Alcoholic Rehab for Rahal

[demikara]

Tyrus had elected not to go with alcoholics anonymous because of their...insistence on religion. He was already a priest. Did he really need more religion? And he was especially not interested in Christianity, which seemed to be the focus of the majority of the programs. Instead, with a little searching, he had found a different treatment program. Well, it was similar, but at least the '12 steps' here had been modified to not include religion. The fact that he had to spend 12 hours of his week here though was annoying as hell.

Still, it was this or the council would bind him, so he stayed in the program. He needed to fully complete it or else he'd see a sharp reduction on how much magic he could use, and he wasn't about to let that occur. This was...the peaceful version. Even if he did have a million other things he could be doing, including his work with restructuring Broadmoore, working with the kids who needed help learning control, making safety amulets to alert MCU when one of the kids in the mundane world got hurt, or his work as an emergency foster, and with the foster system on the unseen in general. He had so much to do that these felt like a waste of time.

He knew he had a problem. Did he really have to talk about it? Group therapy like this sucked. But this was an actual treatment center, The Right Step, and it was a bit more sound than meeting in a school gym, so he was a bit more comfortable with it, even if the Tuesday and Thursday night session really cut into his control lessons with the kids. Right now, they were almost wrapped up with the end of the process group, which meant the en of the session entirely. They had already had their hour long life skills session at the beginning. Life skills, such as coping and self care, and okay, maybe he had realized a few things.

Like he took on too many responsibilities.

But if he didn't take them on, who would? The kids needed control lessons and safety in case they were hurt or attacked. And no one else local worked with placing the foster kids. The system for fostering unseen kids wasn't exactly, well. It wasn't fleshed out and half of it he had made up himself based off how the mundanes did it. And Broadmoore needed help to reform it, and even if he hadn't anticipated being putting in charge of it, when he challenged the council, who could he trust to handle it? The staff there wasn't too be trusted, and he had steadily been replacing them with more competent staff that actually cared and did their jobs and helped the patients and inmates there. But it took time to reform the asylum!

He sat in his chair, in the circle of others and listened to the testimony of one of the others. Sam or something, Tyrus couldn't recall. Everyone here had a sob story, and they were hear to share them and to work through them. He had already had his turn, and held a wet tissue in one hand, so he could throw it away on the way out the door. It was good to get everything off his chest at least. That had been more than a little helpful

[Resident Demonolater]

"Oh, the poor wayward mortals these days." Nothing signalled humanities' departure from good sense to Dionysus more than the blasphemous construct they dubbed "Alcoholics Anonymous," and as He stood outside of The Right Step's building He was struck with a deep despair. As if joyus revelry was an ailment! His sacred sacrament a poison! His very worship a disease! Always the foolhardy, and puritanical had shunned Him, even decedent Rome banned the Bacchean cults for fear of mayhem, but this? This was institutionalised boringness, this was a thorough, and complete arm of society built around nothing more than stripping the happiness from those who sought Him.

And all in the name of the Christ, or worse, a person's own good.

Ever since Zeus had sealed the various ways to, and from Olympus in His jealous rage, mankind had been adrift. Lost to its own devices, or swallowed whole by the rigid machinations of that Jewish hippie's ilk. Each God, or Goddess had mourned in Their own ways, many had argued, or debated Their king, and a few even dared to challenge Him, but none had ever succeeded. Luckily however that was all about to change, the Olympians were clever, and powerful in their own rights, and enough of the world had returned to the Old Ways in the form of Reconstructionism, or Neo-Paganism to allow them leeway. To put cracks in the bars that contained them. The betrayal of Constantine would not be the end of Them. Not yet.

An alliance had formed, and a deal struck. Aphrodite, Dionysus, Hermes, Pan, and Ares were each given a single chance to walk among the mortals again for a season, tasked with bringing a hundred thousand back to the Pantheon each. No doubt Zeus chose most of Them because of how the times had changed, each, and every would be heartily opposed in the new world. But the first to be sent forth, the Twice-Born God, was not detered in the least. It simply wasn't His nature after all.

The door behind Tyrus creaked open, it's long-ignored hinges awkwardly announcing an intruder better than any alarm system could hope to, and sending a bolt of dismay into Nikolas' chest. He'd hoped to sneak in quitely, well aware of how late he was to his "court mandated recovery," but in frightening unison most of the room turned to eye the interruption. The man in the center even stopped his teary-eyed spiel of divorce to shoot a nasty look towards him, and Nikolas took an instinctual step back. A painfully forgettable man by all account he stood at the average height for a Caucasian male in America, looked to be about the average weight, and short, tightly cropped black hair. A living stock photo, really, and the nervous aphrension he felt displayed on his face as clear as day.

"Maybe I'll come back another time," he stammered, tone hushed, but before he could enact his great escape the councillor swooped in.

"Nonsense, nonsense!" The man practically bellowed, leaping up from his chair in a flash with clipboard well in hand. He marched over to Nikolas, and clasped an uncomfortably firm hand on his shoulder. "We always welcome those who need help, late, or not. Come in, come in! Why don't you take a seat next to..Ah! Tyrus!" The councillor then not-so-subtly pushed Nikolas in that direction, causing the man to practically stumble into the chair. With a satisfied smile the clipboard wielding authority figure returned to his seat, motioning for Sam to continue his whining.

Nikolsd however didn't seem to be paying much attention. He was still visibly nervous, and fidgety, all while occasionally stealing a glance towards the door as if asking himself just who was quicker, him or the councillor. It wasn't long before his attention turned to the man next to him, and giving Tyrus a friendly nudge with his elbow, he introduced himself with a whisper. "You don't look like you belong here either, name's Nikolas, how bad's the steps here?"

[demikara]

"Tyrus, and not bad. We can talk more once everything is over though." He had to at least pretend to pay attention and take part. The councilor in charge of them would know otherwise. Luckily, the session moved quickly, and because of how it went, Nikolas ended up not having a turn to speak. Timed sessions had that effect. They were closing up and Tyrus stood and stretched, then smiled to Nikolas. "So, you arrived late." He grinned, more amused than not. "You missed the fun life skills portion. Today we learned about how to deal with grief. It was...helpful." Given he was in there, essentially, for grief and for abuse recovery as the root causes of his alcoholism, he tended to prefer those sessions, however uncomfortable they were.

"They cycle through them though, so you don't have to worry about missing them. Twenty-four sessions, on repeat." Though they varied regularly. Rahal was unimpressed given he had been told he had to attend all 24, then the alumni program until the council was satisfied. Would they ever be satisfied? Rahal doubted it. He was going to be in the program until the doctors here were satisfied, more than likely. Hurray. He smiled to Nikolas though. No need to bring the other down with his woes.

He headed towards the door walking with the new participant. "It's not anonymous by the way. No one actually cares who you are, but it's not anonymous." Just in case the other had the idea that it was. No, this program was fairly open and the councilor refused to let them be ashamed that they were in it. That was nice, but it was also weird and he didn't quite understand it all. Still, he had a feeling he would be gently suggested to consider one on one therapy as well as the group. Just because he had a shit life didn't mean he wanted therapy, and frankly, if he did choose to go to therapy, it would be with someone who had been in the know awhile, and knew how to deal with the Unseen.

Just because they were out did not mean that Rahal was fully comfortable with mundanes and they hadn't given him much reason to be, truth told. There was a reason he didn't look remotely like a member of the unseen right now, in jeans and a button up. He had cheerfully decided today he wanted to look like a cowboy, and looked the part for everything but a hat.

He didn't own the hat. That needed to be fixed.

[Resident Demonolater]

"Yikes man," once outside Nikolas seemed to breath a little easier, almost as if the very air inside Right Steps had been oppressive. He stretched in a somewhat exaggerated manner, and yawned, although his brow was firmly furrowed. It took him a second to fully digest Tyrus' hekpful rundown, and he turned towards the man with a not-so-innocent grin. "Twenty-four on a cycle, eh? Send me back to the Lutherans at this rate!" Without skipping so much as a beat his left hand dove into the pocket of his khaki slacks, fishing out a rugged old Bible. "Ah those were the days, coasting through the predicitable Tweleve, but the courts kinda caught on to that, I think," the book flipped open to the midpoint almost by itself, a sign of how well worn it was, but Tyrus wasn't in for a dose of obnoxious street preaching, or any such. No, in the cliche of all cliches Nikolas' travel Bible was hollowed out, one of those little .99cent sampler bottles cradled in the middle.

The brazenness of his action spoke more to how many times he'd been through this particular hell than his character.

"Sentenced me to the whole shebang here, and some obnoxious after-program I can't even remember. Repeat offender, and all." He fished the tiny boozelet from its compartment, and quickly stuffed the book back in his pants. "This will be my ninth AA-ish program, not counting three stints in rehab. I keep telling them it's not a problem," he offered the tiny bottle of extra cheap vodka to Tyrus. After all it was better to give, than receive, right? "But they keep not listening. Doesn't matter if your life's still intact if you aren't living how they think you ought to."

[demikara]

Rahal's face was made of stone and he pushed the vodka away. "No thanks. First, we literally just got out of a session of a program meant to prevent us from drinking. Second, I only drink good alcohol, not that swill." He also preferred his drinks to be fruity and sweet, but they all had their preferences, and he simply preferred girly drinks. They were delicious, why wouldn't he?

"Seriously, what the hell? I'm not supposed to be drinking at all fro a reason, you idiot." No wonder this one was in a repeat program. "I drink, I get drunk, I go to jail. No passing go for me." Well, Broadmoore, probably until the council was pleased with his disposition, and that would be a bit too ironic for him. Besides, he didn't think he could hide anymore of the sentient rubber ducks at the reserve without being found out and he didn't want to deal with the fall out of that mess. Catherine would kill him if she found out what he had been doing with the ducks.

It was just until their magic ran down. Some of the earlier ones were already run down entirely! It just...took awhile.

[Resident Demonolater]

Nikolas laughed, then proceeded to down the entire sampler in a single swig. It burned like hell, because as Tyrus so aptly pointed out it was indeed swill, but that burn wasn't a bad thing. No, that painful, pure-grain pain was freedom, and nothing else. The dirty bathtub aftertaste may as well have been the national anthem to Nikolas. He savoured every last drop as the warmth cascaded down his throat, and pooled in his slight beer-belly, blissfully listening to his new buddy all the while. Tyrus' story, he'd found, was all to common these days. "But do you really know the reason? Is it because your drinking is wrong, or you're drinking wrong?" The question was purposefully circular sounding, but Nikolas was, in fact, speaking carefully.

Despite rejecting his offer Tyrus hadn't gone running to the nearest councillor, and though the man offered astonishment it was weak. There was potential here.

Nik took a few more steps, patting his stomach contentedly, and glanced about the parkinglot. "Let me tell you something, cowboy," he motioned towards a nearby car, a jet black, albeit run down '89 Panther Solo. "You have a drinking problem for sure if you break out in handcuffs like clockwork, but not the one they're ramming down your throat. First timers always get the strongest dose of kool-aid, but don't let it fool you. Those guys?" He turned around to face Tyrus, and the Right Steps building, offering the latter a grimace. "They make money off this, group sessions, individual counseling, shipping people off to clinics, medications, and most of all relapses. All while pushing a world view rooted in biblical morals."

Nikolas knew he was coming on a little strong, but time was somewhat of the essence, and he knew just how insidious these organisations were. They created a positive reinforcement loop, and fast, making sure to never skimp on the condemnation for breaking from the party line.

"Me? I'm headed to a bar, nice bougie place with the sweetest damn wines I've ever tasted. And I could always use some company...And maybe a sober driver for the way over." Nik snapped his fingers with a wicked grin, waiting to see how long it would take Tyrus to notice the set of keys suddenly in his left pants pocket. "If you're hell bent on sobriety think of it as a test of will."

[demikara]

"I am more than likely banned from that bar." He pointed out amused. "But fine, I'll drive. We'll see if I can actually get inside." It would be amusing. If he was, it was a mundane bar for sure. He wasn't allowed in most of them. He took the keys from his pocket and grinned. "And if it's our kind of bar, I'm certain I'm banned. I'm banned from all the unseen bars. Something about drunk and disorderly combined with misuse of magic." the other had used magic first. The trick with the keys were enough for him to speak up about it. They may be in the open now, but that didn't mean Rahal was open about it at all.

"Trust me, I know they're in it for the money. But if I get the council's attention for drinking again, they'll slap a binding on me so fast, my head will spin." And he didn't want to even think of that. "But I'll keep you out of trouble as your sober buddy, hey? You're intent on being drunk after all." Who was he to stop the other. Plus when Catherine inevitably got sent out because he had been spotted in a bar, he could point to the other and point out he was perfectly sober, wasn't the lack of chaotic magic gone wild a solid sign of that?

He looked Nikolas over and shrugged. "And don't magic things in my pockets. It's rude as hell."