So, let's talk about your self-esteem.

[piper90npcs]

Who: Jorgmund therapists and patients.
What: One of the benefits of Jorgmund health insurance? Mandatory grief counseling!
Where: Side rooms of the medical bay.
When: In the days following Planker's death.
Warnings/Notes: Likely to delve into the personal issues of various characters, which may get dark or go into sensitive content.

In the days following Planker's demise, some of the hires get tapped for extra counseling, on the basis of being "excessively perturbed" by the passing of their most beloved trainer. Rather than be assigned to chore shifts, these unlucky hires are sent to a room adjacent to the med bay with a small fountain of smooth-flowing water over rocks and the general scent of patchouli for an hour a day.

It's a healing space. Breathe deep. Abandon your pre-conceptions and negativity.

Comments

[piper90npcs]

"You should sit down," Dr. Lillian says. "I may be a doctor, but this is a room without hierarchies. We're all equal here."

She gestures to a very fluffy, very pink chair. And she dodges his counter-question.

"Oh, would you say he wasn't restrictive, then? What was he like?"

[freakenstein]

Huffing a shaky laugh at the suggestion that there were no hierarchies in this room, he looked down at the ground, drumming his fingers on the door. Making no move to get in the chair, he had to bite back the impulse to point out that one person in this room had an internal shock collar while the other probably had a trigger for it.

Instead he nodes passively.

"Yeah...Well, last time I had to see a counselor he tried to turn me into a Stepford Student. Strapped me to a chair" he gestures to the fluffy pink nightmare, as if that was the offending chair comeback to haunt him, "and attempted to stab a neural implant into the base of my skull. So...for that reason, I think sitting in the chair would really harsh my vibes in this particular environment." Despite his morbidly humorous tone and attempt to mime being stabbed in the back of his neck, it's not a joke, and the anxiety behind the humor is sincere.

It's not exactly surprising that she dodged his question. But it sure isn't comforting.

Shrugging uncomfortably, another nervous laugh gets past him before he can swallow it.

"I-I don't know. Dad like? Who really knows their father, right? Men of action and few words."

[piper90npcs]

Dr. Lillian holds up her hands and puts the pen down to show that she's unarmed. "No neural implanter here. Promise. I understand that you're carrying a lot of trauma into this room, but you can leave that particular bag at the door."

She begins to write on her notepad again. The dog tries to chew the end of her pen.

"You get to know people through actions, don't you think? How about this, Merton. Since you knew your father through action and, as you said, 'few words', let's focus on your reactions. I want you to take a few breaths, then envision your strongest memory of your father, and tell me what stories your body is carrying with you. What sensations you feel, how you're breathing, how your center of balance is." She smiles. "I know we're encultured not to talk about bodies very much, but it isn't embarrassing. This is a judgment-free space. So I'll start us off with an honest example. Sometimes when I think of third grade, I fart."

She gestures for him to sit again. "Whatever your strongest memory of your father is."

[freakenstein]

"I-I wasn't trying to imply-...I mean the Nano-chains were clearly the more economical choice already." Nervous humor quickly turns into dawning horror as he registers what just tumbled out of his mouth and he briefly cringes back against the door.

"T-That wasn't- I didn't mean-...I-I'll just sit down, now." Hoping that forfeiting his spot against the door might be enough to get him out of a shock, he cautiously peels himself off of it, moving to sit as he nervously rambles along the way. "Do my reaction exercise. That's a new one for me. Yay, therapy. Always so relaxing."

Sitting like someone who's used to making himself small, knees held tight together even as one bounces nervously, hands knit together in his lap, he keeps his eyes on the floor as he tries to come up with a memory. It's not the strongest one, but it is more recent. Something on the more pleasant spectrum. His parents coming home after the party Tommy convinced him to throw and being shockingly okay with it. Especially after he and Tommy set to cleaning everything themselves, while his parents got to use the hot tub Tommy had insisted on renting. Sure it wasn't exactly a memory of just his father. But it was safe.

"Um...okay, so...breathing's normal, heart's racing but I don't think that has to do with the memory. Balance is fine. No flatulence, heh." Giving an awkward shrug, his hands set to fidgeting nervously, already sure this wasn't going to be what she wanted to hear. "I don't really know what else to say."

[piper90npcs]

Celeste writes furiously, not just about what Merton's reporting but about the way he holds himself, about the time it takes him to settle on a memory and start talking again.

"Go deeper into the memory. Can you tell me what physiological sensations you felt then? Compared to now?"

[freakenstein]

How did she have that much to write down? Or anything to write down, it's not like he gave her anything, right?

Merton shakes his head at the request, hands breaking apart from each other so he could nervously drum his fingers on his knees.

"I don't really know how to go deeper into it, or even know what that's supposed to entail, really. I know I felt better then than I do now. Not that it's a hard bar to hop over. Heart sure wasn't racing so fast."

[piper90npcs]

"Heart racing," Dr. Lillian underlines, then clearly underlines. "Fingers drumming."

She lets Merton sit in awkward silence after his next sentiment for a few seconds.

"You know, Mr. Merton. Can I be honest? This is a space for honesty, and that goes both ways, so I'll be honest here, just about my own frame of mind, my feelings and emotions as the other half of this professional but intimate relationship. I feel hurt that you're hiding things from me."

[freakenstein]

"Hiding?" Alarmed, he sits up a little straiter in his chair, his fingers briefly stop moving enough to dig into his knees, like he's half expecting a shock to come with that accusation. When it doesn't, his posture relaxes with an exasperated sigh, trading panic for genuine confusion.

Swallowing, he tries to carefully pick his words, hands dislodging from his knees to busily put emphasis to them.

"Not to add to those hurt feelings or step on your toes Ma'am, but I just didn't really understand your instructions. Not that they're bad instructions! It's just not really what I'm used to. I'm not trying to obfuscate. I guess, I just don't understand what you want from me or what you want me to get out of this grief counseling."