i've been having dreams jumping on a trampoline

[decohere]

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. 

Comments

[misbegottendreamer]

"You're... ill." It's not a question.

[decohere]

And she almost doesn't give an answer. Fingers press into the dirt without leaving so much as a dent.

She sighs out, resigned. "Yes. But I hear it's fine. Come back good as new." There's an attempt at optimism in the tone, but it's strained.

[misbegottendreamer]

"The ease of the spirit's nature does not make the passing less frightening. Do you want any help with the pain?" Her tone is soft, almost in a motherly sort of way.

[decohere]

"I'm not scared," she insists quietly. She's died plenty of times now. And has taken far more lives than that. What right does she possibly have to be afraid.

"But I-" she fades further, looks nervous. No matter how gently the offer is made, it's always one that rings as a potential trap.

"How?"

[misbegottendreamer]

"My order study the art of sound, and its connection to the fabric of the world. Something about you is interfering with its own frequencies. Your chords are clashing together in cacophony. I could trying to find a common element to harmonize with, to try and drown out the song that's poisoning your substance. It wouldn't save you, sera- such things are almost impossible to counter without divine intervention- but it might give you a little bit of a reprieve from the feeling of your fabric fighting against itself."

[decohere]

Trying intently to focus on the explanation, Ava can certainly hear the discordance of her being ringing in her ears that having it all described in terms of sound doesn't feel quite as off as claims of magic. Her brows are drawn as she shudders through another wave of shredding particles.

"I like music."

[misbegottendreamer]

She comes closer.

"Put your hand as close to mine as you can then, sera. I cannot promise anything, but I will do my best."

[decohere]

Maybe she should know better.

But really, when her death is steadily creeping in, risks don't feel as if they matter so much. Any chance at relief...

Ava does as told, raising a singular hand that vibrates between four.

[misbegottendreamer]

There’s no practical way to find a harmony in the particles that make up Ava. The ringing in her depths is like the Song that Consumes All Things, and she is deep into its mysteries. Still, Drelasa does what she can, singing softly to what stability she can find, doing her best to dredge up the memory of Shot’s doom-drum voice accompanying her. The effect is mildly soporific, a tranquility and a euphoria wrapped up in a thin veil of stupor.

[decohere]

She hasn't slept well for days, hasn't been able to find much peace amongst the increasingly frequent tremors of pain. That she has no defenses, no will to put up against surrendering herself to the wave of... relaxed exhaustion that overcomes her senses.

It doesn't take long for Ava to simply slump over and pass out.

[misbegottendreamer]

She's not going to try to move her, but she will try to wave someone down if she hears them passing by, and ask them to get a blanket. For now, she's going to continue playing with gentle abandon, working herself more and more into a healer's fervor, delving into the stable tones buried deep, deep in the shredding, screeching, ripping ring of self-destroying possibilities.

[be_seeing_you]

As Ava's days grow more pained, Number 6 has tended to linger nearby. But not hover. He knows it only hurts Ava more to see how he grieves for her already. But the sound of singing calls him to the front door. When he sees Ava slumped over, he sprints to her side, kneeling beside her in the dirt while he looks up at this stranger and demands, "Who are you? What's happened?"

[misbegottendreamer]

“I was drawn by the sound of her pain. I am a healer, and I wanted to help, muthsera. I… suspect her body was able to acknowledge a tiredness that has been buried by pain up until now.”

[be_seeing_you]

He passes his hand by Ava's mouth, checking that she's breathing. She is. She's only asleep. Finally... resting.

"I'm sorry for my reaction. My wife is very ill, as you can see. But, I'm grateful you've given her something to soothe her. Thank you."

"That said, I still do not know your name. Mine is Peter Starr."

[decohere]

She smiles gently in her sleep at the sound of his voice, always a comfort.

But doesn't stir.

[misbegottendreamer]

"It is good to meet you, Muthsera Starr. My name is Drelasa Veloth. I apologize for causing you this panic. If you wouldn't mind, I could keep casting to continue to soothe her, and perhaps you might help move her to a more comfortable spot?"

[be_seeing_you]

"I don't mind at all," he'll take that comfort for as long as Drelasa is willing to give it. Now is no time to be too proud for it.

"Yes, I agree. Would you like to follow me into our home? She'll be more comfortable on the sofa, I think." He suggests the sofa rather than the bed because he feels Ava might be further comforted if she can hear the sounds of him working in the kitchen nearby.

[misbegottendreamer]

"Of course."

She gets up from her crouched position. Number 6 can see now that's she's a rather stooped, hunched figure.

"If I might follow your lead, muthsera. I do not know this area well and I do not have the benefit of sight to locate the house."

[be_seeing_you]

"I'm sorry. I did not realize. Of course. Would you like to place your hand on my arm? I'll alert you If we approach any obstacles."

It will become apparent, quickly, that she is not the first blind person he has guided in such a way. His warnings are timely and his descriptions are efficiently informative, especially as they approach the steps that ascend the porch into their home.

"Can I offer you anything to drink? Tea, perhaps?"

cw: brief mention of ableism

[misbegottendreamer]

"Tea would be lovely, although... would it be much of an imposition to ask that it be poured into a bottle, if you have one? It's rather difficult to slip a cup under this mask." She finds comfort and surety that he guides her with confidence and readiness. Dunmeri culture has not historically been kind to those that are seen as "physically or mentally flawed."

Re: cw: brief mention of ableism

[be_seeing_you]

"That's no trouble at all. Let me get Ava settled and I'll prepare everything. The kitchen table is three strides ahead and there are chairs sat around it."

He will leave her to find her way while to takes Ava to the couch and lays her there with her head resting on a pillow. He covers her with a quilt, tucking it around her like a cacoon. There. He hopes she rests well.

Next, he starts to make the tea. He has to wash out one of their bottles so Drelasa will hear the sounds of running water and scrubbing. While he works, he picks the conversation back up. "Have you ever tried drinking through a straw? I don't have any now, but I think I could fashion some in wood if you like?"

[misbegottendreamer]

She sits without much trouble, folding her hands in her lap.

"It's not something that's ever come up. Prior to coming to Marrow Isle, I would usually eat and drink in solitude when I was away from Kogoruhn. My traveling companions never really pried about the matter."

[be_seeing_you]

"I take it you prefer to conceal your visage from any onlookers. I also will not pry, if you do not wish me to, but, I will admit I am curious as to why." He was a secret agent in his former life. Of course such a thing would intrigue him.

cw: general heavy stuff, civil unrest and war

[misbegottendreamer]

“I… will not say what lies behind my mask, only that time and circumstance have left their mark on me, and that is something I would rather conceal from the world. The mask itself, however, is a story, and one I am very much willing to tell.”

“I lived a simple life, once. I was a farm girl, and I called the idyllic Ascadian Isles my home. For the first few decades of my life, things were uncomplicated. I did as temple and tradition dictated, I honored my family’s name, and though the fields did not make us rich, our family was comfortable.”

“But then came the blights and the monsters, the Red Year and the Argonian invasion, the fall of the living gods of our land and the civil and theological rest left in their stead. Everything I knew was taken from me- my home, my family, and even my identity. My life ended in those years, muthsera, and so I wear my burial mask. In this way, I might not forget the Drelasa Veloth who was, while I as a mourner go on with the life that remains.”

Re: cw: general heavy stuff, civil unrest and war

[be_seeing_you]

"I will not seek to unmask you, I swear it," he says solemnly. Gone are his days of looking into other's secrets.

"But I am sorry you have such a reason to wear that mask. You suffered so much loss. Yet, you are here still. You took the bargain just as I did. There must be something in your life worth returning to?"