031 ☣ she has a lot of true colors

[fridgetothefire]

[Video, Public]

[The feed is at a slightly awkward angle, held one-handed. It's Anya and Two-Face. She's behind him, her chin on his shoulder on the scarred side, her other arm wrapped around him and holding a slim black knife at his throat. The knife and her hand are already thoroughly bloody, though his neck is - thus far - unscathed. Two-Face looks furious and strained. Anya looks fierce but cold and calm, almost serene.]

Two-Face is losing a lot of blood. Someone should come help him to the infirmary. We're in the library, historical nonfiction, MA to MC.

Comments

[fridgetothefire]

A few bruises.

[She smiles a little, somewhere between affection and reassurance for Cassel, clinical accuracy and severe amusement, given the disproportionate natures of their injuries.]

[patheticvillain]

[The key difference here is that Cassel could not give less of a fuck about Two-Face's well being.]

He attacked you.

You.

[How dumb do you have to be.]

[fridgetothefire]

He's wanted to for awhile. He hates me a lot.

[patheticvillain]

No accounting for taste.

[fridgetothefire]

I guess not.

[patheticvillain]

We can't all be as smart as I am.

private

Are you really okay or faking it?

[fridgetothefire]

You're a shining example to us all.

private

...it's complicated. Mostly okay.

private

[patheticvillain]

You wanna talk about it or drink about it?

private

[fridgetothefire]

I'm not sure what to say. But I don't really want to be drunk right now. I want my head to be....clearer than it is.

private

[patheticvillain]

[He considers this.]

Hot chocolate and knitting.

Whenever you're ready. My door is always open.

private

[fridgetothefire]

That sounds perfect.

[Her voice is softened a little by relief, gratitude.]

I need to. Check in with people. But I'll come by soon.

private

[patheticvillain]

You check in with your people. But then you get over here. I've got a spare bed, too, if you need to sleep.

[spam]

[fridgetothefire]

[She knocks, knitting bag in hand.]

[spam]

[patheticvillain]

[He's been waiting for her and opens the door instantly, pulling her inside by her free hand. He holds her at arm's length for a moment, inspecting her for serious injury, and then tugs her close for a tight hug.]

[spam]

[fridgetothefire]

[She accepts gratefully. It's not a desperate, traumatized cling, but the embrace is warm and grounding and good. She aches with fondness. It's not so long now, since their first touch, and it still feels strange and over-bright and precious, like squinting into lazy afternoon sunlight.]

[spam]

[patheticvillain]

[While he's better at touch now, while his circle of physical contact is slowly and cautiously expanding, it's still overwhelming in a way that's impossible to describe to - well, anyone but Daneca, and she's not interested in talking. Touch by bare hands is fraught with meaning for him, and it's the ultimate in trust, the only way to say definitively that he's sure he won't be harmed. It's putting his life and his mind in someone else's hands.]

[Chris and Zane wore gloves without being asked, and later he relinquished them of that need. Anya never did - she never needed to.]

[He nudges her towards Sam's bed and flops down on it next to her.]

What did you bring me?

[spam]

[fridgetothefire]

[She pulls a few skeins out of her basket, most of them silly and multicolored.]

This is sock yarn. It's a smaller gauge, and you'll need to plan more stitches per inch. I figured you might what to knit someone gloves someday, and you're nowhere near that, but getting comfy with a smaller yarn seems like a good step.

[spam]

[patheticvillain]

Can't make gloves out of that.

[Which comes accompanied by a twitch, an almost-dainty shiver. It would be cake to work someone through the weave. Gloves have to be cloth or leather or they're worth nothing.]

You can never have too many socks, though. [He grabs something soft in regal purples and soft pinks and inspects it carefully.]

[spam]

[fridgetothefire]

People get cold hands whether they're workers or not, you know.

[But gently. She gets out her own ongoing project - a cozy, drape-y grey cardigan, almost half done.]

[spam]

[patheticvillain]

It's not about that. It's just. It'd be too weird, it's worse than bare hands.

[Now he picks up the double pointed needles and examines those, a touch helplessly. So tiny. So slippery.]