and that his skills and talents deserved to be shared among the newcomers and those who did not know his more unique abilities. It took a great deal of humility for the Nehantite to return, as he still felt that this new Order was not what he felt a part of, but Loki's reminder that he literally had nowhere else to go was the glass of cold water in his face that it took for him to admit to his situation.

But now, moved into his new room, Halajiin Rabeak was bored. He'd already returned all the books he had "borrowed" to the Library, and handed in copies of his study notes and translations, and he felt there wasn't much left to do. Not that he hadn't attempted to keep busy, that is. His impromptu lesson for the Padawans on unorthodox lightsaber combat was put to a quick end by other knights, and his attempts to talk some of the Masters into converting the Jedi into a fee-based task force (just for a little while, until the Jedi were really on their feet, of course) was met with a door slamming in his face.

Your nose, actually. It still huts. His base natures reminded him.

Oh shut up, can't you see he's working on introductory exposition? Snapped his higher functions in return.

Like anyone cares about that. We both know everyone loves him because of us.

If you keep breaking the fourth wall, I am going to break you. I'll re-wire you to get turned on by stimcaff pots.

You wouldn't.

I would. Now shut up, or your next date might be with some scalding decaf.

You bastard.

And don't you forget it, mister.

Shaking his head, the Nehantite cleared the voices of both his natures from his thoughts, then reached up to smooth out his headfur. It was a useless gesture, as the floppy bit in front would always muss itself up the moment he went to walk somewhere.

The ladies love it, though!

I said shut up!

That one was relevant! The ladies do like our hair. And some of the men, too.

I really hate to say this, but, you do need to get laid. It's been, what, two weeks? I don't know how you've managed to survive.

Because I'm just that good.

Oh please...

There had been one condition to Hal's return to the Order, though. Having been deemed likely mentally unstable by many of his fellow Jedi (though he thought he was just misunderstood, or interesting, one of the two), Hal had been ordered to see a therapist on a regular basis to help him sort out his erratic, un-Jedi-like nature. And that order brought him to the door of an office built into Sanctuary One, though he hesitated before it.

Dressed in a tee shirt and cargo pants, his footpaws bare, Hal looked nothing like a Jedi, and at the moment, didn't feel like one either. What he felt like was a lad again, being sent to the headmaster's office because he'd done something wrong. But Hal hadn't done anything wrong. At least not so wrong that others couldn't see the good in his motives for doing it. Venting a sigh, the mongoose closed his pink eyes and waited. After a few breaths, he opened them once more, then reached up and knocked, his tail swaying slowly behind himself out of nervousness.

If it's a chick therapist, I hope she's hot.

It's not a chick therapist, it's a man therapist. You know this. We read this on the sign.

Whatever. In any case, I hope the therapist is hot.

You are so hopeless, Halajiin Rabeak...

[Kanarik Tajiin]

It was half-past 3, almost time for the first Jedi to arrive. Kanarik had taken a closer look at the profile, in order to determine the best way to evaluate him. The others of his order had deemed him “likely unstable”, which was a degree below “unstable” and two degrees below “highly unstable,” which was Kanarik’s peer evaluation at the last conference. They were wrong of course; he should have been marked as “stable”. Just because he tossed one of his socks at the chief psychologist didn’t mean he was unstable. The fact that he was wearing the punchbowl on his head and singing a Mandalorian drinking chant probably didn’t help. Or the fact that the punchbowl was the only thing he was wearing. Regardless, he should have been marked as “stable”. He was only having a minor psychotic breakdown, and it had been confirmed that everyone had at least one major psychotic breakdown in their lifetime, and usually had over 50 minor breakdowns. The key word being over, here. Kanarik, by his record, had had about three hundred and seventy five minor psychotic breakdowns and twelve major breakdowns. But, the requirements were at least one major and over 50 minor breakdowns, so by that logic he must be an example of psychotic stability that the whole galaxy must be aware of.

That, of course, the last conference. The past three conferences had all been similar. Most of them involved some "insane" antic of Kanarik's Bringing his stuffed cat Mr. Tibbles to the conference had not gone over well. Neither had jumping on the table and throwing pineapples at the other psychologists. Still, he hadn't been kicked out yet, so they must think he was stable enough. Either that or they knew what happened the last time someone came to remove him from office. Who knew that trying to kill someone by forcing them to eat the corpses of poisoned rats was "unacceptable behavior." That was the second time they had removed him from office.

Bringing himself back to the profile, it stated that this Halajiin Rabeak was one who did not respect authority at all, and seemed to have a sort of attention deficit disorder. Well, the lack of respect towards authority was something he could relate to. Last time an authority figure had demanded respect, he had smacked them over the head with a copy of "Psychology 101". The ADD could prove to be a problem, however. Still, nothing keeps attention like a good ole dose of Settov Hammer on the Rocks, one of Kanarik's favorite drinks and his home-cure to the rampant eye-twitching problem that besieged him.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

If he had a watch, Hal would have used it to check the time. But the last time he'd seen his watch was one hundred and seven years ago, on his nightstand in his lovely room in the Jedi Order's tower on Coruscant. He highly doubted it was still there, though. Knocking again, his furred knuckles pinged off the metal door. Still no answer. Tail flicking faster, the Nehantite debated about just heading out and telling the rest of the Order he'd been given a clean bill of mental health.

Never in a million years would they believe that.

Could find some more carbonite and go for a million and one, then.

Oh, shut up.

Weary of waiting, Hal rolled his eyes, then straightened his rather rumpled tee shirt before just slapping the door open button. With a pleasant 'thwish', the door slid into its little wall cubby, revealing a hastily set up office inside, and what had to be one of the ugliest couches Hal had ever seen. It was so repulsive, in fact, he cringed at the sight of it, and knew that sex - with however amazing a partner that could be imagined - could never be had on such a hideous abomination of lounge seating. Well, at least not without a few drinks first, in any case. In an attempt to clear his mind of thoughts about what sick, sadistic race would create such a sinister sofa -

Nice alliteration!

Thanks, glad you noticed.

- Hal turned to get a look at his hopefully smoking hot therapist. The therapist wasn't smoking hot. Or even hot. Or even smoking. Ears going down a bit, Hal trudged on into the room and flopped down onto the couch. At least if he was laying on it, he wouldn't have to see it.

"You the shrink?" he asked, sounding a bit disinterested.

[Kanarik Tajiin]

“Please Halajiin, shrink is such a crude and unnecessary word,” Kanarik said, without turning around. “It emphasizes a quality that is the antithesis of what my practice is about. While it takes note of how we psychotherapists ‘shrink’ your fears, we also help you ‘grow’ into a more psychologically sound state. Therefore, if you do not wish to refer to me as ‘the good doctor’ or ‘doctor’, or even ‘doc’, I insist you refer to me as ‘the Gardener.’ It refers not only to my goal in helping you grow out of your psychological shortcomings, but also highlights how I will train you to become psychologically stable, just like a gardener trains a tree to become taller or wider. It also refers to my lovely habit of organ-harvesting, through which I hope to reanimate my beloved cat Mr. Tibbles. Do you want to volunteer a kidney?”
He swiveled around in his chair, and noticed the look of disgust on the Jedi’s face. That was soon followed by the horrid realization that this Jedi looked distinctly like a rodent. A disease-laden rodent. Disease. Rodent. Disease. Rodent. Disease. The words cycled through in his head until they burst from him in a glorious example of his sanity.

“HOLY MOTHER OF INBRED FECES-FLINGING MUSKRAT ANCESTORS IS THAT A RODENT? IN MY OFFICE?” He yelled at the top of his lungs, his eye twitching uncontrollably as he ran around the room looking for his bag. “WHERE IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY IS MY HAZMAT SUIT WHEN I NEED IT? A RODENT? IN MY OFFICE? A RODENT?” He was in what most psychologists described as a stage-IV panic attack. For Kanarik, it barely qualified as a stage-I. His entire brain shut down, his primal instincts kicking in. He started to tunnel-vision as he desperately searched through his bag, tossing eggplant and rat corpse alike out until he discovered his precious HazMat suit.
He threw his tape-measure at the offending rodent-creature in order to buy time for him to get into his hazmat suit. Within the safety of the orange suit, his sanity slowly returned to him, and he stopped half-throw, putting the sandwich he was holding back in his bag.

“Alright. Sit on the couch and the couch only. That way I can have whatever rodent diseases you bring with you exterminated later. I can get you some drinks if you like. I want you to tell me what has happened to you recently, and any recent problems that you might have contracted from these events,” Kanarik said calmly. His sanity had returned. For now.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"What..."

The...

Fuck...
The entire purpose for seeing a psychiatrist or psychotherapist was to help you relieve tension and understand your problems so you can better face them. In that very moment, Halajiin Rabeak imagined he was on Bizzarro World, where nothing is as it should be, everything is made up and the points don't matter.

Er, rhat's from a holovision game show.

Oh, right, sorry.

Ears flattening in to protect their sensitive eardrums from the volume of the... doctor's...? hysterical screaming, Hal cringed, backing into the sofa and throwing up his arm to deflect the incoming measuring tape. The entire experience had thus far been an exercise in madness, and as the doctor pulled on a hazmat suit, Hal just shook his head. Then came a bit of measured reason, which felt more like an insult than anything.

Leaning forward on the couch, Hal stared straight into the crazy man's glasses. "First off, not a rodent. I'm a Nehantite. We're sort of like mongooses. And second, I just got insulted by a crazy man, and I'm feeling pretty pissed off by that event. Now I'm considering my options about what to do regarding this," he growled.

[Kanarik Tajiin]

"Well for one, you could tell me why my, er, outburst made you feel so angry?" Kanarik said dryly. "I am not crazy by any means. We in the psychology department prefer the term "unstable" or "highly unstable" if the case is serious. I can give you another option. You can have some of my Settov Hammer on the Rocks. Good shit, and it cures an eye-twitch in, well, the blink of an eye."

Kanarik glanced down at the profile again, making sure he had heard the rodent correctly.Shit, it does say Nehantite, he thought to himself. Well, nothing makes a good impression like a psychotic outburst and some very blatant cultural misunderstandings.

"Regardless, I can most profusely apologize for my earlier outburst. If you are a Nehantite and not a rodent, then I can safely assume that you carry none of the typical rodent-related diseases, and therefore I can remove this HazMat suit. It still smells like dead cat in here." As Kanarik clumsily clambered out of his suit, he tried to assure the Jedi that he was in fact a psychologist and not a loony sent to interview a planet of Jedi based on a clerical error. "I am fully qualified, you know," he assured. "I still have my practicing license."For Now,​ he added silently.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

After such an outburst, there was no way Hal was going to accept anything to drink - or eat - from this very, very strange man. But at least the hazmat suit was gone, so that was one step in the right direction.

Leaning back into the couch, Hal crossed his arms, one footpaw tapping at the floor as he studied Kanarik. Human, from the looks of him, a bit older than most in the area, but not decrepit. "No thanks," he said to the drink, still debating just getting up and walking out. But if he did that, he likely would be assigned some other sort of lame chore or task by the Council to "help" him learn to behave.

"And your outburst made me feel angry because of many reasons. First, you were acting like a dick. Second, you were throwing things at me. Third, you acted like I had some sort of terrible disease. Fourth, you put on a damn suit to seal yourself off from me. And fifth, I realized I'm going to be analyzed by someone way more nuts than I am," he spat.

[Kanarik Tajiin]

"Well, if you don't want a drink, that'll leave more for me," Kanarik exclaimed happily. He quickly washed down the drink before filling up another, and promptly tossing that one down too. "And for your information, your species looks extremely similar to many common rodents. Rodents are known to transmit many diseases, such as Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome and Lassa Fever. I have been diagnosed with hypochondria, and unfortunately the events today prevented me from taking the pill I require to stave off the anxiety. The HazMat suit is simply a precaution, as it prevents me from possibly breathing in any dust particles or fecal particles that could give me diseases. However," Kanarik added before the Jedi could take offense, "you are obviously much too civilized to leave any fecal matter on my new floor." He really dodged a blaster bolt on that one. If he offended this crazy Jedi again, he might spring some Jedi-fu moves on him, or whatever Jedi did when they were mad.

"Anyway, to you second point, I was simply throwing things in the general vicinity of your person, not directly at you. I am terribly sorry for the way I acted, but I feel much better now that I've had a couple drinks. To your fifth point, I am not 'nuts', only slightly psychologically unstable when I do not have the proper medi-URRRP-cations," he finished with a loud burp. "You, on the other hand, have yet to be evaluated by a licensed professional, so your sanity, although it is more than likely present, is officially still in question. Now tell me, do you have any phobias or worries? That might be a good place to start."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Is this guy for real?

The nameplate on his desk says so.

Yeah, but I have a card in my wallet that says I'm part of the Intergalactic Justice Pals. Doesn't actually make me one.

No, but it did get you out of getting arrested once because you "needed to save a planet."

He he he, that was pretty good, wasn't it?

Hey, he's still looking at us. Suppose we should say something, huh?

Like we worry about anything!
Racking his brain for a moment, Hal finally uncrossed his arms and shrugged. "I dunno. Probably the usual," he replied. "Oxygen leak in a spaceship, not knowing your beer's gone skunky because there's no date on the bottle, double-ended venomous snakes, mandated psychotherapy sessions..."

[Kanarik Tajiin]

Kanarik pretended not to look affronted by that last one. "Aside from your last comment, those are all very reasonable. Especially your concern over skunky booze. My friend, that one shakes every reasonable person to the core of their being, and for that alone I can almost declare you sane." He glanced at his notes quickly, making sure he had quality stuff.
· Rodent
· Seems to not enjoy psychotherapy
· Does not readily accept quality booze
· Is worried about skunky booze, venomous snakes, <strike>therapy sessions </strike>and oxygen leaks.

"I do have another question for you. I have been interested in the interactions between the subconscious and conscious states of the mind, and the effects of the id and super-ego on the conscious minds. I am currently involved in writing a paper that expands on the great Siggmond Froidus III's work. The paper examines the interactions between the id and super ego in the minds of alien species, such as yourself. I know this is a bit off topic for the evaluation, but I would appreciate it greatly." Kanarik tried to smile, but wound up in a creepy smirk instead."After this, I only have a few more questions, so try to hang in there."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Only a few more questions. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, yet! If he could simply tell the doctor what he wanted to hear, Hal would be cleared in no time, he imagined. Now to work some magic...

"First, you mean species alien to yourself, right? Because here, we're both aliens, this is a Ysannan planet," he said. "And, I don't know much about subconscious... whatevers, other than when I'm asleep, but I think that's more unconscious than subconsious."

Ooh, look at you, using big words!

You don't even know what those mean, do you?

Nope!

He's talking about us, and the interaction between ourselves. You're the id and I'm the ego, basically.

Then what's a super ego? Is that like a big frozen waffle you put in a big toaster?

No, that's a super Eggo. Now focus on what's important.

Mmm, waffles....

Screw it, I'm gonna handle this one.

Hal was only barely aware of the complex interactions inside his own thought process, but when his higher functions took over, he went with them. After all, there were no ladies around to impress, and the goal was getting out of the office as quickly as possible, so it made sense to let his brain do the actual work.

"Well, I know that my species is said by others to be a bit... behind in our development, comparatively," he said. "And because so, we more often revert to our more animal nature than others do. More difficult to ignore what our impulses say, you might say. So, we have to keep those in check with a bit more vigor than some other races. At least this is what I've been told. Not sure how true it is, though, since the races who wrote that assessment haven't ever actually been a Nehantite. So, while we might supposedly do more in-fighting between id and ego, I don't know how to actually compare it to any other race."

[Kanarik Tajiin]

Kanarik listened to the Nehantite speak, jotting down notes as quickly as he could. He scribbled on the datapad, trying to keep up with the Jedi’s speech. When the Jedi was done, he placed the datapad next to the eggplant on the stand and leaned forward.

“Well, I’m referring to species alien to Siggmond Froidus III, who was an Altarian. Humans are included in my survey, and you are the first alien patient I have been able to ask about this. The subconscious is the part of the mind that we are not fully aware of, but it still guides the conscious brain.” He attempted to explain in utter brevity the subconscious so that the rodent, er, Jedi would understand what he was saying.

“If you revert to your animal nature more often, that means that the id is the dominant force in your subconscious struggle. This causes your base instincts, such as sex drive, fight or flight, and other survival tactics to kick in. The increased sex drive can result in one having a bisexual orientation, or an attraction to both males and females. Fight-or-flight instincts will cause anxiety and stress if not relieved in the form of exercise. I have determined that the id is also dominant for my brain as well, causing me to be very aggressive around members of the opposite sex. Count your lucky stars that you’re a male,” Kanarik said jokingly. He poured another glass of Settov and downed it quickly. That brought his total up to four in the last twenty minutes. Despite his generous consumption of alcohol, his eye-twitch remained prevalent. Maybe squeezing his rubber duck Joseph Hemingsworth Jr might help in calm down a little.

“Excuse me,” he began as he made his way over to his bag, “but I need to do a quick an ink-blot test and a word association test before I can complete my evaluation.” He rummaged through his bag, moving aside a stale sandwich and a pogo stick before finding his rubber duck. “I think I’ll start with the ink-blot test first. Now, I want you to tell me what you see on this blot.” He held up a card with one hand and squeezed Joseph Hemingsworth Jr. with the other.