I will not ask you where you came from

[decohere]

Who: Ava Starr & Whoever (one for Fio~)

When: Early to mid-September

Where: buffet, cafe, her room, around the ship, promenade, calgona~

Summary: plenty of sulking, a survey, suffering through Rogers the Musical, an attempt at a haircut...

Warnings: some general depression over loss

i. I had a thought dear, however scary
Windjammer, dinner, Fio

Ava's already in the habit of making herself scarce, but for the few weeks of September she's hardly to be found around this ship at all. With Malcolm gone, she's hit with a familiar wave of depression that she's not overly eager to flaunt. She's used to isolating herself further, has never been all that good at asking for help. There's nobody to really tell, nothing any of them can do. She knows Malcolm didn't have much in the way of friends. And she doesn't want to bother her own friends with her personal problems. They've already had to comfort her before, and Ava is sick of being the emotionally weak one. Besides, they have more important things to focus on. An upcoming mission that she needs to come soon so she can properly get her frustrations out.

But at least there's one thing that keeps her going. Ava keeps to her quiet routine of attending dinner with Fio at 6, which most days is the only reason she manages to get out of bed, the only reason she brushes her hair or gets dressed. The only reason she finds to smile. She might be holding the girl a lot tighter, drawing the dinners out longer. She's terrified of losing Fio next.

"How was your day?"


ii. About that night
Sand Dollars- ota

She hasn't bothered with other meals. But some nights when she's restless enough she slips into the cafe and lingers (barely visible) in the corner with a mug of tea. Her legs are drawn up into the chair, her chin resting upon her knees.

Anyone that approaches her quietly enough won't be told to go away. But anyone that she doesn't particularly want to deal with will have a mug of steaming liquid thrown at them.

iii. The bugs and the dirt
Room 114- ota

For anyone trying to intentionally seek Ava out, it's actually easy to do so. She's in her room, buried underneath a pile of blankets. Sometimes she's scribbling quietly in her notebook. Other times she's crying for hours in the shower. Mostly she's curled up and pretending to sleep.

iv. Why were you digging?
Around the ship- ota

Eventually she gets sick of her own company and the moping. And attempts to set off on a mission of her own, as encouraged by Friday. Ava wanders about the ship, approaching various individuals. Mostly ones that don't look overly busy.

"Excuse me," she asks, notebook in hand. She's fidgeting uncomfortably with the pen. "I'm... working on a project. If you have a moment."

v. What did you bury?
Promenade -ota

There's a bluray that she received that's been haunting Ava for a few weeks, that she hasn't been in the mood to deal with. A yellow background with the silhouette of a man all too frustratingly recognizable, holding that iconic patriotic shield, and labeled rather boldly: ROGERS THE MUSICAL.

What did she do to deserve this on top of everything else?

But as much as she wants to forget it, the curiosity keeps gnawing at her until Ava finally gives in and asks Maximilien to borrow his bluray player. She sets it up at a small table on the promenade and quickly discovers the feeling of absolute second hand embarrassment as the music plays far too loudly.

"Oh... oh dear god..." it's worse than she even imagined.

vi. Before those hands pulled me from the Earth?
Calgona- ota

She hasn't cut her hair since she arrived. But the truth is, Ava hasn't cut her hair at all in the last several years. And it's beginning to feel scraggly at the ends, unhelped by how little care she's taken of herself over the last few weeks. She knows she needs to kick herself out of that slump, and a new haircut sounds like a good idea. Up until she has a pair of scissors in her hands and... no idea what she's really doing.

Ava snips tentatively at the ends of her hair, until she thinks that isn't too difficult, and the starts trying to chop away at her pigtails. Not too short, just about three inches or so off the bottom... but when Ava looks in the mirror, she discovers she's completely butchered it. Lopsided and jagged and she growls in frustration and tries to correct it with several more calculated snips.

Somebody please help her before she makes it too much worse.

vii. WILDCARD hit me up on discord

Comments

before those hands pulled me from the earth?

[skaikru]

All worlds work in mysterious ways to force people together, either in uncomfortable or fortuitous scenarios, and sometimes both. Clarke and Ava's last outright conversation hadn't exactly been brimming with good will, as informative and even-tempered as it was. Their last wordless interaction even less so, Ava scowling out the window of Max's Bentley while Clarke had unearthed Skulduggery's head from the wreckage at the bottom of the cliff and mapped the crack in his skull with her forefinger. On top of that, Clarke almost never visits Calgona; considers it just another window dressing on this hellscape, a blatant attempt to soothe herds of sheep before leading them to slaughter. And selfcare isn't exactly high up on her priority list, this bitch has never moisturized a day in her life.

But the thought of heating packs crossed her mind, and absolutely ready to ease the whiplash strain in the back of her neck, Clarke's ready to try about anything. So she slips into the sleek spa, set on rifling through eye-mask and hot stone treatments until finding what she wants, and only briefly distracted by a figure wielding scissors in front of a mirror at first glance. Looks long enough to recognize Ava Starr, and guess what she's about to do, but otherwise that's none of her business.

Rifling through cupboards for a few minutes doesn't yield any good results however, and frustration mingled with persistent discomfort means she's about ready to give up almost immediately. Already scanning back towards the entry-exit doors, but catching once more on Ava's hair dresser attempt and — oh. Oh no. Even from several yards away, that doesn't look like a good cut. Savior complexes apparently extend towards haircare too, and almost unbidden, Clarke's feet carry her over.

"It's going to be easier if you let your hair down." And, you know, let someone else do it. Mirrors and angles don't do wonders for cutting a straight line.

[decohere]

She frowns at her reflection in scrutiny as Clarke acknowledges her mistakes, has a lingering impression of the young woman that she must always criticize. Always poke her fingers right into raw wounds. But she's too exhausted to fully commit to that conclusion, wants to think better of Clarke's intentions. That she's genuinely trying to intervene for the sake of help, rather than make Ava feel worse than she already does.

Ava never spends much time fussing about her appearance, has never placed all that much value upon it. She's used to hiding away, behind a mask or invisible entirely. She's used to her glitches and blurs being what people focus on when they look at her anyway. Yet here, people have called her pretty. Beautiful. Hot. And no matter how much she stares she never quite sees more than a sad somebody that really needs more sleep.

A blurred impression of her face turns to glance back over her shoulder at Clarke to finally acknowledge her in return, while the other frowns even harder at the mess she's made of her hair.

There's a stubborn streak that runs quite deep, that makes it difficult to voice when she needs help no matter how badly she needs it. Those feelings of self reliance have only hardened over the last few weeks. And she holds up her hand, scissors clasped tightly as if she might drop them, and part of the problem becomes clear. Her hand seems unable to stop twitching, some sorry combination of exhaustion sabotaging her ability to control her phasing. And the general anxiety she's been experiencing in Malcolm's absence.

"It's fine," she lies so badly that she immediately winces after. "God, maybe if I just..." she pulls out one of her pigtails and aims even higher.