beingdifferent | Twelfth little lie ♰ And she smiles and she says "This is it, that's the end of the joke"

[Floods, breaches, and the like don't usually affect Esther too badly. They're strange, they're sometimes horrifying, but she can let them wash past her, secure in the knowledge that they aren't her, that they're only some fleeting impression of energy or dimension. She can usually let them go, and let the people she could have been fade away easily.

In her seven months on board there have been two events she can't easily brush off: the mirror Barge and this one. The mirror dimension's mystique was simple enough; she'd had authority, power, confidence, a measure of safety and camaraderie, and a pang of longing still hit her every time she thought of it. But this last one, when she'd been pushed forward into her future self (a future self, she amended, one that may well never come to fruition), she had been functional. Acceptable, if not normal.

No matter what magics the Admiral might be capable of working, normal could never happen.

There had been inspiration drawn from the flood, Esther understood, but how, she didn't know. Ned had been undead, cold and ready to kill, for God's sake, all for the irritating so-called king who attempted to exert his power over the passengers; Chris (although she suspects he'll never speak to her civilly again) had been terrified and lost; she'd been shown a lie, something that could never be realized. The memories and lessons she learned in that state do not take hold. When she reviews them she feels nothing but doubt, crippling disbelief and self-pity. She cannot survive as a woman, she is well aware. She cannot be the woman the Admiral's shown her - she can't be one at all.

It never works.]

[Private; Rorschach]
Can we please ensure any training sessions take place in a private space?

[Private; Jean]
What is wrong with me?

[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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Can you be sure of that?

Yes. I'm not sure of much, any more, but - if you want to change, you can.

But into what? That is the question. [The Esther she could have become stands out like a monument, larger-than-life and similarly unattainable. But at her core who was she, really? The same as Esther was now, just bold enough to show her face. To grow into that would fulfill none of her desires, nor get her what she is convinced she needs.]

Still you. [She wants to emphasise that; that Esther won't be giving up her identity.] Just - more whole. More capable.

[After a moment, she repeats what she said to Morgana, to Anya.]

We are more than what was done to us.

[She has to stop, then. Just for a moment, because Jean is wrong. There's what's been done to you and what you can do afterwards, and neither is what you hope for.]

Was something done to you?

A lot has been done to me. [She thinks of Annie bleeding in her arms, and monsters branding her skin, and fire in her eyes.] I've been used, and beaten, and caged. I've - my body isn't even mine any more, not completely. [Technically, she accepted the Phoenix. But it wasn't much of a choice.]

And it's all part of who I am. What makes me Jean Grey. It's not something I can just ignore, or erase.

But it doesn't need to define me.

[That, at least, is something they've got in common. But Jean has advantages Esther knows she'll never have, and it's hard to believe her when she's fighting with a handicap to begin with.]

You can fight against it. [Read: you can.]

I couldn't have, without help. [Without her family, here and at home.] It's - easier, for me, to get that. To know it, to trust it.

But you can learn. You're stronger than you think you are.

Perhaps it's not a matter of strength. [After all, no matter how strong she was she would always be as she was now. There'd be no children in her future to lovingly raise, and as she looked it became less and less likely she'd even find a lover to spend her days with. And what, really, was left without that? A life alone with her head held high?]

It takes a certain kind of strength to learn another way to live.

What if you can't find one?

You can. It's just - it'll be hard, and it'll take time.

But you wouldn't be here if you couldn't.

[Esther has been, more than with virtually anyone else, honest with Jean. Mainly because she can't completely hide from her but the woman doesn't push. Not in any way that has or could hurt her, at least. Maybe she owes her a little more of the truth.]

I don't think I believe that. What else could I ever be?

That's not for me to say, not really.

What do you want to be?

Normal.

Normal is kind of a useless idea. It's just - it's how we think people are meant to be, but there's no one right way to be human.

Twelfth little lie ♰ And she smiles and she says "This is it, that's the end of the joke"

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