#ebb writes stuff

lyfrassir edda tried to cut their hair after the bifrost incident. hair and the meaning it holds had been a common thread in the multitude of cultures that comes with 9 inhabited worlds in one star system, and one thing that had been a given in nearly every single one was you don't wear braids when you're grieving. you don't wear rings or ribbons or gems, you don't wear any ornamentation. for a long time it was taboo to even pull it back in a ponytail except for the most strenuous of tasks. and you don't cut it unless you've lost it all. which, of course, they have. so they take a pair of scissors they found in a toolbox and cut the whole tangled mess of it off their head over the sink. it's ragged and uneven and they feel exposed without it, but if this is the only way left to honor their vanished world then so be it. or that's what they thought. that night as they wake from yet another nightmare that leaves them gasping at the brink of tears they feel that familiar weight spilling down their shoulders and back. they don't try again. they do try to forget about it, push it from their mind through sheer force of will but they can't explain it away. and they can't ignore the fact that the gray streaks in their still-long hair grow thicker by the day. and it looks less and less like true gray than a multitude of colors and shades dulled to a neutral tone by sheer numbers. they are changing and it won't let them cut their hair.

I'm having thoughts about CoCaL Thomas and Henry sorry but ummm here's a little ramble that might not make much sense (I've been up since 02 god help me) Thomas was fairly new to the ship, maybe a bit less than a year, Henry hadn't been there much longer. they've been getting along, known each other less than a year but they're close friends, the rest of the crew joke about them being each other's tail. the ship gets in a fight, biggest one either had been in yet, although both had seen some skirmishes. they fight and win, only minor injuries to either side, including a pretty deep cut on thomas's cheek. the crews all joking around, proud of the young man for his first REAL battle scar, Henry takes him aside to patch him up. they're belowdecks, in the crew quarters, the light from the lamp gently swaying with the ship. henry is quiet in concentration, he's always less talkative than Thomas, and he has a task. but for once Thomas isn't filling the silence. henry pauses and sees him just... looking at him. he shakes himself slightly and goes back to work. the man's probably in pain, he tells himself. exhausted and just fixated on the closest thing within view. one last pass with the gauze and he's done. he- he realizes he hasn't taken his hand off thomas's face yet. he gazes at this man, dark brown eyes and cheeks still flushed from the fight. the ladies must love him. before he can overthink it he kisses him, just on the cheek, right over the bandage. he mumbles a quick excuse, "mama always said kisses made it better", and gets up to leave. and... and Thomas is grabbing his hand, drawing him to a complete stop at the gentlest of touch. Henry's heart is racing as Thomas kisses him back, gently, in the same place, right on the arch of his cheekbone. "c'mon," he says. "let's go join the rest of the crew"

A woman walks out of the desert. Her hair is matted, there is stubble on her jaw and desperation in her eyes. Her steps are steady but with that certain brittleness that is seen when someone is forcing themself to not stumble. She did not find what she needed in the desert.