fridgetothefire | 072 ☣ Last night I was a cypress tree

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072 ☣ Last night I was a cypress tree

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[Anya looks very tired, but a great deal more put together than last time - except for the crumbling remnants of bone spikes, like the bases of marble columns in Roman ruins, like terrible broken teeth, now almost entirely covered by the admiral's cap.]

Some of you remember the mirror barge, and some of you don't. You can ask your neighbor for the gory details if you want. The point is, the ship was in bad shape. Worse than now. And the other barge was - feeding on it, as far as we could tell, parasitically. The walls were rotting, and the Admiral needed to conserve power to chase the other ship before we were eroded entirely.

There was a warden, then, who'd been on the ship for - four years? Five? Longer than anyone but Arthas, I think. And when I asked her, she said she'd never seen everyone on the barge manage to work together to do anything.

But we did. People volunteered, and wardens agreed to certain unanimous incentives for inmates, and the whole ship, more or less, helped me keep the place in one piece until we could reverse the drain. I....

[She trails off for a moment, then blinks, comes back to herself, scrubs a hand down her face, pops a bottle of advil out of her desk drawer and swallows two dry.]

We all assume we can't work together, that we'll squabble and go our own ways because most of the time, that's what works. But we can. When we have to.

It - takes it out of me, when I dare try to will us to sail straight. When I try to get lost inmates back, there's no exhaustion, no headaches, nothing. So this is something we can affect. We should try to do it together, instead of haphazard and maybe hitting each other with our metaphorical oars.

Everyone who's gotten some of this, if you're willing - and I know there's a lot we don't know, and nobody has to, but if you're willing to try with me - I think we should pick a common goal. Somewhere on early twenty-first century earth would be best, I think, since that seems to be...common, in whatever neighborhood or transdimensional archipelago we're usually traveling through. But the direction doesn't matter so much as long as we can agree on one. And then take it in shifts, to keep ourselves stable and the pressure steady, too.

Thoughts?

[Spam for Pietro]

[A few days after his arrival, she goes to slip a pamphlet under his door, just in case.]

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[There's a long, tense moment where Pietro forgets to breathe. Not sure if he's mad, or frightened, or... what, exactly. Then he glances down at the paper in her hand, and lets the air out of his lungs in a quiet huff.]

At least you didn't make it pop out of nowhere like a dick.

Well, I try.

...I'm Anya Lehnsherr, by the way.

[In case he hasn't connected those dots. She did see that outburst - at least the beginning of it.]

[He flinches, when he hears that name. Not by much, but enough to be noticed. Begrudgingly, he steps outside and closes the door before she can see the embarrassment of a bedroom behind him.]

Yeah? What of it?

[Like he doesn't care. But he can't meet her eyes.]

When you first showed up, you didn't ask, and it felt like...more of too much at once to mention. But I saw you asking Simon, and it was starting to feel like deceit by omission, so.

[Shrug. Here he is, she might as well tell.]

[Pietro's nostrils flare a little, but otherwise he tries to stay calm. She's not making sense, and it's only getting more frustrating.]

You make it sound like it's not a coincidence that you share a surname with my father.

[It comes out stilted, tense. Lacking in his usual sarcasm and snippy attitude.]

He's my father too.

[Tightly, flatly. She shrugs one shoulder, and it's anything but casual.]

Turns out, in most worlds I get burned to death by a mob before you and wanda are born.

Nng- [The weird little sound - not enough to even be a proper protest - is all Pietro can get out before he stops breathing for a moment. The words land like a kick to the gut. He wants to deny it. To find some way that her ridiculous claim can't be true. His eyes flicker over her, looking for a hint. For an excuse.

Instead he sees so much Wanda. He sees his father. All those little twinges of familiarity lining up in a row. But he feels more terrified and sick than delighted. The family relations he has already are so fucked up. If this is true - how could it be true? - it can only make things worse.]

He never told us.

[His voice, when he finds us, is tight and hoarse.]

[A pursed smile, and there's nothing happy in it, really, but there is clemency.]

He wouldn't, would he? And maybe in some I don't exist at all. I don't know.

[She sighs.]

I'm not going to pretend my version of our family was a happy one. But - I do care.

[No, he wouldn't. He'd never even told them about their mother. God, he should question this. It could be a trick. But if it is? It's perfect. Not just her appearance, but her mannerisms. The way she talks, and holds herself. He's silent again, tongue-tied and struggling with himself, for as long a stretch as anyone ever gets Quicksilver to shut up. He runs a hand over his face and through his hair.]

What the hell am I even supposed to say to that?

[It's not angry. He genuinely doesn't know.]

I don't know. You can tell me to keep fucking off if you want, it's not like you owe me anything.

I just - I'd like to try. To do okay by each other.

[He's so young, not like the last one, who was twice her age and had a daughter of his own. Younger than the the boy she crippled out of spite, although not by much. God.]

You can ask me anything you want. And. Figure it out as we go?

I don't know if you want that. I'm really... really fucking bad at it.

[Being a brother. Being the kind of person other people should care about. He's not even entirely sure what he means. Being here has been hard on him, and losing his powers has been worse. Maybe he's finally starting to crack.]

Do you remember her?

We won't get better if we don't work at it. I know what I want.

[There's this, under Anya's canniness: something rock-steady, solid and calm, conviction with the sharp edges of zeal worn smooth under solemn experience.]

Mom, you mean?

[As gentle as she's ever been, an unavoidably sad. She nods.]

[Pietro can't get into Wanda and what they'd put her through. Not here and now. Not with someone he barely knows. It doesn't seem like she's going to be swayed anyway. So he just... moves on. For now.]

Yeah, I guess. We gave up asking. He never told us anything.

Her name was Magda.

[It's obscene, that Anya reflexively thinks of her in past tense. For all she knows, her own mother is still alive, grieving, languishing. But she does.]

She was different, before the fire. She worked so hard, all the time, but brightly. She could make anybody smile. She was - very traditional, in a lot of ways. But she gave her whole self to it, deeply and...purely. She did things because they were worth doing, and in that spirit.

[Her voice wobbles, a little; she blinks rapidly, manages a small, choked laugh.]

She was...frequently exasperated with me.

[It's uncomfortable, watching her. Anya cares so much, it's clear. And he... has trouble feeling anything at all. It's his mother too, presumably. He knows he should be sad he didn't know her, or happy he's finally finding out, or... anything except just uncomfortable and a little hollow. Like he's spying on someone else's life.]

Was she human?

[He's suspected that for a long time, though it's probably not the most tactful thing to ask right now.]

Or like us?

[...and that's worse. He has no idea how wrong his assumption is.]

[She let the other Pietro assume for months; she was still an inmate, then, with the easy cover of having them restricted. But he'll never get any less paranoid if she hides things like this.]

She was human. Like me.

[She says it tightly, one eyebrow up, with a tiny pinched smile. She's braced for him to be awful about it, is trying to commit, preemptively, to not holding it against him. That doesn't mean she's looking forward to it.]

[The ways Pietro's face contorts itself into surprise and confusion is almost funny, if it weren't for the gravity of the matter. He has to struggle with the implications for a minute. He's definitely not used to his brain working this slowly]

But you've got-

[He gestures towards his own temples, where she has the crown of bone spikes. Hey, Daniels can do something like that. It's not that big of a leap.

It takes another few seconds to get back on track, before he says anything else. And when he does, it's at least not angry or nasty. Just... really baffled.]

Magneto raised a human kid?

[Didn't abandon her, he means. Or find some other way to get rid of her. Funny how he refers to Erik as Magneto, though.]

[She cracks a laugh; it sounds like twigs snapping, like autumn kindling. He's not wrong.]

Not happily. And raised is such a strong word. He neglected to incinerate me. I raised myself. And of course it was a few years after the fire before we all realized I was never going to manifest.

[She thumbs the base of one of the spikes. She's bitter, but lightly so, worn and faded and soft like a hand-me-down baby blanket, cozy and mild and familiar.]

These aren't really mine. A curse I picked up a few months back. He would have liked them though, wouldn't he?

I used to hate him for not killing me, if you want to know the truth. He made sure I knew what a useless, disappointing throwback I was, but...I don't know. He thought I was too inconsequential to be worth killing, and too untrustworthy to set free. And I was still his, you know how possessive he is. Certainly he wasn't going to let anyone else dispose of us.

And then I was a bit of a symbol for him, too. No matter how worthless I was as a person, saving me from humans was the first act of his war. The trigger and the trophy for his rightful ascension in metal and lightning and blood. So maybe that played into it.

[She shrugs.]

Edited 2015-05-25 16:39 (UTC)

[It hurts, listening to her, and any doubts he had about her being his sister vanish. Because it sounds so much like the father he knows. Because he knows every word is true. Because he's lived it. How much worse would it have been if he'd never manifested powers? His life has been hard enough as it is.

He's used to wearing a poker face when it comes to Magneto. It's what he does now, watching her with cold eyes and a stony expression. Lips tight. Showing only a little disgust, though it isn't aimed at her.

Well. Maybe it's a little aimed at her.

He lets her finish, though by the end he's holding his breath without meaning to. He lets the air out, disguised as a dismissive huff, then finally looks away.

He's not sure... what he feels. Anger that Magneto would let a human daughter into his life, however coldly, when he locked Wanda up in hell, in his world. Unbidden sympathy, though he's loathe to compare himself to a human. Any human. Jealousy that she can say these things so plainly, when he's been bottling up his resentment for years.]

Is that all?

[He doesn't expect his tone to be dripping with quite that much acid. But he doesn't take it back.]

[And she - laughs, a cracked, wet noise, like rotten wood coming apart. She could cry for the thorny viciousness of him, but she won't, not right now.]

Of course not. But you're always impatient.

[She makes it sound like an endearment, like something that makes him special and dear rather than - or at least more than - it makes him exasperating; she manages not to say a real one. Her mouth twitches on one side, can't decide if it wants to be bitter or sweet.]

I get the long speeches from him, if nothing else. I'll try to rein it in.

[She gets plenty else from him, brilliance and bottomless drive and a voracious temper and a ruthless narrow clawing paranoia; some of it she fights and some of it she doesn't.]

Edited 2015-05-25 23:40 (UTC)

[Her complete failure to react with anything like anger or hostility is... frustrating, to say the least. He doesn't want her to tolerate him. Let alone act anything close to fond of him.

Especially not here. A place - if everyone he's spoken to is to be believed - designed to get under his skin and into his head. It's easier if nobody actually likes him. Easier to keep his distance and steer clear of their tricks.

Paranoia does, after all, run in the family.]

Just because you know some other me in your world doesn't mean you know me.

[He grimaces. Hesitates for a fraction of a second, because he knows what he's about to say sounds more like his - their - father than he'd like to admit. But he has to nip this in the bud.]

And you only got what you deserved. More than, I'd say.

[It hurts. She knows he's doing it to push her away, but that doesn't make it hurt any less - only a little differently. She closes her eyes for a wounded moment - however long it may seem to him - swallows, eyebrows pinching down, breathes, forces herself not to lash out back. Her voice comes out cool, but not icy. She will consider this a small victory.]

If I don't know you, Pietro Maximoff, then you don't know me either. Not what I deserve, and certainly not what I got.

[I got his bloody cape hanging above my bed she wants to snarl, I won I won I won, so he was right about me all along. Never trust a human. She'll tell him someday. But not today.]

[There's a sick, grim satisfaction to seeing her draw back. To getting some kind of negative reaction. His lips twitch a little, into a humorless smile. But even that doesn't last. He doesn't enjoy baiting her the way he has some of the people here. The emotions are too raw.]

Never assumed I did know you.

Y'know. Beyond you being a human, anyway.

[He's had a lot of practice in making that sound like an insult.]

[But insults to her humanity she was braced for; she's heard far worse, and expected this from him from the beginning. She tilts her head, smiles again, and it's still a little tight but tartly, now, like there's a joke only she knows.]

You know you're utterly transparent, right? It's easier to push me away with lazy insults than deal with the fact that someone cares.

Never seen that before. Have a fucking cookie.

[And lo, a double-chocolate chocolate chunk fudge cookie drops from the air in front of him. Think fast, bro.]

[If Pietro had more patience and less nervousness, he might not've fallen into the trap of revealing his intentions by trying to hide them. He's a manipulator, sure. But he's hardly the master Magneto is, especially as young as he is. Then again, she has read his file - not that he's aware of that - so she probably would've seen through him anyway.

He flushes, angry and embarrassed, and catches the cookie on impulse. But not before it falls for second. He's fast, sure, but he's not as fast as he should be.]

More magic space boat shit?

I don't care what you think I'm doing. I don't care how fucking hard your life is. But I sure don't need you psychoanalyzing me.

[He gestures with the cookie as he talks, agitated.]

072 ☣ Last night I was a cypress tree

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