Eleveth little lie ♰ This room's gonna be my grave and there's no one who can save me

[beingdifferent]

Spam
[There is nothing that can undo the damage that's been done.

Since Bond's (violation) revelation Esther's clung to what little privacy she has left. As soon as she was given permission to return to her cabin she'd barricaded herself in. The formerly pretty little room is in a shambles now, littered with torn books, ripped clothing, smashed toys, shredded drawings, and broken furniture. She herself fares little better: for days she's been locked in alone, wrestling with tides of rage, fear, and sadness, knowing she can't return to the other passengers. Rorschach's occasional appearances go mostly unacknowledged, and when he checks in on her she says nothing of consequence. Why should she? There's nothing to say.

What she did was perfectly sensible. Someone had power over her; she neutralized the threat. And it's not as if Bond didn't deserve to die. There is some meager comfort in knowing she's hurt him as badly as he's hurt her, but it's nothing compared to the reaction that is sure to face her when she goes out again. A quick overview of Bond's post humiliating her confirms what she suspects. There's astonishment, fear, gloating, revulsion, rage - all the normal emotions a freak inspires.

And they wonder why she said she was a child.

After she reads the messages she destroys her communicator, then smashes it again when it reappears. Then again and again, until she becomes so impatient with the Admiral's game that she shoves it into the back of a drawer. She buries herself in her Bible, refuses food, sleeps too much, ignores the flood announcement and all its effects. But she has to come back out sometime, when the hunger and the impotent anger become too much.

So she puts herself back together. A sponge bath, styled hair, a fresh dress. Makeup, again. Ribbons tied just so around the scars on her wrists and neck. By all appearances a child again. And why not? What are they going to do, accuse her of lying?

The first stop is the mess hall, where she ferrets out a meal and eats in relative silence, staring at the others passing through and minding their own business. When she feels their eyes on her too keenly she slips out and makes her way down to the art room, where she settles down at the piano and flexes her fingers. Then she touches them to the keys and begins playing Prokofiev's sonata no. 7, third movement; appropriately angry, fittingly difficult and treacherous.]

Comments

[sickjoke]

Among other things. There's a really horrible person who runs the city I live in... And he's makes life hard for anybody who wants to live and love honestly. Did-- [ he gestures with one hand ] The scars first. The acid drop, later.

Anyway--

I fight-- because otherwise he's just going to keep... doing things like this. Because people need someone to do that, when they're not strong enough to do so.

[beingdifferent]

Did he attack you before you began fighting him?

[It's not quite the same thing; there's no centralized figure of revile in her own life, save maybe herself. Regardless of that, though, this motley crew of fellow freaks at least guarantees his sympathy, and for that she's grateful.]

I suppose they do.

[sickjoke]

That depends on how you define 'fighting'. I didn't start with my fists or a knife. I started on stage. I did the worst thing I could do at the time: I mocked him. I mocked him and everything he did. I made him central to my routine in the comedy clubs... and it got his attention.

And then, since I liked to laugh so much-- well. [ He gestures again to his scars, the grin they pull too wide. ] Here we are.

After that, got -- a lot more direct.

[beingdifferent]

That's often just as harmful as a physical attack. [Physical attacks, at least, are easier to process, to react to and adapt to. Esther is no fighter, but she is keen and fast enough to keep alive in the face of violence. At least she had been until Kate. But mockery can be damaging, confusing, debilitating, in a way that simple violence can't - it's a powerful weapon, virtually regardless of who uses it.

This isn't to say she begrudges it of Jack. It sounds very much like she'd have torn this man down too if given the chance.]

And you helped the people he hurt?

[sickjoke]

Yeah. Found that the hard way. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words cause lasting emotional damage. To paraphrase, anyway.

[ He nods once; yes, that's what he's doing. A dose of vengeance for himself, and helping others so they don't end up like him. ]

That's be it on the nose. And he hurts a lot of people. We got the guy caught right now but he has a criminal empire that spans the globe. That's... why I'm here. For a deal to help.