who: helena and others! what: variety catchall for the month. when: end of july/ all of august. where: across the boat. warnings: likely discussions of death.
"Had to work through the conflicted emotions. But I'm glad for it too."
And the mental image of bottles being stolen away from Helena's grasp has her huffing lightly in amusement. Not quite at her expense. She's had so little to bring her enjoyment these last few days.
She doubts she's alone in that.
The offer of a post-excursion drink had been made conditional upon how bad the experience was to be. She hadn't seen Helena since they parted ways after making it out of the crew cabins. With Helena's futile plans to slow the flooding. She wonders but does not ask how that went. They both know.
But her showing up with such intentions is confirmation enough that the experience did not treat Helena well. Her stomach churns slightly.
"I..."
She wants to say yes. Wants to get out of the room for a bit. Wants to have a drink or two to forget.
"Haven't eaten," is what's stopping her. Knows she can't handle it on an empty stomach. But she's uncertain she can keep much down right now either.
"Do you want me to get us some snacks then, and bring them back here?"
Maybe it'll be easier, if she eats with someone else. Maybe it can make it simpler, if it's a snack that can be put down, no expectations of needing to eat correctly or to do more than to have it brought. Helena doesn't mind - it helps her, actually, to be able to do little things like that.
She's quiet. Trying to think of anything that might sound appetizing. None of her favorite foods stir any desire. She knows she should eat. Knows that the only way to get past the nausea is to do so.
And she doesn't want Helena to feel unable to offer her comfort, if she turns it all away. She wants Helena to know she's needed. Wanted. Appreciated for her kind efforts.
Ava swallows roughly, mouth dry. "Maybe... some tea and bread?" Because Maximilien had brought her an entire selection of breads after the Battle Royale. And that's what she associates with comfort food now.
She smiles, and hurries away. If Ava's stomach is bothering her, then mint tea will probably be best - soothing for the stomach and nerves, she distantly remembers Dr. Dyer saying, handing her a cup after a particularly rough night. The bread she retrieves from the kitchen, deciding to bring back the milk bread because it's the softest of what's available, though she warms it in the microwave first.
Thus armed, she returns to Ava's cabin.
"I've come back!"
Called out, because she has the teas in her free hand, balanced carefully, and texting would be hard like this.
She takes the time Helena is away to tidy up the already neatly kept room, to reorganize her thoughts more than the space. Pulls out the various plushes she's collected, including the oversized bear propped up at the end of the couch. Silly things. Operatives don't need-
A well time voice interrupts.
She gratefully takes the tea when Helena returns with an invitation to sit beside her. It's a little practice between them, not frequent but becoming so, Ava's realized. And the familiarity of it brings comfort of settling back into a routine.
"I'm glad to have you over," Ava carefully reiterates her appreciation for Helena's visit. She inhales the soothing mint, mug nestled between both palms, enjoying the warmth of the steam until it manages to cool.
"Have you been out much?" Each word is steady. Her hands aren't, and she takes a deep sip before her trembling sloshes tea into her lap.
"No. Not really. I've wanted to stay near those I know best."
The tea in her own hands, she sips very carefully, not wanting to burn herself. This is routine, but it's also safety, allowing her into a room that will not bring violence, or worry, or any type of judgement. Still, still, she needs to ask.
"...If I say something terribly morbid, will you forgive me for it?"
"Wasn't sure of the general..." she waves a hand vaguely. "Vibe. Out there." Her own room is an easily controlled environment. Where she doesn't have to encounter those that might be less kind in their opinions. Not before she's ready.
"Helena. I'm often inappropriate. No forgiveness needed." She finally picks a bit at the warm bread.
"...I guess I've become a little less used to dying, being here. Before I could get up, shrug it off, no harm done, while I felt so disoriented this time. I suppose as I keep going, it'll become familiar again. Honestly, I almost preferred when it was like that."
She's quiet, thinking it over. Helena's far more experienced in these sorts of things, her perspective is valuable. Helena is somebody she cares about. Her feelings are valuable.
There's probably other reasons she should protest. How cruel and unfair all this is to resign themselves to.
"When businesses are pricing products. They run some sort of cost analysis. If you raise the prices, less people will purchase. But you might make higher overall profit even with less sold..."
She trails off. Chews on a chunk of inoffensive bread. Decides she can't quite finish it, and sets it aside. "I think there's a similar equation to be had. If this becomes too frequent, less might go. If we become too accustomed to it, too numb. Less profit is derived of our trauma. I personally rather not get to the point where I wake up as if nothing happened at all. I don't know if I'll be able to come back from that." She's not as strong as Helena. She won't be able to maintain her own kindness, her hope that there's meaning to this.
She swallows roughly at some tea. "Which is to say... it does sound simpler." And she's not sure they have the benefit of that.
"It's easier to get to that point if you don't have anyone there when you wake up."
She says it softly, fingers on her own cup.
"When no one talks about what happened. Oh, you'll talk about what occurred, but do you really talk about it?" It's what makes her, as she's put it, good at dying. Because she knows how to talk about it and not talk about it. Because all of their deaths just became tally marks. "You don't lose the fear. You don't stop trying to avoid pain. That's always something you hate. You always do run. But death itself...it says okay, there you are, try again. And then you wake up alone, to make yourself go get breakfast and start over. It's okay."
It's more than she's said to most people. But it's important, she thinks, that Ava understands there's a key difference in this place. People care. They can't stop caring, or it will just bite its own tail, and become less valuable.
"If someone's there when you wake up...it's less okay."
"What I mean is, you remember it's not normal. That such pain isn't something you're supposed to just accept and soldier past."
Less a fact of life, meant to be shrugged off like your morning blankets.
"I can do that. I do do that. But it isn't something I want anyone else to go through, because of what it would mean to be so adjusted to it. People should have the ability to be not okay, when they wake afterwards."
Ava's not adjusted to dying, only on her third. But she is to killing, the numbness of the routine. So she understands enough the other side of it, what point Helena is making.
"I've always been expected to work through my pain. It's a luxury now to properly fall apart. For me, that's what makes it okay. Knowing I have somebody that will help me through it."
"Right, it's okay in that respect. But...you're not expected to immediately be fine. You can be in pain. And that's why I think having someone there is so very necessary. Or at the least, close within reach."
She's quiet, before she huffs, something that's not quite a laugh.
"It's only happened twice here. But both times...I haven't felt alone."
So Helena does support having somebody there with you through the aftermath... their okays finally aligning to similar sentiment.
"I... felt alone the first time. After the Battle Royale. I didn't expect to come back. There were things I hadn't planned to live with." Three days of heightened paranoia on no sleep, witnessing the deaths of the younger passengers she was trying to protect. Killing Crabb out of a twisted sense of mercy, the absolutely feeling of dread at the idea of being the one to 'win.' It had been the only way out.
Waking had been an absolute nightmare.
"But then. Skulduggery and Maximilien. They... intervened."
Her smile is kind, then, willing to let go of the other part of the statement. Whatever happened, whatever Ava hadn't intended on bearing, she's borne it for long enough that Helena's own judgement isn't needed to enter into the equation.
"They were," she confirms fondly. "I always worry what would have become of me if they hadn't. Like what became of those passengers of the previous voyages."
What defines them so differently from those before? She can't imagine they were all so awful individually... but perhaps they had nobody like Skulduggery. Like Fio. Like Helena.
"I was so afraid that it was proof that I hadn't changed at all. That even away from SHIELD I would only be good for killing. That's what I have to be careful of. More than the fear of death, but what I become in the face of it." She has to be okay because she can't afford what happens if she isn't.
"As long as you keep that in mind, I don't think you'll become what you fear. Even if this place asks you to kill again, occasionally, that's not all you are, not all you're good for. You're Ava, and you're so much more than what the people that hurt you thought you would be."
Hadn't they met in a way that proved that? Her, flying as though she was something from a fairy tale, a spirit of goodness and happy thoughts. Far, far from being solely a killer.
Keeping it in mind in the relative safety of her room is far easier than preventing herself from snapping under pressure. But having it reinforced helps.
"And you're good for more than just dying," she returns. "I think as long as we remember this is... for a purpose. A way forward. And not just punishment for our inability to be better." Or is that just her.
"No. But I will be displeased if they don't recognize that them being able to stay back depends entirely on having a willing team who can hold off everyone being compelled to contribute."
A beat, but a small chuckle.
"Of course, them being irritated at us for going and in general trying to push back and refusing to contribute also should generate energy, but don't tell them unless you want to cause a paradox."
"I'll give them the benefit of the doubt," Ava begins. Because she knows she has a tendency to anticipate these sorts of negative sentiments from the 'opposition.'
"That they'll at least be wise enough to not express such to me."
The aftermath of the trial she didn't even attend still provides her with annoyance whenever she thinks back on the confrontations. "But yes, the joke really is on them."
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And the mental image of bottles being stolen away from Helena's grasp has her huffing lightly in amusement. Not quite at her expense. She's had so little to bring her enjoyment these last few days.
She doubts she's alone in that.
The offer of a post-excursion drink had been made conditional upon how bad the experience was to be. She hadn't seen Helena since they parted ways after making it out of the crew cabins. With Helena's futile plans to slow the flooding. She wonders but does not ask how that went. They both know.
But her showing up with such intentions is confirmation enough that the experience did not treat Helena well. Her stomach churns slightly.
"I..."
She wants to say yes. Wants to get out of the room for a bit. Wants to have a drink or two to forget.
"Haven't eaten," is what's stopping her. Knows she can't handle it on an empty stomach. But she's uncertain she can keep much down right now either.
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Maybe it'll be easier, if she eats with someone else. Maybe it can make it simpler, if it's a snack that can be put down, no expectations of needing to eat correctly or to do more than to have it brought. Helena doesn't mind - it helps her, actually, to be able to do little things like that.
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And she doesn't want Helena to feel unable to offer her comfort, if she turns it all away. She wants Helena to know she's needed. Wanted. Appreciated for her kind efforts.
Ava swallows roughly, mouth dry. "Maybe... some tea and bread?" Because Maximilien had brought her an entire selection of breads after the Battle Royale. And that's what she associates with comfort food now.
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She smiles, and hurries away. If Ava's stomach is bothering her, then mint tea will probably be best - soothing for the stomach and nerves, she distantly remembers Dr. Dyer saying, handing her a cup after a particularly rough night. The bread she retrieves from the kitchen, deciding to bring back the milk bread because it's the softest of what's available, though she warms it in the microwave first.
Thus armed, she returns to Ava's cabin.
"I've come back!"
Called out, because she has the teas in her free hand, balanced carefully, and texting would be hard like this.
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A well time voice interrupts.
She gratefully takes the tea when Helena returns with an invitation to sit beside her. It's a little practice between them, not frequent but becoming so, Ava's realized. And the familiarity of it brings comfort of settling back into a routine.
"I'm glad to have you over," Ava carefully reiterates her appreciation for Helena's visit. She inhales the soothing mint, mug nestled between both palms, enjoying the warmth of the steam until it manages to cool.
"Have you been out much?" Each word is steady. Her hands aren't, and she takes a deep sip before her trembling sloshes tea into her lap.
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The tea in her own hands, she sips very carefully, not wanting to burn herself. This is routine, but it's also safety, allowing her into a room that will not bring violence, or worry, or any type of judgement. Still, still, she needs to ask.
"...If I say something terribly morbid, will you forgive me for it?"
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"Helena. I'm often inappropriate. No forgiveness needed." She finally picks a bit at the warm bread.
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She takes a deep breath.
"It made things simpler."
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There's probably other reasons she should protest. How cruel and unfair all this is to resign themselves to.
"When businesses are pricing products. They run some sort of cost analysis. If you raise the prices, less people will purchase. But you might make higher overall profit even with less sold..."
She trails off. Chews on a chunk of inoffensive bread. Decides she can't quite finish it, and sets it aside. "I think there's a similar equation to be had. If this becomes too frequent, less might go. If we become too accustomed to it, too numb. Less profit is derived of our trauma. I personally rather not get to the point where I wake up as if nothing happened at all. I don't know if I'll be able to come back from that." She's not as strong as Helena. She won't be able to maintain her own kindness, her hope that there's meaning to this.
She swallows roughly at some tea. "Which is to say... it does sound simpler." And she's not sure they have the benefit of that.
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She says it softly, fingers on her own cup.
"When no one talks about what happened. Oh, you'll talk about what occurred, but do you really talk about it?" It's what makes her, as she's put it, good at dying. Because she knows how to talk about it and not talk about it. Because all of their deaths just became tally marks. "You don't lose the fear. You don't stop trying to avoid pain. That's always something you hate. You always do run. But death itself...it says okay, there you are, try again. And then you wake up alone, to make yourself go get breakfast and start over. It's okay."
It's more than she's said to most people. But it's important, she thinks, that Ava understands there's a key difference in this place. People care. They can't stop caring, or it will just bite its own tail, and become less valuable.
"If someone's there when you wake up...it's less okay."
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Less a fact of life, meant to be shrugged off like your morning blankets.
"I can do that. I do do that. But it isn't something I want anyone else to go through, because of what it would mean to be so adjusted to it. People should have the ability to be not okay, when they wake afterwards."
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"I've always been expected to work through my pain. It's a luxury now to properly fall apart. For me, that's what makes it okay. Knowing I have somebody that will help me through it."
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She's quiet, before she huffs, something that's not quite a laugh.
"It's only happened twice here. But both times...I haven't felt alone."
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"I... felt alone the first time. After the Battle Royale. I didn't expect to come back. There were things I hadn't planned to live with." Three days of heightened paranoia on no sleep, witnessing the deaths of the younger passengers she was trying to protect. Killing Crabb out of a twisted sense of mercy, the absolutely feeling of dread at the idea of being the one to 'win.' It had been the only way out.
Waking had been an absolute nightmare.
"But then. Skulduggery and Maximilien. They... intervened."
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Her smile is kind, then, willing to let go of the other part of the statement. Whatever happened, whatever Ava hadn't intended on bearing, she's borne it for long enough that Helena's own judgement isn't needed to enter into the equation.
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What defines them so differently from those before? She can't imagine they were all so awful individually... but perhaps they had nobody like Skulduggery. Like Fio. Like Helena.
"I was so afraid that it was proof that I hadn't changed at all. That even away from SHIELD I would only be good for killing. That's what I have to be careful of. More than the fear of death, but what I become in the face of it." She has to be okay because she can't afford what happens if she isn't.
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Hadn't they met in a way that proved that? Her, flying as though she was something from a fairy tale, a spirit of goodness and happy thoughts. Far, far from being solely a killer.
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"And you're good for more than just dying," she returns. "I think as long as we remember this is... for a purpose. A way forward. And not just punishment for our inability to be better." Or is that just her.
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"It makes me resent the idea less than I might have. I'm not happy to have to do it, but...I'm glad we still have a ship to come back to."
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"Rent is always due," she says with a strained sort of laugh. "And I won't call the others freeloaders."
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A beat, but a small chuckle.
"Of course, them being irritated at us for going and in general trying to push back and refusing to contribute also should generate energy, but don't tell them unless you want to cause a paradox."
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"That they'll at least be wise enough to not express such to me."
The aftermath of the trial she didn't even attend still provides her with annoyance whenever she thinks back on the confrontations. "But yes, the joke really is on them."
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It never had expired, after all.
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"I still have never seen you berate anyone, I feel deprived."
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cw: historical ableism
Re: cw: historical ableism
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