Counselor's Office

This is open to all that are needing advice or any manner of emotional porblems.

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"Well.. this school must have just kicked out the other counselor.." the Swedish man said under his breath as his gaze traced the room.


The floor was pale dark oak and yet full of texture while a rug covers the floor in need of a stretching. In
an array of gloss and semi-gloss, shades of pale blue cover three of the four walls and their
baseboards speckled only by an occasional paint chip or faded fingerprint. Entire sections are
hidden by photographs of varying sizes and of varying content, most expressing various political
ideas, or taste in music. Shelves protrude from a wall adjacent to the door -the 4th wall-, topped by a number of knickknacks and decorative accessories that hid the only white wall. Yet nothing obscures the mess quite as magnificently as the furnishings which fill the room.

There was a single desk the color of a ravens wing, and two white chairs sat in front. That wasn't what stood out though.. It was the huge splatter paint designed art across from the knickknack wall. Be side it was a white loveseat that stuck out like a sore thumb because of the huge, gold stuffed rabbit. He looekd.. confused, but ingored everything and just sat down at the desk. Taking in sweet apple blossom scents that hung heavliy in the air.

"At least they had good scents.." he said softly to himself, smiling as he leaned back in his chair.

A young teen around the age of 16 gave a soft tap on the door. He slowly opened it without a thought, he was sure this was the place he needed to go anyway. He stepped in, carefully shutting the door behind him. He had to be careful now; he had a strange habit of slamming the door open by accident.

The student was looking at the floor, not bothering to watch where he was going. He hadn't noticed how the place looked either, his mind was occupied with other things. And that was what it seemed like, he was lost in deep thought before he could get to speaking.

He had to say something, he couldn't just stand there. The looked up and gave a small smile.

"Perdón, but are you the counselor?" he asked in a quiet voice, which didn't sound like his. It surprised him, he didn't remember using such a voice, it didn't even sound like it belonged to him.

On reaction to watching the boy walk in, be so gentle in his actions, not look up as he came in, and be so soft spoken, Berwald offered a faint smile. Encouragement maybe? Nah.. It was more like a mixture of things that were meant to be hopeful some what.. His eyes remained blank, ominous, and silently intimidating though.

Be nice, don’t freak the guy out, and remain calm under any sort of stress.. The Swedish quietly reminded himself and made a soft motion to one of the chair in front of him. He really didn’t want to screw this up.. It would be a nice change to have a country smile at him without returning a glare of fearful stare.

“Why yes I am.” He began and then straighten his lazy sitting position in the chair, “How may I be of help for you, Mr…….?” He let word ‘Mr.” drag on for a count as a hint that the Swedish was trying to learn the new face’s name.

He glanced to the side, back to the Swedish man, then at the chair. He gave a slight nod and took a seat in front of the other nation. He took a deep breath, slumping in his seat as he did. He held his arm, a bit nervous. Strange...why was he feeling that way? It was rare to ever see him so insecure about anything, but he couldn't figure out what made him so tense. His brows furrowed at the thought, it was better to feel anything than this.

His features relaxed when the counselor spoke to him. It automatically made him grip his arm tighter. "Eh, Manuel. But you can call me México, everyone does..." He had the hint of a Mexican accent. But of course, that was only natural.

Trying his best to try and not show that he could see the Mexican’s nervous state, Berwald pulled out a notebook and scribed something down. Though it looked professional, it was just the Swedish trying to look like he was doing something useful to his works. Actually, all he was writing/drawing was a picture of a small face that looked similar to the texting face of ‘ :/ ” but more facial like.

“Pleasure to meet you, Manuel. Your name is rather interesting.. But if you rather be called Mexico, then I guess that’s what I’ll stick to calling you." the Sweden smiled friendly, his gaze coming for the notebook to the nervous face. “So! What’s on your mind, sir?”

Oh dear.. That was probably the worst way ask what is bothering someone.. Berwald thought to himself, stress now weaving into his calm attitude. Not enough to be seen, but it was close.

Mexico rested his chin on both his hands, letting out a frustrated breath. He didn't mean to sound so stressed, but he couldn't help it. The nervousness was still there, but he felt more frustrated than he could handle.

He bit his lip, trying to find the right words to explain his situation. Too much was going on...where could he start? He sighed, and after a moment, he said in a wavering voice, "Well, señor...I do not know exactly how to tell you. Much has been going on, but I do not know how to say that either..." He ran his fingers through his hair, not quite sure where to go with his words. What else could he say?

He stared at the Swedish man for a moment before continuing. "I have not been feeling well lately. Not as if I was sick, more like...I just do not feel...happy."

He waited for another moment. "Is it depresión or something? I have had that before, but I am not sure..." He was twisting the edge of his overcoat while he spoke, he didn't like talking to anyone about his feelings or thoughts. It took a lot of persuasion from the person who told him to go to counseling to actually get him to go there.

Berwald listened and observed the Mexican carefully but not so observant that the other could notice. Biting his tongue, the Swede thought to himself what he could say without disturbing himself or let alone the other. There has got to be somewhere to start…

“Well! If there has been a history of depression, much is going on, and you don’t feel happy, it could defiantly be in the question of depression. Of course, depression has to have a root and it’s my job to help you find that root and tare it out. Since you don’t know where to begin, I’ll help you out. What today has brought you here to speak to me?” the Swedish man offered with a not happy tone, but rather comforting.. Rather unusual in fact.

Though he wanted a better way of approaching, that would have to do.. Start somewhere and work from there.. Even if what he said was a bit artificial sounding, he meant it at least.

Chin on his hands, he let out another long sigh. He was giving consideration to the Swede, yet he could not seem to listen very well. The thoughts still lingered on other things, all the negative things about his country. He couldn't help it, all thoughts seemed to dwell on the same subject.

He ran his fingers across the desk, trying to avoid such thoughts. When the other finished, Mexico smiled at him warmly. It was a genuine one, not the one he used to pass off with countries that annoyed him to no end.

"I was convinced by...a friend." He said the last part a bit strangely, but he hadn't even noticed. He said the next sentence a bit reluctantly. "This is, new, to me." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly realizing that the man may not have known what he meant.

"What I mean is...I am not used to talking to anyone about my thoughts or problems. I am supposed to keep them all a secret, but I don't think anyone can tell me otherwise here." By anyone he meant his brother, but he forgot to mention that as well.