Silent Mobius Fan Fiction ❯ Red Destiny - Book 1: New York ❯ ECC Therapy ( Chapter 10 )

Silent Mobius: Red Destiny

 

Book 1: New York

 

Chapter 10: ECC Therapy

 

Authors: OSTOCOM

 

Email and Website: See our profile

 

Rating: R for language and chain smoking. Kids, don't try this at home.

 

Disclaimer: We do not own Silent Mobius or its characters, but we do own the characters we created. See Book 0 for complete disclaimer.

 

Notes: The concept for this was pretty much blatantly ripped off from X Therapy. No infringement is intended; we just loved the style and decided to try and write one of our own. If you haven't read the original yet, what are you waiting for?

 

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The bullet pierced the Lucifer Hawk's midsection, splattering black blood all over a young woman in a blue uniform. She holstered her gun and shook her hands gingerly, allowing the dark liquid to drip onto the pavement. "I have never done anything so disgusting in my life!"

 

Maris drove her sword through the Hawk's chest. "Shut up and fight, you prissy little bitch!"

 

"This blood is getting all over me!" said the first woman, pulling out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiping her hands with it. "Do you know how hard it is to get Lucifer Hawk blood out of silk?"

 

"Not as hard as it's going to be to reattach your head to your body if you don't get into position, Ensign Ricci!" Adara shouted.

 

"All right, sheesh. You don't have to yell." Feritzia Ricci stepped toward the Lucifer Hawk, taking care not to get any of the blood on her high-heeled designer leather boots. She looked around at the small theatres regretfully, wishing that she were watching a play right now. Even a Beckett play had to be better than this.

 

"Humans do make an unfortunate amount of noise, don't they, Jagh?" said the Lucifer Hawk as it regenerated the flesh over its gaping chest cavity.

 

"A disproportionate amount for such a small and insignificant species," agreed Jagh. "As one of their own poets has said, they are 'full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.' Wouldn't you agree, Khathra?"

 

"It is expressed aptly enough for such an inferior poet," Khathra said.

 

"Hey, you can't talk about Shakespeare that way!" Amber said indignantly, firing several shots into Khathra's neck. "Right? Back me up here, Ricci!"

 

Feritzia shrugged. "They're right. Shakespeare's kind of boring."

 

"Quite so," said Jagh. "Nowhere near the poetic prowess of our Oden ath Skrael."

 

"You are *asking* for it, Ricci!" Amber yelled. "If you won't fight for Shakespeare, at least fight for us!"

 

"Now this is a shame," Jagh remarked, narrowly missing Amber with a swing of his spiked arm. "These humans cannot even cooperate properly, and that being their only asset!"

 

"Indeed," Khathra agreed. "As Oden ath Skrael said in his telling of the Descent of the Lower Peoples, 'the weak find strength only in numbers, and numbers are the weakest of strengths.'"

 

"We have more going for us than just math," Adara countered, scanning the battlefield for an advantage. To the far left, Amber was flanking one of the Hawks in order to get a surprise shot…unfortunately, the Hawk had just noticed her. She began to try and circle back as her opponent began to close the gap between them.

 

"Sympathy makes the weak still weaker," The Hawk quoted again, pulling its skin back to reveal a toothy maw of a grin.

 

"Feri! Back up Amber!" Adara called, and motioned where she needed to head. Feritzia looked at Adara, then looked where she needed to be: a huge puddle of Lucifer Hawk blood, trash and broken concrete. She recoiled at the thought, and began to take a longer route around the Hawk's back.

 

"No, the *other* way!" Adara gritted through clenched teeth.

 

Too late. Just as the Hawk was about to pounce on Amber, it whirled and sent a psychic shock in Feritzia's direction. The attack hit her dead-on and sent her flying into a nearby building. "Solaris, pick her up!" Adara ordered.

 

Calixta pulled Feritzia to her feet. "You all right?"

 

"Fine." Feritzia fingered her bruised forehead.

 

"Maybe we should let her sit this one out," Calixta said.

 

Adara shook her head. "We need all the help we can get."

 

"She's not exactly..." Calixta lowered her voice. "She's not exactly much help. I really don't think she was ready for this fight."

 

"Well, she can get ready!"

 

Miakoda came over, looking haggard as she sent a bear spirit thundering toward Khathra. "She should either fight or get out of the way."

 

Feritzia put her hands on her hips. "I could fight a lot better if you weren't yelling these stupid orders all the time!"

 

Adara clenched her teeth and shot a ribbon of white-hot flame at Jagh. "And if you'd *followed* my orders and been in position, you wouldn't have been hit!"

 

"It doesn't matter now," Miakoda said as she raised her psychic shield over the ECC. "We need to regroup."

 

The six women immediately followed her orders…except for Feritzia, who took her precious time hopping around piles of muck and debris. Under cover of Miakoda's shield, Maris raised Nauticus upright and began to chant a spell. Jagh barely had time to heal himself from Adara's attack, but managed to dodge Maris's whirlpool spell…causing it to hit Khathra instead.

 

The towering Lucifer Hawk roared in pain as the thundering water stripped away nearly half its body mass. Khathra looked at his companion with hurt and fury.

 

"Traitor! Your negligence caused me injury! And I trusted you!" The Hawk gave a growl that sounded more like one of Feritzia's 'hmphs', and teleported back to Nemesis to heal itself.

 

"I never enjoyed Oden ath Skrael, anyway!" Jagh yelled after him. As Jagh fumed at the air where his companion had just been, Feritzia sauntered out of the protective shield and towards him.

 

"Feritzia! Get the fuck back here; I don't want to have to scrape you off the pavement later!" Maris hollered at her.

 

"I don't need anyone telling me what to do!" Feritzia yelled, and put her hands on the Hawk. Her eyes closed and she began mumbling something incomprehensible. The Hawk's red eyes widened and its mouth opened in shock as its body began hardening. Suddenly it fell, and its body shattered on the pavement.

 

As Adara tried to decide whether to be relieved or furious, she noticed two bystanders applauding. "Bravo!" exclaimed a man in a Yankees baseball hat. "Encore!"

 

Adara grabbed the nearest hand, which happened to be Miakoda's, and bowed. The other members of the ECC quickly followed suit.

 

"Phenomenal job with the staging and effects," the man said. "Ingenious, really."

 

"And the acting!" gushed a woman with a camera around her neck. "I really believed you were furious with each other. How can you project that kind of emotion?"

Adara took a deep breath and smiled nonchalantly. "It takes a certain... je ne sais quoi."

 

"Which is French for 'no-good teammates,'" Feritzia interjected.

 

"Hey, play's over, Feri," Calixta said, slapping Feritzia on the back. She shrugged apologetically. "Method actors."

 

"Wonderful," the woman said, her face aglow with admiration. "Really wonderful. Does your troupe take donations?"

 

"Hell yeah!" Maris said.

 

"Absolutely." Feritzia flashed the woman a charming smile.

 

Adara just stared at them in blank shock, a polite smile stuck on her face by nothing but force of habit.

 

"Will $100 be enough?" the woman asked, pulling out traveler's cash-card. "No, I'd better make it $120," she said, pulling out another card. "That will divide more evenly, and anyway, I like to support the cutting-edge stuff. Bringing art to the masses and everything."

 

"Will you be performing here again tomorrow?" the man asked.

 

"You can never tell," Amber said. "We'd better get going." She and the rest of the ECC hurried away.

 

The woman turned to the man. "I'm telling you," she said, "off-Broadway is where it's at."

 

-----

 

Mackenzie sat at her desk, looking at the cash-cards, then at the report, and back to the cash-cards again. "Well. I'm speechless."

 

"I'm sorry," Adara said. "This won't happen again."

 

A smile twitched at the corner of Mackenzie's lips. "Oh, far be it from me to trample your artistic freedom."

 

"At least we got paid, right?" Feritzia said.

"Be that as it may," Mackenzie said, her demeanor suddenly serious, "this breach of order is inexcusable—and it isn't the first of its kind. But it will be the last."

Adara glared at Feritzia before responding. "Yes, I think we're *all* committed to that."

 

"I've heard this before," Mackenzie said. "And while I don't doubt your intentions are sincere, I think this problem is beyond you. It's time to seek intervention."

 

-----

 

The Therapist puffed on her nicotine inhaler. This next group was going to be a doozy. What would a group out of the Department of Agriculture need with group therapy? Equine Clean-Up and Control? What could they possibly do? Clean up horse shit? She took another puff and slid it back into the top drawer of her desk, briefly fingering the nicotine patch on her left arm.

 

The intercom buzzed. Her next appointment was here. Stepping from behind her desk, she grabbed a notepad, a few pens, and then decided to grab the nicotine gum, too. Placing them on her chair, she walked to the door and opened it. In walked six women. The first was a woman with blonde hair and a bottle of Evian mumbling something about "fucking shrinks" under her breath. An auburn-haired woman with a bun followed next, her right eye twitching as she fidgeted with her uniform.

 

Next there came a beautiful Hispanic woman with a smile on her face. (At least someone was friendly.) Following her another woman entered, a redhead with a personal organizer in her hand. (Techno-freak.) She was followed by another woman with dark hair dressed in Southwestern clothing. She too smiled at the Therapist.

 

Then the last woman walked into the room. By all means she was beautiful—she had midnight blue hair with a single silver streak in the front with the rest neatly tied in ponytail. Her beauty, however, was offset by a scowl she wore on her face that told the Therapist who was the source of the trouble for this group. The Therapist closed the door and observed as the six women stood behind the six provided chairs for them. She shut the door and walked to her seat. Picking up her notepad, she sat.

 

"Have a seat," the Therapist said pleasantly. No one moved. (Not this again.) She opened her mouth to offer another polite chance to sit when the woman with the bun sat down. Four of the remaining women followed suit. Unfortunately, the blue-haired princess refused to sit. Instead, the young woman headed for the door.

 

"Please, have a seat," the Therapist tried. The woman turned and glared at her. The woman with the bun then spoke up.

 

"Sit down, Ensign Ricci," she ordered. The other four women winced collectively, even the cursing blonde. But the pony-tailed wonder didn't budge. "Ensign Ricci, SIT. DOWN. THAT. IS. AN. ORDER!" The words somehow managed to be ground out between clenched teeth at a spectacular volume.

 

The woman then moved slowly over to her chair and plopped down, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking her chin up in defiance. She looked like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. By this time the auburn-haired woman, who was obviously the leader, had relaxed slightly. However, an internal monologue of anger management mantras might as well have been broadcast over a PA.

 

The Therapist clicked her pen. "Well, now that we are all seated," she began, "why don't we introduce ourselves?" They all exchanged glances with the exception of "Ensign Ricci." (Oh boy.) "Let's start with you," she said, looking at the Hispanic woman.

 

"Hi, I'm Amber," she said with a smile. The Therapist returned the smile and waited. The other women sat there looking at each other for a few moments. Finally, the Therapist continued.

 

"And what do you do?" she asked. Amber became excited again.

 

"I work in public relations, and I love to cook," she said happily. "Oh, and I'm a truth sayer." The Therapist blinked twice then wrote on her notepad "Amber—attention seeker, delusional, way too perky." She finished writing and then turned to the group. The other members squirmed under her gaze. Her eyes fell on the distracted redhead with an organizer.

 

"How about you?" she asked. The woman seemed a little annoyed, but responded politely.

 

"Hi, I'm Calixta," she said, then quickly added, "and I work with computers." Calixta returned to her electronic gadget. The Therapist quickly wrote "Calixta—technology addict" on her notepad. She glanced up at the woman beside Calixta, the cowgirl.

 

"And you?"

 

"I'm Miakoda," she replied.

 

"Oh, is that a Japanese name?" the therapist asked.

 

Miakoda's eyes narrowed slightly. "Navajo, actually," she clarified. "And I'm a political activist who is psychic." Sighing under her breath, the Therapist began to write in her notebook. Miakoda observed the woman and then added, "And I know you don't believe me." The Therapist stopped writing, crossed out what she had written and wrote "uptight, rude" next to the Miakoda's name. Putting on her best fake friendly smile, she then turned her attention to the blonde.

 

"And you?" she asked. The blonde rolled her eyes and fidgeted with the water bottle.

 

"Maris Lynn," she barked with a New England accent, "sailor and wielder of Nauticus."

 

The Therapist blinked. "Nauticus?"

 

"My water sword," Maris grumbled. "He insists on Evian." The Therapist's eyes bulged wider for a few moments, then she wrote, "Maris—needs manners, imaginary friend?" Turning her attention to the auburn-haired leader, the Therapist cringed at the rapidly pumping right leg over her left knee, her twitching right eye and firmly clasped hands.

 

"And you?" she asked. The woman briefly stopped pumping her leg.

 

"I'm Adara," she said through clenched teeth while looking at "Ensign Ricci." The Therapist quickly penned, "Adara—needs anger management." Adara continued to twitch, although she finally looked at the Therapist. "And I'm pyrokenetic," she said, unclasping her hands. A bright flash shone briefly between them, or so the Therapist thought. She blinked twice and added, "Pyromaniac, VERY DANGEROUS" next to Adara's name, being sure to underline the last two words, twice. (I hate my job.) She plastered the sweetest smile she could on her face, but it looked more like a wince.

 

"And you would be?" she asked. The blue-haired woman glared at her.

 

"Feritzia," she droned bitterly. "F-E-R-I-T-Z-I-A." The Therapist wrote the name on the notepad, quickly followed by "bitch." (I don't want to know what she does.) F-e-r-i-t-z-i-a then turned her attention back to Adara, who was again clasping her hands together tightly and staring out the window. Rather than continuing with the usual order of events, the Therapist thought it more important to address the issues that obviously lay between Adara and Feritzia. Both women were turned away from each other, and any discussion was going to obviously be hostile, if not outright inflammatory. The Therapist took a breath and turned to Adara.

 

"Adara," she began, "I can see that there are some differences between you and Feritzia. Would you care to discuss what is bothering you?" Both women remained focused on opposite points of the room. After a few moments, Adara took a few audible breaths and turned to the Therapist. She was still twitching, but at least she was communicating.

 

"Ensign Ricci," she spat, then lowered her tone of voice, "Feritzia and I have our differences, yes." Feritzia then turned to Adara, her arms still crossed over her chest, legs crossed, with an open-mouthed grunt of disapproval.

 

"Go on," the Therapist urged, throwing a warning glance at the younger woman. Adara waited until Feritzia calmed down a little before continuing.

 

"She has…authority issues," Adara continued. Feritzia looked away again, this time huffing to herself. "On numerous occasions, she has disregarded my commands, resulting in my life, her life, and the lives of others being put in grave danger." Feritzia tossed her blue hair and threw a deadly glare at her accuser. "She has shown disrespect toward myself as well as her co-workers, and seems to not care what the consequences may be." The Therapist jotted a few things down on her notepad, but not before someone interrupted the lines of communication.

 

"I so do *not* have authority issues." Feritzia spoke loudly enough for a few to hear, but not really loud enough to be a statement to the entire group. The gesture inflamed Adara and her hands clenched again as she threw a glare at the younger woman. The Therapist coughed a few times to prevent the sigh in the back of her throat from rising to her mouth.

 

"Feritzia," the Therapist began, "would you like to respond to what Adara has said? She feels that you may have some…difficulty with authority and that it may have put people in danger. How do you feel?" Inwardly, the Therapist cringed, knowing what patients like this usually did, but let the ensuing conversation unfold like the events of a bad horror movie.

 

"First of all," Feritzia said, "I do *not* have authority issues." She sat forward in the chair, looking directly at Adara. "I have issues with the way you issue authority." Her arms unfolded themselves and she began gesturing as she talked. "I mean, there's only so many rules that we can handle, you know. And why should we be at the office if there is nothing happening? Shouldn't we wait for a phone call from 9-1-1 or something?" Adara twitched uncontrollably, leaning forward and gripping the sides of her seat. "And really it's not like—"

 

"Protocol is something that we all must adhere to!" Adara blurted out angrily. "It's there to help protect you as well as those around you!" Feritzia folded her arms over her chest again, rolling her eyes as she re-crossed her legs. "On numerous occasions—"

 

"There was only that *one* time," Feritzia interjected, "and I apologized for that."

 

Adara turned fully to the younger woman, her eyes blazing. "You apologized *not* for your conduct, but for filling the company vehicle with packages from a shopping excursion that you went on *while on duty!*" she yelled. "You took the liberty of removing the equipment we use to fight Lucifer Haw—uh, Hawking, the…serial killer, from the car, thus resulting in us nearly being killed!"

 

"Okay," said the therapist. "Obviously this incident is a strong point of contention for you—"

 

Neither woman paid any attention. "But the Hawk was killed anyhow!" Feritzia argued. "If it weren't for me, you would've been in trouble."

 

"Would have been?" Adara yelled. "We were injured and waiting for backup while you were perusing the shoe aisle over at Macy's!"

 

"But I made it back in time!"

 

"You left your teammates! You abandoned them without telling them or going to get help. You took the guns, the explosives, and put them God knows where! I had to call in countless favors to explain away how we lost automatic weapons and twenty-five pounds of plastic explosives in one of the most heavily crime-laden areas of New York!"

 

The therapist cleared her throat. "I think we need to examine this from a more objective—" But her words went unheeded as the verbal skirmish continued.

 

"But we got them back *and* I came back in time to save you!"

 

"Save us? *We* saved *you!*"

 

"Oh, please." Feritzia sniffed disdainfully.

 

"Don't start with me!" Adara's fists clenched as she launched herself out of her chair.

 

"Start what? Get over yourself!"

 

"Ensign Ricci, so help me…"

 

"You just can't admit that I can handle the Hawks better than you, better than all of you." Feritzia stood up and flicked her hair over her shoulder theatrically.

 

"You are so conceited!"

 

"STOP!" the therapist yelled. Both women stopped mid-thought and sat back in their chairs, taking identical postures of folded arms, rolling eyes, and crossed legs. The Therapist began to feel that Adara's twitching was some sort of catching disease, because she could barely restrain herself from doing it as well. She decided that she had better let these two cool off a while before letting something like that happen again.

 

"It seems like you two have very strong opinions on this issue. Why don't we have a third outside opinion on this?" She scanned the room and stopped at the first person she came to, which was unfortunately the scowling blonde. "You. What would you tell Adara and… Feritzia?" She could barely squeak out the name.

 

"Look, it's not a question of whether or not Feritzia has authority issues," Maris said simply. "It's the fact that Feritzia's a fucking bitch."

 

The therapist's eyes widened, and somebody coughed violently. Feritzia instantly threw her death glare in Maris's direction, although Maris did her best to ignore it.

 

"Oh come on, I *know* you're all thinking it," Maris said to her teammates. "I'm just the only one with the balls to say it. She's the most fucked-up fucking bitch I've ever met. She doesn't give a rat's ass about whether any of us lives or is crushed to a pile of bloody shit, just as long as nobody ruins her new Vogue-ass shoes or whatever."

 

The therapist stepped in quickly. "So you are frustrated by what you perceive as Feritzia's... insensitivity to your situation?"

 

"Like you're one to talk about being insensitive!" By now, Feritzia was positively fuming. "At least I'm not downright rude like you! I can't stand how you use such bad language all the time."

 

"Really? Fuck fuck fuckitty fucking fucked-up fucker fuck-shitty shitting fucking shit…" Maris stopped as she saw angry glares coming from Adara, Miakoda, Amber and Calixta. She glanced at the therapist's pale expression, and cleared her throat with an extra 'fuck' under her breath.

 

"See? Listen to her! She's the one that needs therapy here, not me," Feritzia protested. "She and Adara and everyone else."

 

"Okay, I take that back," Maris interjected. "You're not just a fucking bitch, you're a *whiny* fucking bitch. I hate to break it to you, hon, but the world doesn't revolve around you! People weren't put on this planet to cater to your every whim. You never do anything for yourself! It you'd get off your lazy ass for once and do something on your own, the poor taxpayers wouldn't be sacrificing their salaries for us to sit here and listen to this therapist spout off psychoanalyzing bullshit."

 

The therapist decided that she had heard just about enough out of Maris. She scribbled down on her notepad in bold letters, 'MARIS HAS NO TACT,' as well as 'Feritzia: codependent?' She was afraid to look up from her notepad again, but when she did, it looked as if Feritzia and Maris were about ready to start something. Feritzia's glare was positively icy, and the therapist had never realized that someone could open a water bottle so threateningly.

 

"There will be *no* resorting to violence here!" she called out warningly. Maris and Feritzia took her admonition, but rather grudgingly. "We are here to work out these problems through communication, not fighting. So, Feritzia… what would you like to *communicate* to Maris after that last statement?"

 

"I think you've been talking to the wrong people," Feritzia said, her voice full of obvious disdain. "Adara and Maris both hate me, and always have."

 

"Maybe because we have to live with you," Maris grumbled.

 

Feritzia ignored her and continued to address the therapist. "You're not going to get any intelligent communication out of them."

 

Adara and Maris wore identical expressions that, if looks could kill, would have signaled impending nuclear war. The therapist, although she had to agree with Adara's statement about authority and Maris's statement about whining, realized that talking with these two would get them nowhere. She searched out the face in the crowd that she remembered being friendly, and finally focused on Amber. "All right, let's try a new opinion. Amber…do you have anything you'd like to say that might help Feritzia and Adara's situation?"

 

Amber bit her lip, and looked with uncertainty at the three fuming people in their chairs. She wasn't exactly sure how keen she was on joining their ranks, but obviously didn't want to hide anything from the therapist. "I definitely think there's a problem here. But I don't know how to fix it. Feritzia should at the very least show some gratitude for what we've done for her. And I don't think abandoning all of us to that rather snarky Hawk to go shopping is showing gratitude."

 

"Why should I be grateful?" Feritzia folded her arms across her chest again. "All you people do is yell at me all day for nothing, and don't help at all when my clothes get completely ruined by all that fighting in dirty places. Why do you all have issues with me?"

 

"Because you give us cause to!" Amber sputtered, her pleasant mood quickly dissolving into the permeating fury that filled the room. "Maris may use bad language, but you're just as rude, if not more so!"

 

"Oh really? When have I ever been as rude as that…woman? If you can call her that."

 

"You completely insulted my cooking!" Amber shouted. "I spent hours fixing a big dinner on our day off, and you just said it was too spicy and threw it in the trash!"

 

"So what? You hate me because I don't like spicy food? Hello, I'm not the only one here that doesn't like spicy food!"

 

"The others at least tried it! You didn't even bother to try it! Nobody could have eaten it in peace after all you did was complain about it!"

 

"I complained about it because it was gross! All those oils and fats and stuff…ugh! How could anyone eat that?"

 

This was the last straw with Amber. She clenched her teeth, and had to restrain herself from getting up out of her seat and walking over to strangle Feritzia herself.

 

"Have you no respect for those who are different from you?" she spat at the blue-haired woman. "Do we even register in your mind, you little…you little…brat?!" The Therapist looked over the situation, quickly scribbling, "Feritzia: lack of manners, what a shock" quickly followed by "Get El Pollo Taco for dinner tonight." Discussion of food caused the now-hungry therapist to glance at her watch, temporarily blocking out the insanity that was raging in her office. Nearly half of the two-hour session had passed. (Not nearly fast enough.) The therapist decided to join the group discussion again when she finally registered the yelling voices of four of the six women.

 

"I can't believe how self-centered you are!"

 

"Just because I value something different than you—"

 

"How about valuing our safety, you motherfucking—"

 

"STOP!" the therapist yelled at the top of her lungs. She was quickly beginning to feel like she was at professional wrestling match instead of one of her appointments. Her arms were outstretched on both of her sides, her tongue near bursting from the teeth clenched on it to keep her from saying some very unprofessional things.

 

Miakoda and Calixta turned away from the deadlock glares between the four other women, choosing instead to stare at the floor or out the window. The therapist wished she could join them in their avoidance of the situation. Her arms fell to her sides and she straightened her pantsuit in order to gather her thoughts. Slicking her hair back, the therapist again sat in the chair, sighing heavily against her better judgment. She then glanced around the entire group.

 

"As I'm sure you're all aware, screaming, name-calling, yelling—it's not going to get you anywhere. Now, I realize that you work for the Department of Agriculture, and your work is hardly life-threatening—" Suddenly all six women glared at the therapist, who stopped mid-sentence to absorb the seemingly unwarranted disdain, but then quickly continued, "—but it is important that you all work together." She turned her face back to her notepad. (I never knew cleaning up horse shit could be considered a life-threatening occupation. The things you learn nowadays…)

 

Her eyes fell on Calixta. "There are obviously issues here, but I'd like to have everyone contribute to the dialogue," she said. "How about you, Calixta? What do you think is going on here?" The red-haired woman put her electronic organizer down in her lap and took a breath.

 

"I believe that we are suffering from a miscommunication," she began diplomatically. "And that Feritzia does not have a clear understanding of what is expected of her."

 

Adara raised her hand. "I disagree," she said.

 

"Go on," the therapist urged.

 

"I believe Feritzia understands what we expect of her regarding protocol and responsibility, but chooses to ignore it," Adara finished. The Therapist blinked a couple of times from shock. A coherent sentence was uttered among the group. She was about to relax when Feritzia unfortunately opened her mouth again.

 

"I do know what you expect of me, it's just I think it's unnecessary, so I don't do it," she said. "Really, the rules are so out of date. Come on—fifteen forms just so the government knows I killed a Lucifer Hawk? It's ridiculous!"

 

The Therapist looked up suddenly. "You killed what?" she asked.

 

"Uh, rabid," Calixta said, "rabid hawk. It was nesting outside our headquarters."

 

"Oh," uttered the Therapist.

 

"Even so, Feritzia," Calixta continued, "we all have to fill out those forms. It's part of the job. And if you think you can avoid doing them just because you're…you're…well, you know, then you're living in a fantasy world."

 

Feritzia laughed coldly. The Therapist shivered.

 

"And you don't, Miss Holographic Apartment?" Feritzia argued. "At least I know I'm living in a fantasy world and not convinced that it is the real world." Calixta was upset, the Therapist could tell, but she remained silent. Picking up her pen, she quickly noted "Calixta: passive aggressive? Fear of confrontation?" and then leaned forward to help the young woman address the problem.

 

"Calixta," the Therapist began, "tell us more about how Feritzia avoids what you call the real world." The young woman squirmed in the chair, trying to comply with the Therapist, but remained silent. The other members of the group were waiting eagerly when she finally spoke.

 

"It's just that…" she began, then shook her head."Feritzia has no concept of what it's like to have a big monster…ous horse, a wild stallion attacking, and no one there to cover your back. And one day she's not going to have anyone there to help her, and she's going to get hurt." The group remained silent.

 

Feritzia huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "I don't need any help," she said.

 

Calixta's eyes widened then narrowed. "Except when you don't want to do paperwork."

 

"Well, of course, because that's a waste of my time." Feritzia shrugged.

 

"And so is walking down a flight of stairs to get your own coffee?" Miakoda interjected.

 

"Look, no one claimed it so I just took it," Feritzia reasoned out loud.

 

The dark haired woman leaned forward. "The cup is clearly marked in Navajo and she took it every morning right after I poured it from the pot," she said, looking at the therapist. She turned to Feritzia. "You could at least get your own damn coffee."

 

The blue-haired woman shrugged. "Well, you make good coffee," she said.

 

"And you are being lazy." Miakoda paused before adding more. "And if I were to even think of taking something of yours, you would not be as gracious as I am."

 

"Of course, because it's mine," she said. The group waited for more from the young woman, but soon realized she would say no more.

 

"Isn't that a little bit of a double standard?" Miakoda pointed out.

 

"Yes," Feritzia replied, glancing at her nails. "It's an arrangement that works in my favor, so why should I change it?"

 

Miakoda gasped. "Because it's unfair, rude, and disrespectful," she said firmly, her chin lifting. "You made me pay to replace the Prada shoes *you* ruined while on a mission, only to then *not* pay me back when *you* broke my new watch!"

 

"Come on," Feritzia said, "it was a cheap watch. My Prada shoes were much more expensive, better quality and more important to me than your flimsy watch." Miakoda opened her mouth to protest, but then clamped her mouth down, her fists balled tightly. "By the way, if you're going to constantly insult my fashion sense, you could at least learn some of your own." She looked Miakoda up and down. "Prairie-Western is *so* last century."

 

If smoke could have billowed from Miakoda's ears, it would have. The woman exploded. "You selfish, fickle, materialistic bit—person!" she finished, catching herself. "How dare you insult my personal tastes and disrespect me, after forcing me to pay for *your* overpriced, under-worn, materialistic impulses! No wonder you're constantly borrowing money to pay rent! If you would just learn to spend your money on food, rent and reasonably priced clothing, you might make something of yourself." She took a breath, flabbergasted with the younger woman. "I don't know where you're from or who took care of you, but they're not around, so you need to learn to stand on your own two feet and not depend on others to take care of you and fund your extravagant expenditures."

 

Feritzia was very quiet, her eyes blinking quickly. The therapist was shocked. (The ice queen has feelings?) Feritzia covered up her emotional discomfort swiftly and turned to Miakoda with another cheap stab.

 

"You're just jealous," she said coldly. "You're all jealous of my power."

 

"Like hell," said Maris. "We have powers of our own, remember?"

 

Amber spoke up. "And power is no good if you don't use it responsibly. You don't. You could be good at your job, if you ever bothered to do it."

 

"There's a whole world out there that needs protecting," Miakoda said. "There are people who are counting on you. Doesn't that matter?"

 

"What about me?" Feritzia said, her voice breaking. "Don't I matter? I have to look out for what I want, because no one else cares! I'm just some sort of tool to you."

 

"That's not..." Adara began automatically.

 

"Okay," the therapist interrupted. "I think we've found the issue here. From the sounds of things, you all have to trust each other in order to deal with... horses, rabid hawks and serial killers?" The therapist's brain twitched. (I'm going to need therapy after this.) "And somewhere along the line, the trust got broken."

 

"No shit, Sherlock," Maris muttered.

 

"What can you do to regain that trust?" the therapist asked. The only response was a stony silence, so the therapist scribbled "Lost cause" on her notepad and sighed. Finally, Feritzia spoke up.

 

"It's my fault," she said. "I know I'm a bitch and that you all hate me. But what am I supposed to do? I'm alone. The last thing I remember is people leaving me, and then the next moment I was in a cold, wet place with five women looming over me. I was thrust into this organization, fighting a war I never knew existed, and..." She straightened her uniform and walked over to Adara. "My resignation will be on your desk tomorrow morning." With that, she left the room.

 

The other women remained quiet, staring at the floor, the walls, the window. The therapist added another note: "Feritzia: Drama queen."

 

Finally, Adara placed her hands on her knees, sighed, and stood up. "As tempted as I am to let that last statement stand," she said, "we can't." The other four women stood, and they all followed the ice princess out the door.

 

------

 

The Therapist stumbled out the door, lighter and pack of cigarettes in hand. Her hands shook. Three months of work down the drain, she thought idly as her first cigarette ignited. She took a drag, turning one-fourth of it to ash, then took another. At the end of her tenth cigarette and repeated mumblings about "the stupid ECC," her boss appeared next to her. She looked him over briefly.

 

"So, rough day?" he asked, offering her a light.

 

She snorted, shaking her head. "You have no idea."

 

---------------------------------------------

 

Next episode preview:

 

Feritzia: "So they want me to keep fighting the Lucifer Hawks, right? Whatever. It's not as easy as they think. I mean, who's the real enemy, anyway? Ice powers don't help at all when my life is so empty…so cold…"

 

Next episode: Glacialis