fridgetothefire | 031 ☣ she has a lot of true colors

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031 ☣ she has a lot of true colors

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[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.

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[She's sitting on her bed, leaning forward with her forearms on her knees, hands clasped. Her father's cape is hung in its usual place, bunched to one side and currently ignored; she doesn't need that sort of comfort now. She looks up, makes a small welcoming motion, inviting him to sit beside her.]

Hey, Ben.

[Now that he's within physical range of her, now that he can intervene directly if he does perceive a threat and he finds none, it's easier to be as calm as he is on the surface. He crosses to her after carefully closing the door, sitting down almost like an afterthought to looking over what he can see of her for damage. He believes her, but shock can sometimes hide minor injuries from notice; he doesn't like that she looks so worn down, either.]

Are you truly alright? What happened?

Yeah.

He's been mad at me a long time, and it finally boiled over. He grabbed my throat, I grabbed my knife. It was over pretty fast.

[Ben, a creature of subtleties except for the abrupt moments when he's not, doesn't frown. His eyes do narrow slightly.]

Has his warden been notified? [Then, though he is familiar enough with Harvey Dent to know logic need not apply in every action:] Why is he angry with you?

I didn't call him specifically. I should, I guess.

[He'll see the public post sooner or later, though. She doesn't feel particularly eager to do it.]

The bad part of him doesn't want the good part of him to have friends. And apparently I mess up his number obsession. I don't know all of it.

[Ben's type of instability is very different from what Anya describes, and he doesn't understand why that makes a difference. He can understand someone being unsafe, though, unable to control themselves from time to time, and he lets it go at that for now.]

What can I do?

Could you just...hold me, please? I need to. Feel someone else being strong.

[The question had been an earnest one, and he anticipates that she'll tell him what to do. Or admit that she doesn't know, and he'll have to figure out what to do then. One step at a time.

Then she tells him what to do and he's even less certain than before. The twitch of his eyebrows towards one another is tiny, subtle on most, but in someone like Ben it might as well be a full blown expression; he looks down, then, at his own hands. They know how to do many things, how to fight and defend and kill, how to cook and turn pages and write, how to fold a sheet with military precision and how to make shadowpuppets on a wall, how to put someone's body back together that has been broken. But he looks at her hand and isn't entirely sure how they're supposed to fit together.]

Alright. [But he'll try. He shifts positions slightly closer, then, and begins to reach for her hand hesitantly; pauses, reconsidering part of the way there, and raises his arm awkwardly instead. The line between his eyebrows deepens, and at last it's that he trusts Anya not to laugh at him, and to correct him if he's wrong, that guides him to lay that arm stiffly around her shoulders.]

[She sighs, all the tension in her running out in that one breath, and she leans in, resting her head on his near shoulder. He feels strong and warm and sturdy, and even his awkwardness is a comfort, because it's him. She closes her eyes. She's safe.]

Perfect. Thank you.

[She's choked, just a little. Because it really is.]

Edited 2013-10-19 21:18 (UTC)

[Ben isn't entirely certain that's true. Not by any measurable, textbook definition of the word, anyway. Perhaps something personal, something intangible, but not strictly speaking. He knows he's not good at this.

But Anya nonetheless relaxes against him and he trusts her not to lie to him, with or without words. So he stays where he is, holding this position just like this, and swallows and looks down at her.

Not immediately, but eventually, his voice low and tight:] Will you be alright?

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031 ☣ she has a lot of true colors

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