Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fridgetothefire) wrote2015-06-28 08:49 pm
fridgetothefire) wrote2015-06-28 08:49 pm
074 ☣ Snicker-snack
[Public video]
[The post comes thirty, maybe forty-five minutes after Kara's. Even with the major broken bones and butchery repaired, from just the shoulders up, Anya looks an absolute wreck. She has a swollen, mottled lump at her temple, ugly purple dripping under her skin like a watercolor stormcloud. Her throat is bruised too, the wide brumous darkness there slashed through with line of red lightning, gleaming and raw rather than simple rusting scab, where she thrashed against the rough iron wire binding her neck. Her mouth has a dab of blood that wasn't all washed away, her lip ragged where she chomped partway through it. Her hair is a sweat-matted mess. Most of all, though, is the look in her eye, an unhinged lurching snarl.]
This. Is done. Now. This thing, with Dean, it's me and him, and we are square. Whatever private wars you've got to settle, I don't care, but any one of you touches him in my name - no vengeance. None.
Or I will take it out of your fucking hide.
[She is not entirely sane right now. And she is not even remotely fucking around. The feed cuts out. And then, fifteen seconds later, still broadcast to everyone.]
Including you.
[Private to Ricki]
[Slumped, quieter]
...except you, I guess. Sorry.
But please don't.
[Private to Stiles]
[Also quiet, eyes downcast, exhausted.]
If he can't be bothered to tell you, I think he thought I was the admiral. That he could get free, save the people here. I know you have to do something, I know you'll do. Whatever you decide is best.
But I'd like to be. Informed.
[Private to Iris]
Thank you.
[Infirmary spam]
[She stays there about thirty-six hours, too worn out to do very much, letting the minor surface wounds that didn't get mended with magic stay cleaned and bandaged and iced. She'll see visitors if they come, will be wan and weary but lucid, without the vicious freneticism of the immediate aftermath. After that, she can't stand it any longer despite the advantages, retreats to the sanctuary of her cabin.]
[The post comes thirty, maybe forty-five minutes after Kara's. Even with the major broken bones and butchery repaired, from just the shoulders up, Anya looks an absolute wreck. She has a swollen, mottled lump at her temple, ugly purple dripping under her skin like a watercolor stormcloud. Her throat is bruised too, the wide brumous darkness there slashed through with line of red lightning, gleaming and raw rather than simple rusting scab, where she thrashed against the rough iron wire binding her neck. Her mouth has a dab of blood that wasn't all washed away, her lip ragged where she chomped partway through it. Her hair is a sweat-matted mess. Most of all, though, is the look in her eye, an unhinged lurching snarl.]
This. Is done. Now. This thing, with Dean, it's me and him, and we are square. Whatever private wars you've got to settle, I don't care, but any one of you touches him in my name - no vengeance. None.
Or I will take it out of your fucking hide.
[She is not entirely sane right now. And she is not even remotely fucking around. The feed cuts out. And then, fifteen seconds later, still broadcast to everyone.]
Including you.
[Private to Ricki]
[Slumped, quieter]
...except you, I guess. Sorry.
But please don't.
[Private to Stiles]
[Also quiet, eyes downcast, exhausted.]
If he can't be bothered to tell you, I think he thought I was the admiral. That he could get free, save the people here. I know you have to do something, I know you'll do. Whatever you decide is best.
But I'd like to be. Informed.
[Private to Iris]
Thank you.
[Infirmary spam]
[She stays there about thirty-six hours, too worn out to do very much, letting the minor surface wounds that didn't get mended with magic stay cleaned and bandaged and iced. She'll see visitors if they come, will be wan and weary but lucid, without the vicious freneticism of the immediate aftermath. After that, she can't stand it any longer despite the advantages, retreats to the sanctuary of her cabin.]
private
private
Firmly.]
It's between me and him.
private
[Lark has no personal concern about any of this, but you'll be surprised what opportunities you get if you just show a little genuine interest in someone else. Especially if they're hurting.]
private
[She says it in a crisp, obvious sort of tone that manages to be totally honest without giving much away. She knows it too; she remembers him, though she's not sure they ever spoke, remembers him collecting people. Dean could use more friends. But he's had enough hooks put in him for twelve lifetimes; her protectiveness doesn't stop at beatings and shankings.]
Why do you ask?
private
[And he hates being here, and he hates that it's more of the same-
But Anya's different. She's not asking for blood. And he can't figure out why.]
private
[This comes breathlessly - literally - sincere, the memory of him working her hand like a gut punch.]
private
[But he sounds touched, anyway.]
I'm sure you've heard by now that no one should have to go through what you went through. And it's true but...apparently not the ship we live in.
What do you want to see, instead of vengeance?
private
[Wryly. People on the barge don't waste their breath with shoulds all that much.]
So far, I've asked for errands, stories, and a rabbit.
private
[The word 'rabbit' makes something in him sit up and lift its ears. Lark is adept at not listening to that part of him, though, and he smiles with a knowing sympathy]
There's nothing like something soft and unconditional when you're on the mend.
private
private
...Is there anything I can do? I'm fairly good at hunting down decent food. I hear hospital food is terrible, I can't imagine infirmary food is much different.
Re: private
You got a favorite book?
private
Go, Dog, Go. Or if you're feeling up to chapters, Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh.
private
private
private
private > spammish
[He'll get the books he mentioned (yes even the children's one), plus a few others, mostly humour. Laughter and medicine, you know.]
private > spammish
[The humor is a good choice. She appreciates it.]
spammish
[His expression slides from mild concern to something too-innocent.]
...Of course, I was actually unconscious for my surgery, I hear that helps. Next time, you should try asking for anesthesia.
spammish
[She's cleaned up a little better now - the extraneous blood smears are washed away, and someone brushed her hair, at some point. Her wrists and elbows are bandaged. Her throat is bare, though, spectacularly bruised with the raw gash still running across the front, and while the lump at her temple is smaller, the bruise there has spread overnight like a burst fruit. Her voice is still sore and hoarse, the little hitches and weariness in her cadence more apparent in person.]
What kind of hobbies?
spammish
[Awful hobbies, Anya.]
It eventually turned to pranks, which was more fun. For me.