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i've been having dreams jumping on a trampoline
Who: Ava, some books, 6, and open
What: farm research, some gardening, and succumbing to a rather painful death
When: late March, early April
Where: library, the farm
Warnings: Ava's dying, most of the prompts are dealing with that. first prompt is the most neutral
i. trip and i fall in, i wanted it to happen
Ava spends plenty of time researching in the library, especially when it's too rainy out to do much else. Taking notes in her own little book, things she learns about bees and honey, about horses and trees and soil and fertilizing and crops... pest control and pruning and harvest. There's so much more to this than she thought. She's not trying to maximize profits by increasing yields on some industrial level, but she does want to make sure they have something to show for their efforts, come autumn.
And some days she might sneak in a romance novel, casually watching other visitors over the edge of the pages she flips through, trying to get to the good parts.
ii. my body turns to ice, crushing weight of paradise
But as the days pass, her condition considerably worsens. She struggles to pull a book on herbs out when her fingers refuse to connect with the spine, and eventually gets so frustrated that she ends up swiping an entire row of books off the shelf. They crash to the floor, and Ava startles in surprise. She stares down at the mess, embarrassed. And then kicks at a book.
iii. solid block of gold, lying in the cold
After that, Ava retreats back to the farm. Doesn't dare go into town again, she's rapidly falling apart and doesn't want to bring more attention and questions to it. She knows she only has days left. Everything hurts, and she can hardly focus on reading anymore. Her vision blurs just as badly as the rest of her.
But she refuses to spend it curled up in bed feeling sorry for herself. Instead she stays out in the small garden plots around the cottage, digging in wet dirt, planting rows of seeds for various herbs and spices. She's slow at it, but it's soothing, connecting with the earth, feeling it between her fingers.
She's happy enough for any company, any distraction.
iv. i feel right at home
(closed to 6, cw death)
Eventually the pain becomes far too crippling, motions too discordant to properly coordinate her limbs. She lays as still as possible in the damp grass while staring up at the starry sky, clutching at Peter's hand as long as she can manage. She hates him seeing her like this. She'd hate it more if she had to go through this alone. Each breath is a weak whimper, accompanied by erratic glitching, particle by particle more of her form fading out and not coming back.
What: farm research, some gardening, and succumbing to a rather painful death
When: late March, early April
Where: library, the farm
Warnings: Ava's dying, most of the prompts are dealing with that. first prompt is the most neutral
i. trip and i fall in, i wanted it to happen
Ava spends plenty of time researching in the library, especially when it's too rainy out to do much else. Taking notes in her own little book, things she learns about bees and honey, about horses and trees and soil and fertilizing and crops... pest control and pruning and harvest. There's so much more to this than she thought. She's not trying to maximize profits by increasing yields on some industrial level, but she does want to make sure they have something to show for their efforts, come autumn.
And some days she might sneak in a romance novel, casually watching other visitors over the edge of the pages she flips through, trying to get to the good parts.
ii. my body turns to ice, crushing weight of paradise
But as the days pass, her condition considerably worsens. She struggles to pull a book on herbs out when her fingers refuse to connect with the spine, and eventually gets so frustrated that she ends up swiping an entire row of books off the shelf. They crash to the floor, and Ava startles in surprise. She stares down at the mess, embarrassed. And then kicks at a book.
iii. solid block of gold, lying in the cold
After that, Ava retreats back to the farm. Doesn't dare go into town again, she's rapidly falling apart and doesn't want to bring more attention and questions to it. She knows she only has days left. Everything hurts, and she can hardly focus on reading anymore. Her vision blurs just as badly as the rest of her.
But she refuses to spend it curled up in bed feeling sorry for herself. Instead she stays out in the small garden plots around the cottage, digging in wet dirt, planting rows of seeds for various herbs and spices. She's slow at it, but it's soothing, connecting with the earth, feeling it between her fingers.
She's happy enough for any company, any distraction.
iv. i feel right at home
(closed to 6, cw death)
Eventually the pain becomes far too crippling, motions too discordant to properly coordinate her limbs. She lays as still as possible in the damp grass while staring up at the starry sky, clutching at Peter's hand as long as she can manage. She hates him seeing her like this. She'd hate it more if she had to go through this alone. Each breath is a weak whimper, accompanied by erratic glitching, particle by particle more of her form fading out and not coming back.
no subject
With quiet steps she makes her way through the house, eventually spotting the warm fire, and Ava beside it. She holds up a hand, to greet, or to pacify. Either way, she's going to speak without preamble.
'I'm here to buy mint futures,' says Tayrey. 'You pick the percentage.' She opens up her backpack, takes out a small, emerald-green vial, and sets it on the table. 'The apothecary said this is good for pain. Two drops at a time.' Out of Tayrey's skeleton of a supply stockpile. She'd warn Ava not to overdose, but honestly she doesn't even know if the stuff works, and what Ava does with it is her business.
Then, before Ava can even get a word in: 'I'm going to ask you not to talk to me about before. My prison. I can't stop everyone, or demand it of anyone, but I can ask people I trust, because I need to let that damage heal. I wish I were strong enough that I didn't have to ask; I know how damn irrational and unreasonable of me it is. But I'm asking.' Her voice stays steady. She hopes her little speech didn't sound too rehearsed. It had taken some planning.
no subject
She stays carefully quiet as Tayrey speaks, braced for harshness that never comes. She's still shaken by what happened earlier. Still deeply hurt by what happened with Valdis a couple days before. Somehow dying isn't quite as painful as how upset she's making everyone around her. Saying all the wrong things. Her head hurts, her thoughts feel as scrambled as the rest of her.
Ava breathes out unevenly. "I'm sorry. I..." she hesitates, not sure how much she should try justifying. "Was. Trying to express. That I was glad to be free. That I didn't want to take for granted... but I won't. Won't talk about it." She doesn't want to keep upsetting Tayrey, doesn't want to keep scraping at old wounds. She rubs at her eyes, trying to align her vision enough to look at what she's brought.
"Most pain killers... weren't working for me," she admits. "But maybe it's different enough." That her body hasn't built up a tolerance. She's hopeful. Anything to take the edge off.
no subject
Instead, she only nods in response, and comes to sit on the floor by the fire, her legs curled under her.
'It's worth trying,' she says quietly. 'I hope it... does something. I want to help. I don't really know how I can, other than-' she gestures towards the vial, '-but if I can do anything, you've got to tell me.' She doesn't like the idea that there's no solution, that Ava will simply keep suffering like this.
no subject
"I want... want to be easier. To help. To cure. I really do. It's... painful. Knowing that I'm hurting my friends. I don't want to be alone, but I feel so selfish. Making others... witness my decline." She curls the blanket tighter around herself.
"But I'm. I'm going to try. To fix it." Overcome her fear of surrendering her body to various experimental treatments. Because it's not just her. 6 plans on taking a turn next, and she's already struggling imagining him here on the floor in her place. "I talked to a guy in the library. Told him I could make blueprints..." Even if they can't rebuild the exact machinery, maybe it'd at least offer insight.
no subject
'You know that I don't think it's wrong to be selfish, yes? Progress is built on rational self-interest. I'm telling you this not to argue with you about it, but so you know I don't have any ulterior motive when I tell you that you're not being selfish. Not in any way. And if others want to try to make your pain and your illness about themselves, that reflects poorly on them. Not you. You're not forcing anyone to spend time with you, and if you had a cure, you'd take it.'
Privately, she's including herself in that assessment. Tayrey's bad reaction to Ava's words earlier is proof of nothing but Tayrey's own damage, because a good Tradeliner would have been able to ignore them. To prioritise.
She continues, leaning closer to Ava, wanting her to take this seriously. 'If you're ready to reach out for help with fixing this, you know you'll have my full support - but it has to be because that's what you want. Not because you feel pressured, or because you worry about what others think.'