fridgetothefire: (Default)
[Hallway spam]

[Ben appears first, in full black cape, domino mask, and bandito hat with silly ball fringe, carrying a billowing, humming fog machine. As the mist starts to fill the corridor, Anya, Cassel, and Cass sneak around the corner, similarly decked out. Anya and Cassel are clearly tipsy, in full dramatic pantomime, first holding their capes in front of them and then flaring them out dramatically, almost losing their balance and revealing large baskets of baked goods. Cass is actually sneaking, despite the glaringly obvious costume, and quite innocuous in contrast to the others. Between them, they are picking locks, nibbling cookies, drinking champange from the bottle, and humming their own theme songs.]


[Your room!]

[They are breaking into any room they can, including several doors previously secure against them, thanks to Cassel's new far-future electronic skeleton key. They have every intention of sneaking in, rearranging any ugly knickknacks you may possess, and hiding delicious cookies, brownies, and cupcakes in strange places. They may or may not contain weed, depending on how uptight the united Mystery Baking Companions think you are. If you're already in your room when they tumble into it, pastry-laden and giggling, they will probably toss their capes and pose heroically.]

Special delivery!!!

[If you catch them as they're 'sneaking' away, they will toss confetti in your face and attempt to make a daring escape.]



[OOC: if you would like to find your offerings later and make a silly stoned post, go for it!! They are very generous.]
fridgetothefire: (bitter)
Narration TLDR )



[Private to Ben]

Ben. If you can hear this, tell me where you are.



[Private to Morgana]

[There's a lull of silence, just Anya's face, frowning faintly at the screen. She doesn't know what to say. She's harder and colder than the Anya Morgana knows - not bright and sharp like she was on the mirror barge, but hunched and honed.]

Do you have information about me, too?



[Open spam]

[She paces out the bounds of her new prison. Larger, nicer, stranger. She wants to rip someone else's hair out. Malachai walks behind her, with a buffer of air between them, one foot of No Man's Land. He's a sandy-brindled creature in the shape of a sleek, low-slung dog, some kind of mutt, certainly part greyhound - unless someone really looks at him, realizes how big he is despite the way he slinks, over six feet from nose to tail tip, or the curving, not-quite-right way his hips are slung. He is nothing like a dog.

She's been told there are no other daemons here, that it doesn't make them mindless, or monsters. but every time she passes anyone, she has to struggle not stare, and Malachai draws mincingly closer to her, though she pushes him away.]




[Spam for Riddick but also Open in the CES]

[Zane is hungry. And he's some kind of sea creature and not - (her brother) - not the one she knows, not the one she promised to try to come back to. But he's still hers, somehow, and he's in a box, and he's hungry.

Anya is the sort of person who leaves herself notes, nowadays, in case of floods just like this: a little folded placard in her own handwriting sitting on top of her warden's item, This opens doors, like a much more helpful version of Alice's Drink me. So she looks for a door with food behind it, and finds a forest instead. She hears rustling and bird calls and she doesn't understand, but it doesn't matter: Malachai is an ambush predator. She climbs a tree, and he stalks out a place some twenty-five feet upwind. It's a small stretch, for them. And they wait.]
fridgetothefire: (fidget)
[Open Spam]

[At odd times, Anya can be found in the common rooms, curled up on a couch with the guitar Bea gave her for Christmas, humming and practicing chords. She's still new at it, and not worried yet about picking up anything fancy. Her fingertips are still in the raw stage, pink and sore, but she practices diligently, with a small smile.]



Confidential to Morgana, Zane, Bruce, Cassel, and Dean )
fridgetothefire: (alright)
[Private to Ben, Backdated to Friday.]

[She's smiling in the easy, bright way that means she's had a few drinks, but not enough to start laughing at everything or lose even an iota of her sharpness.]

...so, I need some help with a project. How busy are you?


[Spam]

[A soft whoosh of air, as Ben slides through the corridor at superspeed, leaving a chugging fog machine nearby. Shortly afterward, Anya and Cassel come through, giggling in their masks, capes, and dramatic feathered hats, carrying baskets that groan with delicious-smelling baked goods. This time it's all beautifully decorated christmas cookies and rich peppermint bark. Maybe they've ambushed you in the corridor. Maybe they're (attempting to) break into your room. Either way, delicious (mysterious~) holiday cheer is about to ensue.]
fridgetothefire: (innocence he said you're alone here)
[Open Spam]

[Anya isn't keeping to her room. She takes up a kitchen shift for a few days until Ben is almost scowling as he insists he's recovered. In her own kitchen, she bakes and bakes - not cookies this time, not sweet things. Just fresh bread, lots of it. She wanders through the hallways, thrusting warm, napkin-wrapped loaves of it at anyone she passes. She sits up on deck. The stars there were basically the same. Like her.]


Some messages: Lua, Erik, Cassel )
fridgetothefire: (Default)
[Spam for Cassel]

[She knocks sharply on his door, already in costume - a black domino mask, a black bandito hat, a black cape, black gloves, and an elegant black wicker basket smelling of delicious things and covered with a black silk cloth over her elbow. She has a spare hat, mask, and cape in hand.]


[Spam, Hallways, general common areas]

[The lights flicker. Soft mist drifts down the corridor, swirls, intensifies. You might just be able to make out shadowy shapes, soft giggling, and the sweet, warm smells of chocolate chip pumpkin bread. Out of the gloom, a voice asks, in either a voice that manages to be both ominous and sing-songy,]

Good evening. Tonight, just for you...trick or treat!

[YOU have encountered....the Mystery Baking Companions. Also, it is entirely plausible that Anya and Cassel are perfectly obvious in their Zorro-like costumes, and equally obviously tipsy.]


[Spam, YOUR ROOM]

[The drunken duo are currently attempting to pick your room lock. Or possibly you have returned to find them leaving cookies on your pillow or pie on your end table. Or possibly they just succeeded in breaking in, only to find you already inside. Fog pours formless around them as they grin unabashedly.]

[OOC: wibbly time all through the flood.]
fridgetothefire: (Default)
Confidential to Zane, Abigail, Cassel, Ben, Sylvanas, Mal, and Arthas )


[OOC: I may add other starters to this post as older things play out/I think of them. If anyone has something they want to have brought up with Anya BEFORE she becomes a zombie, let me know and I will add it. There will probably be a separate public zombie post later.]
fridgetothefire: (skulk)
[Friends Filter, afternoon of the second day]

[If you think you might be on it, etc]

So. This one is...uh. Disconcerting. If any of you guys want me to grab dinner for you or something, I'm willing to play gopher.


[Open Spam, throughout]

[Anya is, in the finest sense of the phrase, tempting fate. She skitters through the hallways on the most-used levels (cafeteria, dinings, bathrooms), deliberately takes corners at a hurried clip. She tells herself it makes sense, tactically, that she's still just gathering as much information as she can. She will admit, later, that it's mostly just her love of new experiences, of the chance to be someone new and do things she couldn't imagine before. Even with the sheer amount of pain the barge carries and the way it exposes her history in turn - it's worth it, she thinks. It's incredible.]


[Open Spam, Pub, sometime after running into Felix, possibly literally.]

[Anya needs a stiff drink. And she is going to get one. Right now.]


[Private separately to Ben and Cassel]

How are you holding up?
fridgetothefire: (curious)
[Public]

Okay, this is a long shot, but I know we've got all kinds of magic and tech here that I don't know all the capabilities of, so here goes:

Does anybody have, or know of, something that can like...turn memories into photographs? We never really had cameras around when I was little and I guess I'm just. Being maudlin about a few things.

[aka she misses the twins when they were stupid babies]


Confidential to Arthas, Alex, Babs, Cassel, Charles, Erik, Jesse, Tosh, and Touko. )
fridgetothefire: (cast down your eyes)
[Private to Alex, Bruce, Ben, Cass, and Pietro.]

I'm going to be okay.

[Private to the above + Riddick, Felix, Cassel, Rhade, and Dean.]

Let me know if you made it. Please.


[Public, a day or two after.]

If anyone who got hurt is still laid up, in the infirmary or wherever else, and wants me to bring them some books from the library, I'd be happy to.

I can read to you too, if you want, although I can't make promises how long my voice will last.

[It's still a little bit hoarse from screaming, but Anya knows all about painful, boring recoveries. She imagines most people on the barge will have more company than she used to, but it can't hurt to offer.]


[Spam for Erik]

[After a night of deep, utterly dreamless post-adrenaline-crash sleep, Anya manages to drag herself into out of bed, because she can't stand the thought of more trail rations when she could get real breakfast. And there in the hall, just stepping out of his own room, is Erik. He's not her father, he never was and he never will be. But he's something like it, and he told her stories once, trying to protect her from the man who keeps haunting her all too literally. After a moment of staring, Anya flings herself at him and clings on tight.]

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Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400

November 2015

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