Let your poor heart break a little

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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 )

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 )

[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.]

[Once again it's a video today, and Esther is fresh-faced and bright-eyed, obviously not too disturbed by recent events. Her communicator is set up on her bedside table, catching the gauzy canopy of her bed behind her and allowing her to use her hands to sign.]

Excuse me. I would like to ask a favor.

Some of you are teachers for the older kids. I don't want to go to school, but is there anyone who could teach me something fun? How to make something or play something. This place can be so boring sometimes. [She quickly amends, so as not to offend anyone:] But I like the library and the art room and the kitchen. During the port I learned how to fish, and I liked that too. Sometime, I'd like to do it again.

Do any of you know how to do things like that?

[OOC: Esther is affected for the flood and has memory dates with Lua, the Emperor, Dent, and Ned, though everyone is welcome. CW: The memory threads may involve themes of violence, death, and sexual abuse, and are marked.]

[The first thing the feed catches is a head full of unkempt black hair. The camera shakes as the girl it belongs to pulls back, pretty face marred by an ugly expression. Her lips are thinned and drawn downward, her narrowed eyes burning with a mad light. Everything from her neck down is wrapped in the sterile white of a straightjacket. She's hissing under her breath before growling a phrase in a foreign language -- Estonian to be precise. Those who speak it would catch what it means: "So afraid of a little girl!"

After screaming out her accusation she breathes hard, collecting her breath, before leveling another withering glare at the communicator and switching to English.]

Let me out.

[OOC: Esther is 16, just the same size as she is normally but physically looks like a teenager since she's not in disguise. She's also currently on loan from the Saarne Institute, and will become very unpleasant if she's let out of her straightjacket.]