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]

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."