beingdifferent | Seventeenth little lie ♰ I got no one left to mourn for me

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Seventeenth little lie ♰ I got no one left to mourn for me

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[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.

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Since last autumn. [She's coming up on a year soon. Somehow, she doubts it will be the last she spends here.] You're new.

Yeah, I only arrived like, I don't know, three or four weeks ago? Already some of it feels like old news.

[She looks around at the art room, and considers some of the other things to the barge that right now she doesn't see.]

And some of it, anything but.

It's been a difficult time. [On Needy no doubt, and on the ship as a whole.]

What do you mean?

Is it always like this?

[She bites her lip, thinking, before she looks back at Esther.] I was used to the idea of weird stuff happening before I got here, but enough of it's so regular here that it's almost too unreal. New people showing up out of nowhere. No one being able to really die. The fact that we're on a magic ship piloted by a man that nobody ever sees, in space. Things like that.

Like what? Quiet? No.

[No one has ever stated it quite this plainly to Esther, and she nods in agreement.] It's unfair, isn't it.

That wasn't quite what I meant, but...good to know. [And sort of giving everything and everyone the sideeye now, thanks.]

'Unfair' almost seems like too simple a word.

It's always unusual, and often stressful. [A slight pause, and she offers information she suspects Needy already has considered.] I've found it's best to keep your head down and go with what happens, if you're interested in advice.

It's not descriptive enough.

I've kind of gathered that. I was sort of doing it anyway, just...'cause. It's how things kind of were in the last place I was locked up too. Maybe it's just a habit by now, I dunno. But yeah; I've gathered it's not the smartest idea in the world to stand out. Everyone here seems like they're ready to turn on you, the first excuse to do it to you they get. [That's not really fair, and it's not entirely true either. More than a few people have been pretty nice to her so far. But she's scared and wary to believe that what she sees is true. Thinking she'll just get fooled again.]

Yeah. Exactly. [At least that gets a faint smile out of her.] It doesn't do enough of it justice.

Not here, no. Standing out will get you in trouble, or at least get you noticed. [Which is exactly the same thing, unless you stand out in sympathetic ways.] There are a few people who would take someone so brash seriously, but only a few.

Excruciating. Is that a better word?

Is there anyone here who's...okay? [She shrugs forcefully, looking at Esther in earnest.] That you don't have to watch your back around? In your experience?

Excruciating. As in, tedious, agonizing, acute. Yeah; I'd say that's better.

Ned. The Piemaker. He's a rather shy man around his early thirties, dark hair. He has a dog named Digby, and has always been very kind to me.

Torturous, harrying, vexing. It seems to fit.

Haven't met him yet. [She hesitates, twitchily frowning.] I don't do so good with grownups anymore. It's this whole thing. Trust issues. [She folds her arms.] That's what the last person who tried to head-shrink me was saying, before I punted her into a wall.

So, it kind of sounds like I'm not the only person who used to read pages out of the dictionary as a vocabulary builder.

I think you'll like him when you do. He is very likeable. [All she offers is a shrug. Adults are frustrating to deal with even when you technically are one, and she nods at the explanation of Needy's actions.]

No. Reviewing reference books is important when learning a new language.

I'll try to keep an eye out for him, then. It's not that I don't want to talk to people, I guess it's just that I'm...kinda out of practice. [It probably shows sometimes. Especially when she's self-conscious about it. Vicious cycle.]

Right. [She did notice the accent. She just didn't want to jump on it right away. She slides her hands in her jean pockets, simultaneously raising her shoulders in a kind of shrug.] So, where were you from originally?

If you don't like to talk, I'm sure Digby would be happy to meet you anyway. Do you like dogs?

Russia. [Estonia, really; she's still telling this lie out of habit.]

They're pretty cool. I never had one growing up, but that was because our house wasn't quite big enough. And my mom wouldn't have time to help me take care of it. [And a cat would scratch up the furniture so...ferrets all the way.]

Did you come straight here from there, or where you like, adopted into America or something first? [Because she knows Russian adoptions are totally a thing. It was on Sixty Minutes.]

Oh, I've never had one either. Only fish. Did you have any pets?

[Esther hesitates. Needy clearly doesn't know her age and she sees no real reason to correct her yet, but doesn't want to be accused of deception later.] No, I lived with a family in Connecticut before I came here.

I had a ferret. His name was Specter. [And now that she's thinking about it, she kind of misses him. It's been awhile.]

Connecticut, huh? Was it nice? I mean, did you like it there?

Which ones are ferrets? Are they the pudgy ones that whistle? [Esther's English is close to perfect but she hasn't distinguished between various small pets.]

It was very pretty. Cold, too, which I liked.

Um, ferrets are the long skinny ones. They come in a bunch of different colors. I think you might be thinking of guinea pigs. [Needy's smiling a little, but not because she's laughing at Esther. She's just amused in general. It's kind of a funny turn in the conversation.]

I'm from Minnesota; it can be pretty cold there too. And wet. But there's a lot of greenery and open spaces.

Oh! The ones with snouts like a fox's? [That sounds about right and she nods. A few of the families she became part of had pets, but most stuck to housecats or dogs. The Colemans had given her the guppy tank as well, but those are more scenery than pets.] What are the very small animals called? Not rats or mice, but the same size. Peschanki. [She means gerbils.]

It sounds very pretty. All I've heard about Minnesota before is that there are plenty of lakes.

Yeah, those. [Needy has to think about it from her description, squinting a bit and looking to the side as she tries to work it out. Small, but not mice?] Either hamsters or gerbils, I think. Hamsters are chubby too, like guinea pigs, but really small and stumpy. Gerbils have long tails but kind of run funny.

Yeah. Lots of bodies of water. Where I live, we're right near this state park, and it has all these rivers and this one waterfall, that's -- weird and almost unnatural, so it's kinda famous.

Yes, gerbils. [A brief smile passes over her features.] It's such a strange-sounding word. Ferrets, though; they're like weasels, aren't they?

What's so weird about it?

It kind of it, admittedly. But then everyone knows English is a super weird language. Compared to most. [She shrugs a bit again, because anyone who's not super ethnocentric knows that it's true.] They are. I think the species are cousins or something. Them and otters.

It goes underground through this deep hole, and no one knows where it comes out. They call it the Devil's Kettle. Our town was named after it.

It's a very strange one, yes. It steals from all sorts of other languages. [Esther nods, glancing back at her easel thoughtfully and then toward the stacks of drawing paper on the shelves.] Weasels don't seem much fun to deal with, but otters are interesting. Ferrets are playful like that, aren't they?

That's an ominous name. [Yes, this "kid" knows "ominous" but not "gerbil."] It must empty out somewhere.

Seventeenth little lie ♰ I got no one left to mourn for me

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