come_sailaway | i'm like a bird, i only fly away

Who: Ava & OTA
When: End of December
Warnings: Village discussions likely

i. you're beautiful, that's for sure

Do Not Disturb.

The sign is posted outside their cabin door the day they return and remains through the end of the year, to discourage any well-meaning visitors from bringing any extra stress. She takes great care in securing an environment that Peter can feel safe to recover in, until he's ready to face anyone else.

(text if needed -ava)

ii. you'll never, ever fade

Though she doesn't leave the room much herself, she does occasionally convince herself of the need for fresh air, to walk off the anxiety around the sports deck. She isn't paying much attention to where she's going though, eyes fixed on the stars.

iii. you're lovely, but it's not for sure

She can be found sometimes at the cafe, staring into her cup of tea or preparing a platter to bring back to the room.

iv. that i won't ever change

Toward the end of the week she's got a large pile of dirty clothes she's sorting through in the laundry room, separating the lights (mostly hers) from the darks (mostly Peter's). She has a small pile of things she's pulling out of the pockets, after making the mistake of having washed her pens one time too many. She finds the number badge, and clutches tightly to it.

v. and though my love is rare

And in the middle of one afternoon she's completely passed out in a library armchair, too many late nights watching guard over her husband sleep catching up with her. Jurassic Park lays open on the floor by her feet.

vi. and though my love is true

wildcard me

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"Not anyone's business but his own."

"No, I suppose not." He kneads the floor a little.

"Could I ask you a little something? What do you think it is I do, being the Madgod?"

She's quiet for a moment, thoughts still lingering protectively on her husband.

"I don't know? Fulfilling whims?"

"Well, that's certainly a part of it. Can't spell 'whimsy' without 'whims,' after all, and I'm especially keen on fulfilling my own. But that's only a snail's hair of it. Let me tell you a little story."

"I don't imagine you've heard of Emperor Pelagius III. 'Course, I could be wrong, but I don't get the feeling the two of you ran in the same historical circles, real or imagined. Now, Pelagius, people tell all sorts of stories about him. Some say he cut off more than his fair share of heads. Some say he'd mop the palace floors with his own filth. Some will swear the Blue Palace in Solitude is still haunted by his screams to this day. I won't say which tales are true and which are false, but I will say that Pelagius and I had quite a bond from the beginning. Tried calling me when he was a child, and some folks will tell you that's how he lost his mind. I'd tell them in turn that they've got chestnuts in that space between their ears."

"They packed him away to a nice quiet place where blue-blooded basket-cases can't embarrass their noble, righteous families. Poor fella made the best of it. He made his cell his royal chambers in his mind. He made an occasion of everything he could, in between the fits. Fortune never favored him, and his best efforts always seemed to go unnoticed, while the most salacious and sensational things about him would travel as quickly as the pestilent fumes of Peryite's left nostril. All the while the weight of his wolf of a mother bore down on him throughout his life, and well into his death."

"And I was there for every second of it. The terrors before his eyes, and the panicked mind behind them. The crawling sensation beneath his skin, and the animal instinct to chew off whatever was itching and wrong. I shared every bead of sweat he shed through his night terrors. I saw red when he did, and beat my fists as he did against the floors and the walls when it all became too much."

"I found help for him, a balm for his wounded soul, when I realized he'd had enough."

"You're a clever woman. You see things in classifications, in parcels, in groupings. You know that one thing can be many things, and many things can be one thing. Are you seeing where I'm going with this?"

Ava shakes her head in unnecessary confirmation that she's never heard tale of such a man, and allows him to continue with curiosity of troubles not her own. By his colorful description, she's uncertain how he ever became an Emperor at all. Pelagius certainly sounds mad enough, then again she's not sure how much of it she's meant to believe is true by Sheo's own admission. She's never known how much was true of the results of her own psych eval either, knows people will always try to screw with your mind further when you're unhealthy and disoriented.

Poor fella made the best of it. He made his cell his royal chambers in his mind. He made an occasion of everything he could, in between the fits. Fortune never favored him, and his best efforts always seemed to go unnoticed...

Ava's heart clenches sadly in recognition of being in such a state. Trying her best to make her unfortunate circumstances livable enough for her to cope with. Trying to celebrate holidays that nobody else cared about, with rapidly diminishing enthusiasm. Christmas came and went with only festively decorated pieces of toast for her husband of little appetite. Even if luck was never on her side, she keeps struggling against the odds only to inevitably fail. Only for it all to go unrecognized, unthanked, unrewarded or simply shoved back in her face. Ava sighs out, sad for Pelagius's plight.

She shakes her head, reluctant, failing the expectation of being clever. No idea what she's meant to grasp from the tragedy of a man she'll never meet. "You just... wait until he's already ruined? To help?"

There's a sad sort of wistfulness on the face he's mostly favoring now.

"Ruined? Who said he was ruined? Pelagius was the greatest emperor those silly little Cyrodiils ever knew, with the exception of dear, sweet Martin, of course. But if you're asking why I never treated his madness, it's because he never asked me to. Of course, sometimes I take the initiative without having to be asked, but I'm a very fickle god. Often quite unkind. Often quite cold. An utter absence of empathy is a sort of madness, you know. But so is an overabundance of compassion."

"Right now, I'm of the madness of compassion. What sense does it make for a god to worry about the well-being of such tiny little things as human beings? But I think you're wonderful, simply wonderful... and troubled. Yes, there is a lot of trouble here, right now." He starts to pace.

"So that is why I ask, Mrs. Starr, about your husband and his whereabouts. Because now is one of those times where I find myself taking the initiative. And there are quite a few people who need help, abiding the madness that place instilled in them."

"Those that need the most help are those incapable of voicing it." Intervening on behalf of people you care about, when they're incapable of asking or inflicting self-harm, is a moral obligation that Ava holds close.

But she's not a god, just one amongst many of the infinite insignificant mortals that's grasping at living for maybe a few moments more until lost to obscurity. Until then, she treats others how she wishes to be. Trying to make up for all the crimes committed while trying to save herself. Is it empathy, or guilt?

"My husband is not mad," Ava replies firmly. "He's traumatized by somebody messing with his mind and sense of reality. So no, I'm not going to suggest anyone else interfere with his mental state..."

"We're all a little mad, dear. There's no shame in that. But if you don't want my intercession, I'll keep my distance. But... do tell me if there's something I can do to help. Even just some small thing. My husband's a physician, you know. I've learned a lot about caregiving from him."

"Guess he must be a little, to marry me. I'm sure there's others that might be more receptive to your offer." She stretches out a bit, yawning still.

"Didn't know you were married," she doesn't know much about him at all though. "But if you have some caregiving advice. Right now, he seems, but hasn't outright expressed. Worried that maybe my caring for him is a burden. And it isn't. But I'm trying to alleviate that a bit by spending some time out of the room..."

"That's probably one of the most common feelings people get when they need help. They keep quiet, they shut their mouths because they don't want to be a burden. Pah! Even if they are a burden, that doesn't change the fact that they need help. Half the time you mortals don't even ask for help lifting an actual, physical weight when you should. 'Oh I'm fine, I can do it myself.' And then you throw out your backs and are never the same. Ah, but guilt... guilt is a nasty little poison, and it ferments in the richness of other feelings. I can't say I know a way to ensure your husband doesn't feel that guilt, short of him numbing himself to the world. And I certainly wouldn't recommend that, not for him. I'd say, if you want to help him without making him feel like he's 'being a burden,' you find lots of things to do that will 'incidentally' help him, or perhaps he could 'help you' in ways that help him. Perhaps you had a sudden craving for a meal he really likes, and you made too much to eat on your own. Perhaps you want to do something to relax, but your mind is racing, and you feel like you couldn't go do that relaxing thing on your own. Perhaps you need to feel close to him, and would appreciate if he was giving of his time and company."

i'm like a bird, i only fly away

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cw: unsanitary mention, mental health problems, mentions of poor mental health practices, self-harm

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