Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fridgetothefire) wrote2014-02-17 08:14 pm
fridgetothefire) wrote2014-02-17 08:14 pm
041 ☣ something for everyone
[Filtered to graduates/wardens who were once inmates]
What did you sacrifice, to graduate?
Someone asked me recently, and I didn't have an answer. I'm wondering if that's strange.
[Filtered to wardens who were never inmates.]
Do any of you feel trapped here? Or have you, in the past, because you needed your deal so badly? It just - it seems like a much more important distinction, in some ways, between wardens and inmates, than being able to get a drink without asking someone to buzz you in first, that we can walk away and they can't.
But I'm not sure it's that straightforward.
[Filtered to inmates]
How many of you want to change? Not to graduate, that's a very different question, and not necessarily into - whoever the admiral wants you to be. Just change, in general.
Do you want to be different than you are, in any way, or not?
[Private to the Admiral]
[Wryly, amiably.]
I don't suppose you'll tell me what you're getting out of all this.
[Spam for Harvey]
[For a long time, she practiced in private. In Bruce's room, in Cass's. She'd work with Natasha or Sokolov or Bea in the gym, because that's where they were, but when she was on her own, without the clear label of 'student' hanging over her, she'd do it with a yoga mat and a locking door. Old paranoid habits, needing to be underestimated. She's realized, lately, how much more convenient the gym is, has been gradually trying to acclimate herself to working through drills under anyone else's eyes. She's there now, moving through forms and combinations Bruce taught her, counting out her breaths. Her lungs are - compensating, slowly, better than they were, even if she'll never quite hit the same caliber of athleticism that she might have otherwise. It feels good, not just to push herself, but to know she's going somewhere.]
[Private to Abigail; wibbly timed to after their conversations with Ben.]
I told you once that I was being as straightforward with you as I knew how to be. In the interest of resurrecting that - this scares me. Not what Ben's doing, me and you.
But I will do everything in my power to take care of both of you, as much as you need.
What did you sacrifice, to graduate?
Someone asked me recently, and I didn't have an answer. I'm wondering if that's strange.
[Filtered to wardens who were never inmates.]
Do any of you feel trapped here? Or have you, in the past, because you needed your deal so badly? It just - it seems like a much more important distinction, in some ways, between wardens and inmates, than being able to get a drink without asking someone to buzz you in first, that we can walk away and they can't.
But I'm not sure it's that straightforward.
[Filtered to inmates]
How many of you want to change? Not to graduate, that's a very different question, and not necessarily into - whoever the admiral wants you to be. Just change, in general.
Do you want to be different than you are, in any way, or not?
[Private to the Admiral]
[Wryly, amiably.]
I don't suppose you'll tell me what you're getting out of all this.
[Spam for Harvey]
[For a long time, she practiced in private. In Bruce's room, in Cass's. She'd work with Natasha or Sokolov or Bea in the gym, because that's where they were, but when she was on her own, without the clear label of 'student' hanging over her, she'd do it with a yoga mat and a locking door. Old paranoid habits, needing to be underestimated. She's realized, lately, how much more convenient the gym is, has been gradually trying to acclimate herself to working through drills under anyone else's eyes. She's there now, moving through forms and combinations Bruce taught her, counting out her breaths. Her lungs are - compensating, slowly, better than they were, even if she'll never quite hit the same caliber of athleticism that she might have otherwise. It feels good, not just to push herself, but to know she's going somewhere.]
[Private to Abigail; wibbly timed to after their conversations with Ben.]
I told you once that I was being as straightforward with you as I knew how to be. In the interest of resurrecting that - this scares me. Not what Ben's doing, me and you.
But I will do everything in my power to take care of both of you, as much as you need.
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[Not a bad thing. Just an observation. She takes another swallow, lets it linger a little. She's desperately curious how they got scotch that neon color, but the flavors aren't exactly easy to identify.]
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[He regards the bottle suspiciously and takes another cautious sip. It's easier now that he knows what to expect, but... he definitely probably should have started off with something else.]
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[Gently herding him back toward the topic of frustrations. Gently.]
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[He's quiet for like, ten seconds, and then it all comes tumbling out.]
So, back home? I've got like, my girlfriend. And that's it. She's the only person who knows what I can do - well, and her dad, and this other guy, but she's like, the only one who really has my back? I don't have to do the team thing. And here, it's kind of cool that I do? Except we're not a team like, at all. And it sucks.
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It feels more like a town, to me. Like the village I was born in. I mean, I was really small when we left, but even as a kid you could tell - it was a Roma village right after the war, in Ukraine, and everyone had terrible hurts and sharp edges, and nobody talked about it, really, because every who was old enough already knew, and nobody wanted the kids to hear. But it was there. And everyone was in each other's business and we'd close ranks against outsiders, but that didn't mean people were all friends. It just meant you were closer together when your broken bits jostled into each other.
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[And further proves that Anya probably is better adjusted to living here than like, anyone else.]
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It doesn't mean nobody has your back, either.
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[And he does. Really.]
I'm just pissed. I know it's not super fair.
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[Another drink. And she lets the silence stretch out, lets him fill it more if he wants to.]
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I'm just really pissed about what happened with Bond, and I really wish I could just. Stop. Being pissed at everyone for it.
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As a former inmate, I mean, if you want to keep your secrets secret, that's on you, a little bit. Your own warden shouldn't spill, because the file is like a special case cheat. But if someone else figures it out? Then your lie wasn't good enough.
That's an awful thing to say, I know. He shouldn't have put her on display like he did. But I've also been burned alive, so, you know, I sympathize.
It's just kind of a mess.
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It's just... a lot easier when it's just, you know. Me in a mask and tights dropping off carjackers in front of the police station. And I miss it.
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I mean, I'm not like, pissed about it.
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[Not viciously, not burdened, not making it about her and her guilt. But this is a truth she is a stickler for. All that is required for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. Iris and the others aren't evil, of course. But she had believed they were wrong, and she hadn't considered it worth it to wade into the fight. And that's a decision she regrets, even if only a little; Bond can take care of himself alright, and he brought it on himself a little bit too, making it a spectacle like he did. She appreciates the need to make a spectacle, sometimes, to provoke.]
We're really - invested in them. Inmates, I mean. We have to be, to put up with as much shit as inmates make wardens deal with. And so many of us see ourselves in them, because we're graduates or just...parallels. I think that gives people really skewed perspectives sometimes, especially with someone like Esther.
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[Quiet. This is where she has the most sympathy for Esther. She has spent a lot of her life pretending to be more harmless than she is.]
And it's - when you've been rejected by people who should have loved you, when they despise you and you have no recourse. You make yourself as lovable as you can. You hollow yourself out to hold on to the mask because you know what the real you deserves, and you can't bear it. And you're aware at every moment that it's lies, and it makes you hate everyone around you for preferring the mask and hate yourself more too, and you just get more and more monstrous, until you start killing people in secret.
[She takes a long drink.]
It's super fucking messed up.
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When I get home, do you think I could like. Call you and ask for some advice about supervillain psychology when some new whacko starts wrecking downtown Manhattan?
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I don't know if I'd be as insightful about the city-wrecking types. But I'd be happy to help.