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Musoka gets yoinked into the Survivorverse
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"We've been doing a lot of training on reframing emotions and cultivating hope even in stressful situations. It's exhausting, but I have been getting a lot better at it."

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"What kind of training?"

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"We've done a few different things? Yesterday, Ceru had me try and maintain hope through disruptions she was providing, or restore it quickly if it faltered. She had me do a lot of that to make sure I could fly safely. The other major one we just did all morning; she waited until I was experiencing a variety of different emotions and then prompted me to get my shields up and airborne as fast as possible, and I got pretty good at it!" She's clearly very proud of herself.

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"That sounds great! How did working with Ceru on that feel, considering the trust issue?"

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"It was... fine? I... I'm not worried that she doesn't want what's best for me, and I don't... she promised she wouldn't lie to me anymore, and I believe her, it's just..." she sighs.

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"...I understand that the difference isn't especially meaningful, but I promised I wouldn't mislead you anymore. I've never lied to you, and I expect I never will." Her voice is apologetic, but firm.

(Musoka nods.)

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"It's just...?" probes Dr. Clark.

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"...I'm still kinda upset with her, I guess." She slumps, a little, then turns to look at Ceru. "It feels like you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth, and that really stings."

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"Ceru? How does that make you feel?"

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"...sad, I suppose?" she manages, uncertainly. "...I wish I'd trusted her more, and... I wish I'd had more experience with emotions. I don't think I would have handled it the same way, if I hadn't been panicking, but it felt like it all happened so fast."

"...Which I know affected her too, and was mostly my fault," she adds hastily.

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"With more emotional experience, how do you think you would have managed?"

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"...I think if the same thing happened with the amount of emotional experience I have now, I would have... noticed how scared I was of telling her what was happening, and then dissected what made it scary and figured out how to make it happen anyways. In particular, I should have tried to get concrete info on how long we probably had before we were attacked, and trusted her to regain her balance after a minute or two."  She turns to face Musoka. "...I'm really sorry. You deserved better."

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...Musoka's been in the habit of thinking of Ceru as a Mentor/Authority Figure/Parent, someone who fundamentally knows what they're doing and is taking actions on purpose. This is a startlingly different facet of her!

Thoughts swirl in her head. She's so young... just as lost and scared here as I am, with so much on her plate... She's trying her best!

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...We have to take care of each other.

She smiles, reaches out with her other hand, and pats the blue orb gently. "...It's okay, Ceru. I forgive you."

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Dr. Clark beams at them approvingly. "Great. I tend to find that superhero patients don't have a lot of time for therapy homework, so I try not to rely on it, but if you do have some time, I think it might be a good idea for you to look up some different ways to go about gratitude journaling, and see if any of them would work for you - both of you."

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"I can look into it for both of us and summarize for her; I have a fair bit of free time while she sleeps."

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"Wonderful. Please feel free to e-mail or call my office any time, though I can't always answer instantly. And I'll see you next week?"

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"Sure, that sounds good. Thank you!"

She decides to take the window exit, now that she knows it's a thing. Vwoooosh into the air!

<That was a really good idea. Thank you for setting it up!>

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<Of course! It was helpful for me, too.>

She lets Minerva know they're done, and that it went well.

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And that's when the stun-ray comes at them without warning!

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<Musoka, look out!>

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There is a room where the Atlantic Six sit, when they need to discuss what needs to be discussed; a table with five chairs and a computer screen, for the six members, five living and one dead.

There are photographs on the walls around the table of everyone who has served, sorted into neat pairs: one in a golden frame taken when they joined, and one, empty if they still served, when they left the team. If they had died by violence, the second photograph’s frame was black; by natural causes, it was white.

There were eighty frames, forty pairs. Forty young faces, shining or serious, in golden frames. Thirty-four black frames holding thirty-three pictures, the last photographs chance-taken before the end. Five empty and gray-framed for five serving members, one empty and black, for what might have been. And only one white.

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"- So that finishes the summary of the present situation."

(Minerva is present only on a screen, because this is not the optimal place for one of her bodies to be.)

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"Minerva, I am a little disturbed that this is the first time any of us got brought in on this."

(The second Smith is close to sixty, and looks perhaps forty, though he's starting to lose his hair. He's showed up in his Mark One uniform, suitable for all-day non-combat use with little maintenance, and also hiding in alternate dimensions and stopping bullets.) 

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