Due to the horrors in their past, they spent most of their time inebriated. It wasn't until, in a drunken fit, they took a swing at a member of Pax Humanis, that someone dragged them to a therapist, and get them cleaned up before it was too late. -- Fighting Fit
[AN: No word of a lie, if this happened in the core of the Alliance, there would have been an intervention WAY sooner than that. So this is happening around the Edge Territories]
Norwell woke with a splitting head. That was normal for him. What was not normal was the soft-looking individual waiting for him.
"...the flakk are you?"
"My name is Chance," said the Havenworlder. They looked like some bizarre kind of fluffy lizard wrapped in garments of soft felt. "I'm here to help you."
"Why?" said Norwell. "I'm a wreck. I took on Pax flakkin' Humanis and I didn't care."
"I think you did care," said Chance. "You cared about your mental pain enough to try anything to end it. While I admit that your methods are... less than beneficial, it's a sign that you needed some help."
"You can't cure what's wrong with me," growled Norwell.
"Possibly," allowed Chance. "Some wounds cannot be cured, but the pain they cause can be eased. It takes time, devotion, and patience to accomplish. All three I have ready for you. I am ready to persist in helping you ease your pains, in any way that works."
"So. You're in my corner?"
"All the way," said Chance. "From now until the end."
Norwell tried to get used to that idea. He'd never had a chance before.
[Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash]
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