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]

[She smiles, thin and sharp. The reaction kindles something warm and pleased in her - the part that was safe watching Magneto tear the mob to tiny pieces, the part that felt cherished. And Jean's restraint is what she wants too, her respect, her forbearance from becoming the same kind of monster he did. She always wants it both ways, wants rage and mercy at the same time, in the same gesture. She knows intellectually how much it is to want from people, perfect balance. But Jean just - is. Anya feels terribly endeared to her for it.]

I've let him know that I'm happy to offer remedial classes if necessary.

[fireincarnate]

[Anya isn't scared of her, not even a little; she doesn't see a monster, when she looks at her.

It feels, a bit, like the first time she could fly.

Her own smile is warm, and sharply amused.]

That's generous of you. I hope her appreciates it.

[fridgetothefire]

He will. One way or another.

[fireincarnate]

I'm always here if you want a wingman. [jean wingmen are for dates not murder]

[A careless glance at Harvey.] I'm going to stop the blood pouring out of you now, and I really want you to understand that I could kill you instead. [Saying that really shouldn't feel good, but it does. She'll probably hate herself for it later.]

[fridgetothefire]

[He gurgles a little; he's still conscious, but pretty out of it. Anya nods, though, approving despite her previous abstention. It will be less of a mess to clean up. And she appreciates it for Harvey's sake. She cranes her neck over his shoulder a little, because it's kind of fascinating to watch, the impossibly fine control of it.]

Do you think you could get the blood out of the books? I feel bad about that.

[fireincarnate]

I can try.

[It should, she thinks, be patently absurd that it's the books Anya feels sorry about, but the books never hurt anybody.

First, though, she focuses on Two-Face.

She's always aware of the world around her; it's like swimming through the ocean, knowing a flick of your hands can cause endless ripples. It's easy enough to zero in on the library, on Anya, on him. To feel the pump of his blood above anything else.

Slowly, delicately, she stems the flow. In a few moments, the blood stops.]