Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fridgetothefire) wrote2015-05-17 09:46 pm
fridgetothefire) wrote2015-05-17 09:46 pm
072 ☣ Last night I was a cypress tree
[Video, public]
[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.]
[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.]
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
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.
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
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.]
[Spam]
The magic space boat shit don't stop, honey. Don't worry, you'll learn to roll with it.
[Despite the family stubbornness, speed is his thing and mutants always come from worlds with plenty of weird shit. He'll learn fast.]
Here's the thing: you can't get rid of me by being an asshole. I might not know you very well yet, but I totally know you're a jerk already. And I think you're worth caring about anyway.
[Deal with it.gif]
[Spam]
Great. Just fucking great. And how's that working out for you? Because let me tell you something - it hasn't worked for anyone else. [Including Wanda.] And it doesn't change anything from where I'm standing. I don't play nice. Not for family. Not for anybody.
[Spam]
Honestly? As a life strategy, it's been mixed.
[She thinks of Erik, and Arthas, and Dean and Cassel and Two-Face and Wanda and Esther and Cass and so many others. And...feels better than she has in a long time, maybe since Karazhan.]
Worth it, though.
[Spam]
[Pietro doesn't have patience for these kinds of philosophies. Trusting people, caring for them, relying on them... it never works out. Wanda's the only person he can never seem to wall off completely, and sometimes... sometimes he wishes he could stop caring about her, too. It'd make it easier for him to be the person his father expected him to be, at least. She's not an easy person to love, even if he knew how. The last thing he needs is another sister.]
Go do it somewhere I don't have to deal with it, all right?
[Spam]
Okay.
Thanks.
[80% sincere gratitude - for listening as long as he did, for falling ass-backwards into reminding her why she does what she does, and the comfort that came with that. 20% because she knows it'll mess with his head, and what are big sisters for, after all. She turns to head back for the stairs.]
[Spam]
He's more than happy to sniff haughtily, turn, and vanish back into his room so quickly that the stupid wooden letters rattle when he slams the door.]