065 ☣ fish for fallen light

[fridgetothefire]

If you know me, I probably miss you. And maybe even if you don't.

[She repeats this Romani, and then Russian, and then German. And then ASL.]

Comments

[surfaceshine]

[There is a moment, his mouth falling open, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, where he almost leaps on the opening she doesn't exactly leave for him but which the Barge created; he's always been a problem solver, and he lives and breathes to be backup for the people he loves.

But he made promises, and he knows exactly where the line is - and more than that, it's Anya. He can hardly second guess the person who showed him how to keep his little corner of the multiverse safe enough to have a life in, so he as visibly and pointedly does not ask for specifics now she's said they're resolved.]

Well, I mean, Barge. It happens, we both know that.

But I see you're keeping the ship together anyway.

[fridgetothefire]

Literally, on a few occasions.

I made everybody work together for a month.

[look dean she is still doing miracles tell her she's pretty]

[surfaceshine]

[This does in fact surprise a somewhat incredulous, dubious grin out of him.]

Damn, darlin'. Even I never figured that one out, and I'm at least three kinds of awesome.

Did it kill any of 'em? I've always wondered.

[fridgetothefire]

Sylvanas got out of it via cabin arrest after setting a piano on fire in the elevator. That was my biggest blip.

[She was never going to help one way or the other, but house arrest gave Zane a reason not to appear to flout Anya's policy. But it's a funny way to say it, in the way the barge is funny. Occasionally awful and unfailingly balls-out bizarre.]

[surfaceshine]

[And Dean gets that, in the way only a Barge alumni can; the mental image makes his grin twist wry with a fond, exasperated kind of amusement. He likes Sylvanas, in part for her unfailing, fantastically difficult side; he's always preferred the prickly ones.]

And that's why I left the key with you. Jesus.

[fridgetothefire]

[It's better than any of the admiral's terse approval. She blossoms, a little; she'll hold the warmth of that close a long time. She closes her eyes for a second, doesn't bother trying to hide how happy it makes her. He should see it, how much he matters, is admired. The legacy they have wrought.]

I've got some great inmates now. A big biker guy and a twitchy little cutie who reminds me of me. And...Stephen.

[It's not that Stephen's not great. It's just that he is very difficult to describe. She is bemused at her own failure.]

[surfaceshine]

[He still can't really accept that on a deliberate, conscious level of course, but it does make him feel better to see that he has that kind of influence; he always wanted to belong, to have people, to matter. Now he does, and he is happier than he ever remembers being, or even thinking he possibly could be.

He's grinning by the time she looks back up.]

And Stephen, huh? I mean, as long as none of 'em are taking shots at you while your back is turned, or at least ones you aren't expecting, some days that's all you can ask for. But it's nice to get more.

[fridgetothefire]

No, nothing like that.

Stephen is - brisk. Brittle. Very british.

Poem-like. The spare kind, not frilly. He accomplishes a lot with an economy of activity. Very competent, bad at staying still. He's a good person who's mostly gotten twisted around and then clamped down on it, I think.

[dinosize]

...I'm poem-like?

[fridgetothefire]

A human villanelle.

[Nineteen lines; precision, repetition, echoes and rhymes and refrains. More curled in on himself than the zippered scheme of a sonnet, not a syllable wasted.

She is very pleased with this comparison, nods grandly.]

[dinosize]

I've no idea what that means.

[fridgetothefire]

It's a very specific form. Sleekly efficient, which is the point of poetic restriction.

Strong tercets, and interlocking double-barreled refrains that crop up stubbornly again and again. A historical tendency toward bleakness or dry humor.

Would you like examples?

[dinosize]

No thanks.

[surfaceshine]

[Dean has ever been the gut instinct to Sam's cerebral integrity; his purview is heart and hand, his brother's head and soul. He doesn't understand what she's saying, can't make the words fit into the form of a person, though he might understand if he actually met the man. That, he's good at.

It shows.]

Oh, well, in that case. [Even when the man himself cuts in Dean doesn't click onto it, but he does know this much:] As long's you're happy, sweetheart.

[fridgetothefire]

[She laughs a little, mostly at herself.]

I'm alright.

Morgana's graduated, by the way. God, who else...

[surfaceshine]

[Excuse him for just a moment, he's whooping and pulling a fist-pump in the air on his side of the connection.

A moment later he's grinning again, blinding and wide.]

I knew it. I knew it, you gorgeous creature. I knew she was close last time around, I knew she was close when I left, but god. I'm glad she finally made it over the line.

[fridgetothefire]

Yeah, she was close. It was pretty soon after, I think.

[Beaming again, so damn proud of both of them.]

She's back - in a coma, now, but. God, Dean. She has about as much idea what she's doing as I did but she's going to be a great warden, I can tell.