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[Forward-dated to flood's end]
[For the first time since she destroyed her room, Esther has toys. They’re little, cheap, plastic; miniature cars, figurines, rainbow ponies, superheroes, toys that squawked or played music or changed into something else when you pushed a button. She has perched on the deck’s railing, resting the pile of them in her lap, and tosses them off the ship one by one.]
I’d like to forget that ever happened, please. Don’t remind me.
( Private to Jean )
[For the first time since she destroyed her room, Esther has toys. They’re little, cheap, plastic; miniature cars, figurines, rainbow ponies, superheroes, toys that squawked or played music or changed into something else when you pushed a button. She has perched on the deck’s railing, resting the pile of them in her lap, and tosses them off the ship one by one.]
I’d like to forget that ever happened, please. Don’t remind me.
( Private to Jean )
[Backdated to this morning/beginning of event]
[Voice, private to Dark Heart]
[The loudest noise is the sound of water lapping, the occasional splash, until Esther growls. She is not in as bad a mood when they first met, but she’d opened her door to the hallway only to be hit with a deluge of water that reaches up to her chest, filled with hundreds of irritating fish – only a few of which bit her before she climbed onto the bookshelf where she’s still perched – but still, she is angry. Who wouldn’t be? The water itself is bad enough (she has not been submerged since her fatal encounter with Kate), but it’s being trapped, relatively helpless, and worst of all, dependent on someone else that upsets her the most.]
Come get me now or I’ll find a way to kill you later.
[Voice, private to Dark Heart]
[The loudest noise is the sound of water lapping, the occasional splash, until Esther growls. She is not in as bad a mood when they first met, but she’d opened her door to the hallway only to be hit with a deluge of water that reaches up to her chest, filled with hundreds of irritating fish – only a few of which bit her before she climbed onto the bookshelf where she’s still perched – but still, she is angry. Who wouldn’t be? The water itself is bad enough (she has not been submerged since her fatal encounter with Kate), but it’s being trapped, relatively helpless, and worst of all, dependent on someone else that upsets her the most.]
Come get me now or I’ll find a way to kill you later.
Has anyone been seeing unusual things? More unusual than is customary here, of course. [She turns the communicator to the mirror hanging on her wall – it’s shattered, and the reflection catches her in bizarre images. Some of the shards are much too broad, extending the shape of her face far outward. Others shrink her reflection, and a few of the larger pieces curve and warp the lines of her face, neck, and shoulders.] This does look strange to the rest of you, does it not? It’s never done that before.
[Private to Jean]
May I… [The ease with which she can talk to Ned is, while a tiny step forward, still heartening, and gives her the bravery to be honest in her request.] May I speak with you? In your professional role?
[Garden spam]
[Picking flowers from any of the beds or pots in the garden is a forbidden act. It is, Esther notes, quite a shame; the blooms are vivid and bright, quite healthy despite the odd environment they grow in, and she appreciates a nice bouquet of cut flowers. She has no intention of angering any wandering horticulturist, though, and keeps herself to the flowers growing out of the lawn.
Buttercups, daisies, dandelions – nothing exotic or beautiful, but she still harvests a great deal of them and holds them in a fold of her skirt when she settles on the grass. They won’t make a bouquet, but she can still use them to adorn her cabin, and she begins, fastidiously, weaving them into a chain.]
[Private to Jean]
May I… [The ease with which she can talk to Ned is, while a tiny step forward, still heartening, and gives her the bravery to be honest in her request.] May I speak with you? In your professional role?
[Garden spam]
[Picking flowers from any of the beds or pots in the garden is a forbidden act. It is, Esther notes, quite a shame; the blooms are vivid and bright, quite healthy despite the odd environment they grow in, and she appreciates a nice bouquet of cut flowers. She has no intention of angering any wandering horticulturist, though, and keeps herself to the flowers growing out of the lawn.
Buttercups, daisies, dandelions – nothing exotic or beautiful, but she still harvests a great deal of them and holds them in a fold of her skirt when she settles on the grass. They won’t make a bouquet, but she can still use them to adorn her cabin, and she begins, fastidiously, weaving them into a chain.]
[Open spam]
[These last few weeks have been grey and listless for Esther, and today is no different. Still debilitatingly self-conscious, she saves her showers for the strangest possible hours, waking at three A.M. to bathe; she keeps her head down during the dinner shift and follows orders directly; she haunts the art room, both painting pieces (these are skilled, furious, sexual, distinctly adult, with nothing childish at all about them) and playing the piano (she has been perfecting her Rachmaninoff obsessively); and wandering through the gardens or hanging around the door to the CES hoping for access.
She hopes for solitude, but many hopes don't pan out.]
[Private to Lydia]
[After the pairing is announced Esther briefly reviews Lydia's posts to the network and steels herself, slipping back into, if not a childlike role, at least a gentle one. There isn't a real point to denying her age with Lydia, though she still presents herself with an infantile appearance; she knows or she doesn't know, and Esther is not worried about either option. When she contacts her new temporary warden, she's sure to be demure and agreeable, making a neutral observation.]
Your name is Lydia? That's very pretty. I'm Esther; pleased to meet you.
[These last few weeks have been grey and listless for Esther, and today is no different. Still debilitatingly self-conscious, she saves her showers for the strangest possible hours, waking at three A.M. to bathe; she keeps her head down during the dinner shift and follows orders directly; she haunts the art room, both painting pieces (these are skilled, furious, sexual, distinctly adult, with nothing childish at all about them) and playing the piano (she has been perfecting her Rachmaninoff obsessively); and wandering through the gardens or hanging around the door to the CES hoping for access.
She hopes for solitude, but many hopes don't pan out.]
[Private to Lydia]
[After the pairing is announced Esther briefly reviews Lydia's posts to the network and steels herself, slipping back into, if not a childlike role, at least a gentle one. There isn't a real point to denying her age with Lydia, though she still presents herself with an infantile appearance; she knows or she doesn't know, and Esther is not worried about either option. When she contacts her new temporary warden, she's sure to be demure and agreeable, making a neutral observation.]
Your name is Lydia? That's very pretty. I'm Esther; pleased to meet you.
What happened?! [There's a sudden sound of something glass or porcelain shattering against the floor or wall, the sound of books hitting the floor, a music-box flipping open and playing a few notes of "Fur Elise" before the sound of wood cracking and metal gears crushing.]
Tell me!
[Esther loosens an agonized sound somewhere between a growl and a cry. This is followed immediately by the dull pound of her fist against the wall.] Who stopped it?!
Tell me!
[Esther loosens an agonized sound somewhere between a growl and a cry. This is followed immediately by the dull pound of her fist against the wall.] Who stopped it?!
[Neither Esther or Rorschach are the talkative type and when he goes a little while without contacting her she doesn't think much of it, but it's been half a week since Esther has seen so much as a swirl of ink, much less heard his voice. After unsuccessfully trying to contact him via communicator she ventures down to his door, only to find it blank and generic. No one answers when she knocks, and the door opens into a Spartan bedroom.
Her response is largely emotionless as she walks back to her cabin. For awhile she considers saying nothing, seeing how long she can last without a warden. But this would spoil the "cooperative inmate" image she's been trying to establish since Bond revealed her, and eventually she sends a brief Bargewide message out.]
[Text]
Rorschach is gone.
Her response is largely emotionless as she walks back to her cabin. For awhile she considers saying nothing, seeing how long she can last without a warden. But this would spoil the "cooperative inmate" image she's been trying to establish since Bond revealed her, and eventually she sends a brief Bargewide message out.]
[Text]
Rorschach is gone.
[Chapel Spam (backdated to Fri. 4/18]
[It's Good Friday. At least it is as near as she can tell - what few calendars she's consulted on board point toward this Sunday as Easter. The Protestant Easter, she knows, which is never quite on the same date as the Orthodox Church's. But she has faith in Christ, in His passion and His blood, not the date; and she enters the chapel in mourning dress with a crucifix and her Bible in her hands.
It seems odd to settle in the pew before an altar with no image or sacrament on it. In fact it seems odd to observe the holy day without a mass at all, but she is aware that faith can compensate for a lack of structure. So she opens to the proper passage in the book of Matthew and begins reading the verses again, quietly speaking the familiar words aloud.]
And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it around his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.
[Esther wishes the death toll extended this long. The pain had tapered off a few weeks ago, to her great relief, but today she wishes she had it again. Pain was a trial from God, one even His own Son had to put Himself through. Hers, in comparison, wasn't so bad. If Jesus could be beaten, publicly humiliated, and left to die a torturous death, she can soldier through her own suffering. Perhaps she can be better for it.
But that hope is one she won't think of until Sunday, when joy can return.]
[It's Good Friday. At least it is as near as she can tell - what few calendars she's consulted on board point toward this Sunday as Easter. The Protestant Easter, she knows, which is never quite on the same date as the Orthodox Church's. But she has faith in Christ, in His passion and His blood, not the date; and she enters the chapel in mourning dress with a crucifix and her Bible in her hands.
It seems odd to settle in the pew before an altar with no image or sacrament on it. In fact it seems odd to observe the holy day without a mass at all, but she is aware that faith can compensate for a lack of structure. So she opens to the proper passage in the book of Matthew and begins reading the verses again, quietly speaking the familiar words aloud.]
And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it around his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.
[Esther wishes the death toll extended this long. The pain had tapered off a few weeks ago, to her great relief, but today she wishes she had it again. Pain was a trial from God, one even His own Son had to put Himself through. Hers, in comparison, wasn't so bad. If Jesus could be beaten, publicly humiliated, and left to die a torturous death, she can soldier through her own suffering. Perhaps she can be better for it.
But that hope is one she won't think of until Sunday, when joy can return.]
[Due to the death toll, the overwhelming effect it has had on her, Esther is reluctant to show her pale face. The pain is excruciating, occasionally sending her into spasms and crying fits, but she resolves to fight her way through it. She will not let pain defeat her, she never has. She will tolerate it.
The people badmouthing the port, or refusing to admit it even exists, however - that she cannot abide. The Risen Empire had been virtually perfect, and she cannot imagine a better world to live in; it's one place she's ever visited where she could have survived, been accepted, succeeded, and she can't help but take it personally. Even the death toll doesn't diminish her love for it. Her voice is cracked, still strained, but the conviction and thrill in it shines through.]
That was beautiful. It was worth every second.
( Private to Rorschach, the Emperor )
The people badmouthing the port, or refusing to admit it even exists, however - that she cannot abide. The Risen Empire had been virtually perfect, and she cannot imagine a better world to live in; it's one place she's ever visited where she could have survived, been accepted, succeeded, and she can't help but take it personally. Even the death toll doesn't diminish her love for it. Her voice is cracked, still strained, but the conviction and thrill in it shines through.]
That was beautiful. It was worth every second.
( Private to Rorschach, the Emperor )
( And she loses herself in her dreaming and sleep, and her lovers walk through in their coats )
( Private messages to Rorschach, Jean )
[Public]
There is much said on this ship about redemption, about second chances, and about forgiveness. It's also been said that some on board deserve none of these things. What makes a person worthy of this consideration? What quality makes them worthwhile? Is it merely their willingness to change or is it something else, some buried trait that gives them their worth?
( Private messages to Rorschach, Jean )
[Public]
There is much said on this ship about redemption, about second chances, and about forgiveness. It's also been said that some on board deserve none of these things. What makes a person worthy of this consideration? What quality makes them worthwhile? Is it merely their willingness to change or is it something else, some buried trait that gives them their worth?
Hello! And Happy New Year, and Merry Christmas if you are Russian.
Thank you all so much for the lovely gifts [she takes a slight pause here, her smile wry for half a second; even yours, Bond it says, to only one person on board], I am enjoying them very much. But there is one thing I'd like to ask for, if it's not too much.
Many people on board have pets, and I know there are a few who have come as presents. If it's not a bother, may I have one? A small one, that is friendly but not fussy. Perhaps a lizard. There are some called geckos, and others called i-gu-a-nas. There are more called bearded dragons, but they aren't real dragons. All of those are very nice.
If I cannot have one, that's all right. But I thought I might ask.
( Spam for Bond )
♰
( Open spam )
Thank you all so much for the lovely gifts [she takes a slight pause here, her smile wry for half a second; even yours, Bond it says, to only one person on board], I am enjoying them very much. But there is one thing I'd like to ask for, if it's not too much.
Many people on board have pets, and I know there are a few who have come as presents. If it's not a bother, may I have one? A small one, that is friendly but not fussy. Perhaps a lizard. There are some called geckos, and others called i-gu-a-nas. There are more called bearded dragons, but they aren't real dragons. All of those are very nice.
If I cannot have one, that's all right. But I thought I might ask.
( Spam for Bond )
♰
( Open spam )
[[BACKDATED TO DECEMBER 24TH -- SPAM]]
( O Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches )
( Oh bring us some figgy pudding and bring it right here )
( It's the most wonderful time of the year )
( O Christmas tree, how lovely are your branches )
( Oh bring us some figgy pudding and bring it right here )
( It's the most wonderful time of the year )
[The hesitation Esther showed earlier in the week when her pairing was announced has all but dissipated. Today she's as bright and cheery as her Christmas sweater, worn with all the pride of one who's just opened the box to find the gift.]
Why is everyone so upset over their presents? These sweaters are very nice.
And when are we having our celebration? In Russia Christmas is on January 7th and Father Frost brings our gifts to open on New Year's Eve. I know in many other places Christmas is December 25th, and some people even have it on the 24th.
Do we have to wait until the new year?
( Private to Admiral Claus )
Why is everyone so upset over their presents? These sweaters are very nice.
And when are we having our celebration? In Russia Christmas is on January 7th and Father Frost brings our gifts to open on New Year's Eve. I know in many other places Christmas is December 25th, and some people even have it on the 24th.
Do we have to wait until the new year?
( Private to Admiral Claus )
[Esther looks quite relaxed as she turns on the feed, half a smile on her face as she settles down on her bed and tilts the communicator's camera up to catch her. When she speaks it's accompanied by American Sign Language, basically allowing her to self-translate.]
Интересно, что вы знаете.
Интересно, что вы знаете.
[AUDIO]
[Congratulations, Barge, this morning you get something besides a regular voice broadcast. Today, you get music, the flowing notes of a recital played on the art room piano. The player is very competent, making only the most minor of mistakes - two missed notes, both of which stick in her memory like red flags to be noted the next time she plays. The piece itself is played from adagio to presto in different parts, lasting nearly six minutes, and when it's finished there's a heavy, exhausted yet satisfied sigh.]
That was Chopin's "Fantasie" Impromptu in c-sharp minor. I hope you liked it, it's taken me some time! But after how difficult it's been recently I thought some of you might appreciate it. [Plus she's very pleased with herself; you can hear the quiet pride in her voice.] I've been working on it for awhile, but now that I've learnt it I need a new piece to study. Can anyone think of a good one?
Not too difficult, please. There are some that I just can't play yet.
[SPAM]
[Esther is everywhere and nowhere lately, creeping through the ship like the proverbial mouse. After the other Barge she just doesn't want to face the people she was close to there, but it's a small ship and she can't avoid everyone forever no matter how awkward or saddening the meeting might be.
And she has to approach others for some things: to be let into the CES to chase leaves and roll in the grass, to give her time and supplies in the art room, to take her shift in the kitchen. For all these encounters she wears her bravest face and puts her best foot forward, praying that nothing gets too awkward.]
[Congratulations, Barge, this morning you get something besides a regular voice broadcast. Today, you get music, the flowing notes of a recital played on the art room piano. The player is very competent, making only the most minor of mistakes - two missed notes, both of which stick in her memory like red flags to be noted the next time she plays. The piece itself is played from adagio to presto in different parts, lasting nearly six minutes, and when it's finished there's a heavy, exhausted yet satisfied sigh.]
That was Chopin's "Fantasie" Impromptu in c-sharp minor. I hope you liked it, it's taken me some time! But after how difficult it's been recently I thought some of you might appreciate it. [Plus she's very pleased with herself; you can hear the quiet pride in her voice.] I've been working on it for awhile, but now that I've learnt it I need a new piece to study. Can anyone think of a good one?
Not too difficult, please. There are some that I just can't play yet.
[SPAM]
[Esther is everywhere and nowhere lately, creeping through the ship like the proverbial mouse. After the other Barge she just doesn't want to face the people she was close to there, but it's a small ship and she can't avoid everyone forever no matter how awkward or saddening the meeting might be.
And she has to approach others for some things: to be let into the CES to chase leaves and roll in the grass, to give her time and supplies in the art room, to take her shift in the kitchen. For all these encounters she wears her bravest face and puts her best foot forward, praying that nothing gets too awkward.]
[Hallway Spam]
[If there is a princess of the Barge, Esther Coleman is it.
When she walks the halls she does so with the grace of royalty, the impression of grandeur extending beyond her disturbingly grown-up dresses, her sophisticated makeup, and the pearl-handled revolver she keeps tucked at her waist. It comes from belonging, pure and simple: there has never been a place where she's better fit in. Yes, she still has secrets, still keeps her true identity close to her chest and has only shared hints of her age with those closest to her, but for once, she doesn't need to hide it. Back home, she had been deprived of ever taking power unless it was seized illegitimately; here, she is important, honored, worthwhile. And her power over the inmates, pathetic animals that they were, was not to be forgotten either.
Although her particular animal had been giving her a headache, as of late, and because of a warden's meddling, no less. These things happened, and it hadn't been the first time another warden had overstepped their bounds with her inmate. She doesn't doubt Aeryn's reasons for occupying Maladicta's time are good, but still the woman has toed into Esther's territory and she is not taking that anywhere near as lightly as her smile suggests.]
[Private to Aeryn]
Ms. Sun, may I enquire as to why you've spirited my inmate away? I've no objection to you spending time with her, of course, but as you know I prefer to be consulted on these matters.
Maladicta, are you enjoying your time with the nice lady?
[Sometime later, filtered to wardens:]
My friends, I believe some confused individuals on board mean to raise some sort of resistance among the inmates. [She smiles, shaking her head a bit.] I recommend isolating your inmates quickly and seeing to it that they understand the foolishness of this idea, by whatever means necessary.
[Private to Bianca]
Excuse me, madame, but I wonder if you and yours might be willing to give me a hand. [Never for nothing, of course; but she has been more than loyal enough to perhaps have earned herself a favor.]
(OOC: Esther is affected, is Mal's warden, and is also probably draconian in keeping track of the Barge's coffee. Her Mirror self is still disguised as a child but has no issues embracing her sexuality and won't hesitate to flirt, so… possible age-related squickiness in the comments?)
[If there is a princess of the Barge, Esther Coleman is it.
When she walks the halls she does so with the grace of royalty, the impression of grandeur extending beyond her disturbingly grown-up dresses, her sophisticated makeup, and the pearl-handled revolver she keeps tucked at her waist. It comes from belonging, pure and simple: there has never been a place where she's better fit in. Yes, she still has secrets, still keeps her true identity close to her chest and has only shared hints of her age with those closest to her, but for once, she doesn't need to hide it. Back home, she had been deprived of ever taking power unless it was seized illegitimately; here, she is important, honored, worthwhile. And her power over the inmates, pathetic animals that they were, was not to be forgotten either.
Although her particular animal had been giving her a headache, as of late, and because of a warden's meddling, no less. These things happened, and it hadn't been the first time another warden had overstepped their bounds with her inmate. She doesn't doubt Aeryn's reasons for occupying Maladicta's time are good, but still the woman has toed into Esther's territory and she is not taking that anywhere near as lightly as her smile suggests.]
[Private to Aeryn]
Ms. Sun, may I enquire as to why you've spirited my inmate away? I've no objection to you spending time with her, of course, but as you know I prefer to be consulted on these matters.
Maladicta, are you enjoying your time with the nice lady?
[Sometime later, filtered to wardens:]
My friends, I believe some confused individuals on board mean to raise some sort of resistance among the inmates. [She smiles, shaking her head a bit.] I recommend isolating your inmates quickly and seeing to it that they understand the foolishness of this idea, by whatever means necessary.
[Private to Bianca]
Excuse me, madame, but I wonder if you and yours might be willing to give me a hand. [Never for nothing, of course; but she has been more than loyal enough to perhaps have earned herself a favor.]
(OOC: Esther is affected, is Mal's warden, and is also probably draconian in keeping track of the Barge's coffee. Her Mirror self is still disguised as a child but has no issues embracing her sexuality and won't hesitate to flirt, so… possible age-related squickiness in the comments?)
(CW: gore)
Who did this?
[Today you don't get charm, Barge, you're in for something completely different. Esther's standing on the deck, eyebrows knit, mouth a thin line, looking troubled. The reason why becomes apparent when she swings her communicator around and captures an image of something becoming increasingly common on the Barge: a bloodied corpse, this one of one Hannibal Lecter. That in and of itself isn't so strange, and even a young murderess is clever enough to pick up on that. The strange part is that this death was obviously not due to a human attack; the claw and bite marks attest to that.]
This is the man everyone is angry with. Someone set a dog upon him, right? [She doesn't sound disturbed so much as disapproving, and the feed swings back to capture her face still wearing that frown.]
…A warden will need to bring him to the hospital. [By which she means infirmary.] I'm not going to stay here alone.
Who did this?
[Today you don't get charm, Barge, you're in for something completely different. Esther's standing on the deck, eyebrows knit, mouth a thin line, looking troubled. The reason why becomes apparent when she swings her communicator around and captures an image of something becoming increasingly common on the Barge: a bloodied corpse, this one of one Hannibal Lecter. That in and of itself isn't so strange, and even a young murderess is clever enough to pick up on that. The strange part is that this death was obviously not due to a human attack; the claw and bite marks attest to that.]
This is the man everyone is angry with. Someone set a dog upon him, right? [She doesn't sound disturbed so much as disapproving, and the feed swings back to capture her face still wearing that frown.]
…A warden will need to bring him to the hospital. [By which she means infirmary.] I'm not going to stay here alone.
[Five and a half days have passed. Esther checked and rechecked the dates and times, going over the posts on the network and pondering recent events. It looks like she's missed some excitement; apparently she's not the only one who's slipped into a coma lately, or indeed undergone other changes. It looks like there are some people she needs to seek out soon.
But first things first.]
It's been six days that I slept. Does everyone get sick like this on the ship? Sleeping so long is meant to be very bad for a person. And it makes you very hungry and thirsty as well! [She crosses her arms and huffs, her breath batting a curl away from her chin.] This is very strange and I don't think I like it.
But maybe it is better than waiting. Why do some inmates find their warden immediately when others take so long? How come it's so hard to get home?
But first things first.]
It's been six days that I slept. Does everyone get sick like this on the ship? Sleeping so long is meant to be very bad for a person. And it makes you very hungry and thirsty as well! [She crosses her arms and huffs, her breath batting a curl away from her chin.] This is very strange and I don't think I like it.
But maybe it is better than waiting. Why do some inmates find their warden immediately when others take so long? How come it's so hard to get home?
