Let your poor heart break a little

[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.

[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 )

[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?)

[Open spam]

[Today, Esther is inside the art room. It’s quickly become her favorite area on board, a place where she really gets to create and experiment and play. Drawing and painting are small pleasures, and after experiencing a snippet of her earlier captivity she found herself almost grateful. Almost. Not grateful enough to forgive having to relive that time, but that realization is tucked away in her mind as soon as it’s made. There will be time for all that later; for now, she has artwork to make.

And she’s singing:
“When you wake up the notes are wrong,
The song has vanished with a dream.
Well that‘s the story of my life.”

Facing an easel Jesse helped set up, she dips her paintbrush into the light brown paint and adds it to the canvas with broad controlled strokes. A few more lines sung and a little dark brown paint later the color takes recognizable shape: it’s a bear, out of place in an urban environment with tiny simple people around him. As she adds a pair of large eyes to her picture, Esther narrows her own in concentration. The bear’s muzzle takes on a small frown.

All her pictures tell stories.]