Chapter 46: Chapter 46

(TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS TRANSPHOBIA!)

 

As everyone around the table stares at Houseworth, dad snaps us back to attention by roaring, “ROLL FOR INITIATIVE!”

Everyone begins rolling frantically, with the bandits getting a frightening 21, followed by a 14 for the cultists. Dana swears, “I got 6! Dammit all ta hell!” Jeffrey shrugs, “10 here!”

Houseworth totals up an 11, my mum gets 14. I gulp, “um… 27…”

Everyone stares at me, and dad chuckles, “looks like the cleric is up first, then. Naa’ril, what do?”

I bite my lip, then gesture. “Can I blast the bandit that’s prone? I want to cast Sacred Flame on him!”

Dad nods approvingly. DC13 save, but he rolls at disadvantage because he’s prone, and he’s grappled so it’s DOUBLE disadvantage… he got a 13, so your spell hits! Roll damage, go for it!”

I roll a d8, and get a 5. Dad grins. “As the bandit wrestles with the furious wolf, trying to keep its jaws from his throat, he suddenly immolates, bursting and expiring with a shriek of pain. The wolf turns, sizing up the brewing conflict, before fixing on…” dad rolls a couple of dice, “Faeln! Wolf vs Ranger!”

Now it’s the bandit’s turns, and they throw themselves into battle. Two of them take shots at the dwarf in the pit with their crossbows, missing completely. The next two missed as well, bolts soaring over Ironhand’s faceplate and shattering on the cave wall.

Two bandits close with my mother, but she avoids the blows. I manage to tank the next two, while Jeffrey brushes off the hits like water. The Cultists get their turn, hissing in a strange language. Dad asks, “Does anyone speak… Abyssal?”

Dana grins. “Yep, this scaly boi speaks it!” Dad muses for a second. “While the rest of the party has no idea what the robed figures are saying, YOU, Faeln, can understand them perfectly. The most senior of the hooded figures is bellowing, “For the glory of our despoiled mistress! May the world rot at her feet as she bestows her corrupted blessings on the worthy!” you have no idea WHO they’re talking about, but she seems important.”

The first cultist takes a crack at Nesta, the next aims at Faeln, the third for me, and the last at Ironhand. My AC keeps me safe, but Jeffrey takes 7 damage from the cultist’s frenzied swinging.

My mum giggles. “I draw my sword and brandish it in a two-handed grip, chanting under my breath as sickly emerald flames ooze sickeningly down the length of the blade, before slashing at the cultist who attacked our Monk. Casting Green-Flame Blade, I make a melee attack! Does a fourteen hit?”

Dad winces, “Yep, that’s definitely going to connect, roll damage!”

Mum rolls, then the green-flame damage. “6 slashing, plus 4 fire, and I want to trigger the flame so it’ll go for a second target!”

Dad rolls for the cultist’s Dex save. “As the cultist you swung at goes down in a dark welter of arterial blood, gurgling his last as the jade flames lick at him, a second cultist screams in pain as a lashing tendril of balefire flickers across his body! He takes damage equal to your spellcasting modifier, which is… 4?”

My mum nods, and dad marks off the damage on one of the cultists, the game continuing as we roll dice, roleplay, and share in the atmosphere of a fun, entertaining group activity.

 

Over the rest of the week, I feel my nerves getting more tightly wound, Thursday approaching inexorably. I make sure it’s cleared with the faculty to leave school early in order to go and see Yaya.  When the time comes, I pack my stuff and head to the school gate. Dad’s not driving his bike today, using mum’s car for this. Thanks to good timing, I have a little wiggle-room to prepare myself, using a little makeup and having a quick shower, before getting fully dressed up in a simple charcoal dress and a cream camisole over it, brushing my hair out and curling it loosely.

Dad smiles when I join him in the kitchen. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”   

I nod, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Yeah. Let’s go, dad.”

Getting into the car, I put my headphones in and pull up a music app, selecting ‘songs from the 2010s’. The first song that comes on is from an artist called Girl in Red, and I nod my head in time with the beat, letting the melody wash over me. By the time dad pulls up by the consulting room, I’ve burned through several songs, including Mountains by Message to Bears, Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen, and Love Me Like You Do, by Ellie Goulding. Dad lets me out so he can park, before joining me at the entrance to the building. The sign reads, “RE-SPEC”, with a slogan underneath. “In case the DM messed up your character sheet!”

 

I giggle, and dad nudges me. “Sounds appropriate, sweetie!”

As we approach the doors, they slide open with a gentle hum, closing behind us. The room beyond is reminiscent of any standard waiting room in a doctor’s clinic, with a few people waiting for their appointments. Three receptionists are working the check-in counter, dealing with all the paperwork and stuff. I find a couple of chairs while dad goes and lets the receptionist know that we’re here to see Yaya Kirichenko, before he rejoins me. I get a couple of looks from a few other occupants of the waiting room, but try to ignore them, eager to meet Yaya for the first time.

About twenty minutes later, a woman enters the room. “Porter? Kylie Porter?”

I stand up, before pausing. This woman… isn’t Yaya. Instead of the silver hair with green streaks, this woman is older, with a clearly-dyed blonde perm.

“Um, sorry, we were supposed to be seen by Ms Kirichenko?” My dad starts, before the woman waves a hand.

“Specialist Kirichenko is currently occupied with something rather urgent, so I’ll be dealing with you today. My name is Dr Janet Foster. Follow me, if you please.”

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Looking at my father, we shrug at each other and follow Dr Foster. My dad’s brow is somewhat furrowed, since this wasn’t something either of us expected. She leads us to a room on the second floor of the building, not waiting at all and simply marching across the room to park herself in a leather swivel chair. Turning to face us, she picks up a tablet and a digital pen. “So, what brings you in today?”

My dad looks at me, and I nod. “It’s fine dad, I can explain.” I give his hand a squeeze as we sit on the couch opposite.

“Well, until recently, I was going through life as the wrong gender. I met people who knew what was wrong with me and they helped me understand what was missing and incomplete in my very being. My body doesn’t line up with who I know I am. I was born male, but I’m not supposed to be! I know that I am a girl. I told my parents and they accept me for who I am, and… I want to start transitioning. I know it won’t be easy, but it’s what I have to do to be happy in myself.”

Dr Foster scribbles on the tablet, before tilting her head. “I see. Sir, I have a question for you. Why are you playing along with this instead of teaching your son to stop hurting himself and those around him?”

 

There’s a brief, stunned silence. I feel a sickening twist in my stomach as Dr Foster’s words fade. My dad’s face is utterly blank, as though he’s fallen asleep with his eyes open. With deliberate slowness, he sits back, straight as a ramrod.

“…. Excuse me? Run that by me again, I must have misheard you.” I’ve never heard my dad speak in that tone. It’s like every word that he just uttered was made of ice.

Dr Foster smiles, as if happy to clear up some misunderstanding. “It’s quite simple, sir. Your son wants attention, and this is his way of getting it. I can’t fathom why you and your wife are going along with this, but I recommend that you stop. Boys should learn correct ways of dealing with their problems, instead of crossdressing and claiming to be girls. I’ve written several accredited papers on this very matter, after all, I know what I’m talking about.”

 

My dad’s face hardens. “I see. Not only are you going to sit there, insult my wife and I, and insist on misgendering my daughter, you’re trying to convince others that you’re not a bigot. ‘Accredited papers’ my foot!”

Dr Foster’s face twitches. “Sir, you are being irrational. If you would simply think for yourself, you’d see that this isn’t a healthy way for your SON to express HIMSELF. Feeding into his delusion is only going to make the rehabilitation process harder! We can prescribe antipsychotics-”

My dad raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear into his hairline. “ANTIPSYCHOTICS?? Not only are you trying to medicate my little girl, under your own backwards assumptions that she’s ‘just being delusional’, you have the GALL to sit there and act like you’re offering us some solution to our problems! The only problem here is the fact that you are either unwilling or unable to get it through your skull that Kylie is a girl, and as her parents, my wife and I want to help her become the woman she deserves to be! THIS SESSION IS OVER. And you can be sure that I will be having some CHOICE words to share with your board of directors!”

The door crashes open, and a group of people enters. One is Yaya, with a murderous look on her face. “Janet! Foster! You’ve done it now, you heinous witch!”

The Russian accent I remembered from the phone call is much, much thicker, and her dark eyes are almost shooting lightning bolts at the stunned woman. She recovers, spluttering,

“What is the meaning of this, Kirichenko? How dare you interrupt me when I’m with a client-”

“MY CLIENT, YOU RAGING CYKA!”

I blink. Sooka? I internet-search the word, translating it into Russian, and gasp. Bitch?!

As Dr Foster splutters some more, the rest of the group makes their presence fully known. Two security guards, a receptionist, and two men, one older and clearly the father of the younger man.

As Yaya tears into the steadily-more-incensed Foster, the younger man turns to me. “Sorry about this, Internal Affairs seems to have gotten you caught up in quite a fracas, miss. My apologies!”

The older man clears his throat. “Yaya, please. Allow me.”

In an instant, Yaya’s flood of incomprehensible Russian invective cuts off, and she steps back. Dr Foster bolts to her feet, ready to kick off with her own retort, only to pause.

“D-Director, what brings you here today? Weren’t you supposed to be on a business trip?”

The older man, the Director, sighs. “That was a trap, for you. I’ve had many complaints about you, most from customers, but nothing could ever be conclusively proven until now. Yaya realised what was going on when you attempted to assign her a separate case to work, so she rescheduled the moment she caught wind of your scheme. Then she called me. Janet Foster, your contract with us is hereby terminated. Clear out your desk and get off the premises immediately.”

As the Director turns to us, Janet Foster lets out a shriek of apoplectic proportions, hurling herself across the room at Yaya. “YOU SET ME UP?! YOU SET ME UP!”

As the former Dr’s hands grasp at the younger woman’s neck, seeking to throttle the life from her, Yaya raises her own hands, gripping Foster’s wrist and opposite shoulder. Twisting INTO the enraged ex-employee, Yaya snaps her hip out and tugs, her upper body lowering towards the floor in a rapid motion. Blinded by her wrath, Janet Foster goes up, over, and DOWN, flipped clean over Yaya’s back, and lands hard on the carpeted floor, her breath wheezing out of her in a muffled “HORF!”

As the Director shakes his head. “Security, would you mind confining Mrs Foster to a room and calling the Enforcers?”

He tugs out his phone and dials a number as Mrs Foster gasps and wheezes, too addled right now to process much. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to report an assault. One of my employees was terminated just now and attempted to harm one of her colleagues….. Yes, I would like to press charges. I saw it all, just now. Thank you.”

 

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