Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fridgetothefire) wrote2014-08-27 11:27 pm
fridgetothefire) wrote2014-08-27 11:27 pm
051 ☣ the Victorious Return
[Public, Video, forward-dated slightly to after the flood]
[Anya's hair is braided, a bit awkwardly given that she was unable to hold her own head up at the time, and a bit mussed, although she's changed into an unwrinkled shirt.]
It seems like there haven't been any major disasters while I was unconscious.
Were the comms all broken? Did I miss the signs or something?
[She sounds bemused, half-joking, half not at all. Seriously, is the admiral punking her, did the boat actually not crash.]
[General friends filter; if you think you're on it, etc.]
I'll need to catch up on the minor disasters, though. Let me know how you're doing, all of you.
[Private to Morgana]
You want to come over for tea? It looks like maybe you've got a lot on your mind.
[Which is Anya-speak for yes, I reviewed all your public glitch conversations. There's something even warmer than usual in her voice, in her eyes, approval, as well as affection. She said she had hope. She's come so far.]
[Private to Harvey]
How'd you like Death Knighthood?
[Private to Dean]
Still think it's some new hell?
[Mild, faded-soft but not weary any more. There's no challenge in it at all. It's a checking-in, pretending to be casual rather than perennially concerned, but it's not pretending that it's not pretending. The answer she expects is yes, in some fashion or another, as though Dean's bleakness is one of those comforting constants she can rely upon no matter how long she was out, a well-worn groove, like asking if the Arthas still wears skulls.]
[Private to Stephen]
Thank you.
[Private to Stiles]
So you and Dean.
[Spam for Connor]
[She found his post right after his and Cass's pairing, and she takes him at his word, knocking at his door with a foil-covered tray of meringues as - not a peace offering, but a gesture of good faith.]
[Private to Cass]
[In her window seat, with her guitar in her lap]
I was wondering if you wanted to learn some more chords.
[Spam for Ben]
[She wakes up with the sort of drowsiness that makes her think of broken fevers, of exhaustion bled away, a lingering quietude and a faint surprise at her own awareness, small but clear like a mountain spring. She feels warm and safe but odd, wonders why she's laid out on her back when she usually wakes curled on one side. She blinks her eyes open, sees Ben there.]
Did I...did something happen?
[She's not tolling, she doesn't feel hurt or drugged or even hungover. But she also doesn't know why he's keeping vigil, or what time it is, and usually she wakes sharp and early.]
[Anya's hair is braided, a bit awkwardly given that she was unable to hold her own head up at the time, and a bit mussed, although she's changed into an unwrinkled shirt.]
It seems like there haven't been any major disasters while I was unconscious.
Were the comms all broken? Did I miss the signs or something?
[She sounds bemused, half-joking, half not at all. Seriously, is the admiral punking her, did the boat actually not crash.]
[General friends filter; if you think you're on it, etc.]
I'll need to catch up on the minor disasters, though. Let me know how you're doing, all of you.
[Private to Morgana]
You want to come over for tea? It looks like maybe you've got a lot on your mind.
[Which is Anya-speak for yes, I reviewed all your public glitch conversations. There's something even warmer than usual in her voice, in her eyes, approval, as well as affection. She said she had hope. She's come so far.]
[Private to Harvey]
How'd you like Death Knighthood?
[Private to Dean]
Still think it's some new hell?
[Mild, faded-soft but not weary any more. There's no challenge in it at all. It's a checking-in, pretending to be casual rather than perennially concerned, but it's not pretending that it's not pretending. The answer she expects is yes, in some fashion or another, as though Dean's bleakness is one of those comforting constants she can rely upon no matter how long she was out, a well-worn groove, like asking if the Arthas still wears skulls.]
[Private to Stephen]
Thank you.
[Private to Stiles]
So you and Dean.
[Spam for Connor]
[She found his post right after his and Cass's pairing, and she takes him at his word, knocking at his door with a foil-covered tray of meringues as - not a peace offering, but a gesture of good faith.]
[Private to Cass]
[In her window seat, with her guitar in her lap]
I was wondering if you wanted to learn some more chords.
[Spam for Ben]
[She wakes up with the sort of drowsiness that makes her think of broken fevers, of exhaustion bled away, a lingering quietude and a faint surprise at her own awareness, small but clear like a mountain spring. She feels warm and safe but odd, wonders why she's laid out on her back when she usually wakes curled on one side. She blinks her eyes open, sees Ben there.]
Did I...did something happen?
[She's not tolling, she doesn't feel hurt or drugged or even hungover. But she also doesn't know why he's keeping vigil, or what time it is, and usually she wakes sharp and early.]
Page 1 of 11