It's still her first day and it's been..... Well, "rocky" is about a thousand times too mild to describe it. Things itch in her mind that no psychologist would even consider remotely sane. So she's paced her room, she's cried her makeup to sludge and reapplied it a couple of times, shakily tried unpacking her room, crumpled the summons to the counselor a hundred times, only to turn back around and carefully unfold it each time. She's sitting on the edge of her bed now, summons in her lap as she tries to get her mind together. Come on, Anna. You can put on a show. You have to. So, knowing classes will be letting out any minute, that she'll have to go out and socialize one way or another, she pushes to her feet.

Anna squeezes into a tight pair of jeans, straps boots over it. She moseys to the mirror. Her eyes are puffy and damp. After a long consideration, she washes the makeup off, turns and gives herself an examination of her slim body in the light. She tugs a Frank Zappa midriff over her bra, wiggling it down until it settles a couple inches over her glimmering navel ring. Then she breathes a deep sigh, and steps out.

Long walks down long corridors. It's the last class and you'd figure more of the girls would have pissed out on it. But it's like they're scared of something. There really is something real Children of the Corn about this place, isn't there? Hackles raised, eyes combing the hallways as if she expects something to jump out at any moment, so on edge she nearly walks right in to the counselor's door. She steels herself, note crumpled in sweating high, and quietly, hesitantly knocks.

((I don't know how the first scene's going to go, but chronologically I'm wedging this after her encounter with Barbie. I don't know how that's going to end, so I'm trying to leave it vague, but I'm figuring either Anna has memories of the molestation and is trying to block it away, or it's been psychically clouded and she just has a vague, dreadful uneasiness about the whole place))

She puts on her face. Call it impertinent apathy. Her weight's shifted to one hip, brow curved archly. Was old girl putting on makeup, like, right before she stepped in? That strikes her as odd. She stares at the couch until long after Natsuki offers it to her, stares at it like it'll get her the same way that bed got Johnny Depp in Elm Street (God she used to love that movie). Anywhere else, it would just be a case of bratty bitchiness, but in this place? Hell, it might be a genuine concern. But she relents, finally, slinking over to the couch. She forces a smile at Natsuki, one of those forced smiles that's obviously forced, and sinks to a seat, arm across the back of the couch, slouched. She nods along as the counselor introduces herself. Then. silence. That tap-tap-tap, and instinctively she reaches for her pocket, pops one of those nicorette into her mouth.

Swirling fluid into her dry mouth, tongue flicking over sweet pink lips as she leans forward, eyes gleaming on Natsuki. This is business, baby. This is the mask. And you push all that bullshit out there in the hallways to the side and you make your pitch. "It's better than jail, I guess." She huffs. "Lady, I haven't been in school in five years. I'm not qualified for this. I couldn't pass a GED if I had to, and now I'm here. I mean, the girls are sexier than prison dykes and that beach is fucking gorgeous..." Alright, that's not what she meant to say. She pauses, finger pressed to temple. Takes a breath. "I'm not crazy, lady. I'm not a wayward youth. I'm not suicidal. I'm not crazy. I'm not a strung-out junkie. And trust me when I say I've dealt with plenty of counselors and shrinks and social workers. So let's cut to it. What sort of agreement do we need to reach here?"

Her chin tips downwards as Natsumi speaks. A slow smirk plays on her lips, eyes coyly turning up towards her new counselor, thick lashes batted. "And exactly what kind of job do you see when you look at me, Miss?" She mentally makes a short list of possible 'goals' this woman might have working as a head doctor at an isolated, all-girl's school. "Professional renown" doesn't top the chart. Neither does "compassion". The shocking contrast of red and white certainly brings some mental images to mind. She needs to shift her tactics slightly, bob and weave, keep the femme on her toes.

Hands brush as Anna leans forward to poach a cigarette from the shrink's case. She flicks it between pouty lips, neck arched forward in expectation of a light. Fingers curl around the couch cushions as she thrusts herself into the older woman's personal space. Clean pink lips curl in a near-purr. "I can't say I need much of anything, Miss. I'm a pretty self-sufficient girl, see. Stick me just about anywhere and I'm happy as a cat in a window sill. Now what's it going to take to keep you as happy as I am?"

Fuck. She doesn't need anyone to tell her she's equal. Equal as a person. But the counselor still holds all the cards. Even if she's sincere about it all, she's still the one in charge. Their cigarettes kiss. Anna takes a blissful drag, but doesn't so much as retreat from Natsuki's space. Eyes read her expression like a poker player, noticing the grimace and filing it away. She remains cool, blank-faced.

She listens through the woman's lecture, listening, measured, as the woman outlines their objectives to success. Then she tries for clever and Anna's eyes darken. Face-to-face, leaning close. Her voice has a mean edge to it. Correcting her speech? Really? "Back up, teach. To start off, you can try not being condescending, yeah?" She taps her cigarette carelessly over the ground. "And while we're at it... There's no way I'm going to let you keep me medicated."

"I wouldn't have thanked you for a carrot on a stick, either," she responds, blandly. Eyes have returned to that vacuous, bored state. Her attention moves to her cigarette, turning it over in her finger, cherry dancing dangerously close to knuckles. "Like I said, lady. I'm not nuts. I'm just energetic. There's not much you need to prove." She smirks around her cigarette, settled back into her mouth. "But we all know they find energetic women intimidating." Okay. Half-truths and all that.

She listens to Natsuki speak dully, finally offers a shrug. "So write down your reports, and give me bottles and bottles of drugs to flush down the toilet and I'll play sweet-and-sugary back on campus. Is that it? Can I go?"

(( I reitirate, depending on the situation, I'm not always going to give you a novel))

She just stares blankly at Natsuki. As far as she's concerned, this whole thing is done. "'ppreciate it..... You got medical marijuana stored away in your cabinet? I hear it does wonders for anxiety."

Alright, so there's no sleeping her way to prescription pot, but the lady seemed to imply there are plants are around here. doesn't surprise Anna. And besides, there's probably plenty of other goodies hidden away in the school pharmacy. Her lips pucker around the cigarette, playfully trailing Ms. Saika, a brief flash of coy nymphet, letting out a trail of smoke, tongue trailing lips.

She leans back, stubbing out her cigarette. She slides another from Ms. Saika's cigarette case. "You have someone else coming by? Because I was just figuring I might chill here. I mean, you can write absence notes, right?". She grins. "I'm curious about what objectives a head doctor might have in a place like this."

Eyes sparkle, lounging back on the couch, eyes attentive on the counselor, almost unnerving, really. Eyes eat her up. "Miss, I'll share anything with you," she purrs. "That's your job, right? Listening. And we are equals." She pushes to her feet lifting up in a languid stretch, long arms crossed to the palm, midriff rising, body poured into the blue low-riders. She yawns. Setting to pace the room, eyes wandering over the shrink's set-up. But they keep drifting back to her. Smoke trails her in whisps. "So what do you want to know? And.... you got something to drink around here?"