Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fridgetothefire) wrote2015-03-28 02:29 pm
fridgetothefire) wrote2015-03-28 02:29 pm
069 ☣ hair dissipating like smoke
[Voice]
[Anya is singing, a silly french folksong for children, meant to teach words for parts of the body. But her voice is wavering, sometimes fast and insistent, sometimes tentative and quiet, all of it transposed into an eerie minor key.
[Open spam]
[She sits on deck, still singing, going through the expanding verses over and over. She has acquired - and killed, with one hard snap of the neck, although her ripped and stained sleeves show she was made to bleed for it - one of the part-velociraptor chickens that have colonized the otherwise changeable world of the enclosure. She has, as per the song, plucked off all its feathers, pulled off its beak, put out its eyes. She is scraping away the scaly skin beneath the down with one of her little black knives, seems totally absorbed in the task.]
[OOC Note: Anya has, for various reasons, but mostly immediately due to one exorcism that went badly awry, lost her grip on sanity. Anyone with psychic or magical senses should definitely pick up that this is not a purely psychological break - she has a lot of bad, bad mojo that has broken loose in her skull.]
[Anya is singing, a silly french folksong for children, meant to teach words for parts of the body. But her voice is wavering, sometimes fast and insistent, sometimes tentative and quiet, all of it transposed into an eerie minor key.
[Open spam]
[She sits on deck, still singing, going through the expanding verses over and over. She has acquired - and killed, with one hard snap of the neck, although her ripped and stained sleeves show she was made to bleed for it - one of the part-velociraptor chickens that have colonized the otherwise changeable world of the enclosure. She has, as per the song, plucked off all its feathers, pulled off its beak, put out its eyes. She is scraping away the scaly skin beneath the down with one of her little black knives, seems totally absorbed in the task.]
[OOC Note: Anya has, for various reasons, but mostly immediately due to one exorcism that went badly awry, lost her grip on sanity. Anyone with psychic or magical senses should definitely pick up that this is not a purely psychological break - she has a lot of bad, bad mojo that has broken loose in her skull.]
[spam]
[Not even melancholy. Distant, almost lyrical.]
You can drown while you can still see the sun.
[spam]
[He admits, quietly.]
But this really isn't my area, Anya.
[spam]
[And - and -]
Shhh.
We're liars, aren't we?
[spam]
[Pointing out. It's a half way agreement.]
[spam]
[She lays her head down sideways on the table, one arm stretched out, the other tracing slow loops over the wood. Here there be scorpions. Here and here and here and here and here and here -]
I'm fine.
[spam]
[He says, but with a little chuckle.]
That determined to prove me wrong? You might be a little bit obstinate.
[spam]
[She rucks up her sleeve, scratches hard at her wrist, reflexively, instinctively. Scratch scratch scratch.]
Humans are cockroaches. I remember.
[spam]
I need your help.
[spam]
- and she swallows, wriggles incrementally in her seat, and when her fingertips come down the touch is gentle, and her face looks only pale and drawn.]
Okay.
[Anya helps. Anya always does.]
[spam]
[He says, as serious as though his heart might break.]
You've been kind to me, and I don't know what to do in return, except this.
[spam]
Pay it forward.
[Some things she has said so many times that the words are there for her even when the thoughts are jumbled. She too has debts she can't repay. But there's acquiescence in her tone, too, and she settles with her hand gripping lightly at his wrist, an unspoken promise to follow, like a child who doesn't want to get lost.]
[spam]