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.]
spam
But it doesn't go away when I stop trying.
[Like real dreams do, sometimes, falling apart like wet paper the moment you stop holding onto bits of them. But sometimes they linger. She curls into him, shudders softly.]
spam
That - doesn't help now. But I promise. It'll at least get less.
[He traces lines down her back, soft, gentle touches. Cradles her in his arms and murmurs love noises.]
You don't have to try. You don't have to do anything.
spam
[She could put it away. But she can't even hold it all. Another shuddery sigh, shoulders rising slow like bread dough and then collapsing down again like a broken soufflé. It's easier with him to fall against.]
spam
[But he tucks his chin against her shoulder and wishes he could unknot it all, wring it out right like a skein of yarn until it was all in a neat little orderly ball. None of it makes any goddamn sense. She didn't do anything.]
It'll be - easier to put things away soon. I promise.
spam
[It's easy to believe him, the way Dean can't believe or even understand her. It's easy to let him love her, because it's so much of what she wants, easy to lean on that and accept it and trust, where her confidence in her own resilience is shaky, that he wouldn't lead her astray, not in this.
Soon, she'll be able to deal with it all. There's a box called soon where she can shove it all until then, sturdy with I promise. And she can't forget it, exactly, not. But she can stop trying to hold it all.]
Okay.
[He's such a good brother. It makes her ache so much better than all her other aches, makes her feel tired and warm instead of scraped and hollow. One of her hands finds his, squeezes his fingers lightly.]
spam
[She squeezes his hand and he squeezes back, ever so lightly.]
I love you. Nobody can hurt that away from you.
spam
[And it sounds settled, near-content, savoring. She lets go and then just sort of pets his hand, fingertips tracing the lines of his metacarpels under the thin fabric of his glove.]
Even the worst of you loved me. I remember.
[Maybe it's on her mind, now. It was the mirror barge that first bound her and Dean bloodily together, that set all this in motion. They'd been so terrible, there, but they loved each other.]
spam
The worst of me and the best of me. I promise that, too.
spam
[It's how she loves Dean, too. The worst and the best of him are sometimes impossible to tell apart. She sniffs.]
Would you change me, sometime? If I asked.
spam
[Eventually, though, he does nod.]
For you, I would.
spam
Something that flies, next time.
spam
[His fingers play over her hands, his eyes closing slowly as he considers, plans, creates in his mind.]
A bird. Something with beautiful jeweled wings, something light and fast and dangerous. I could make up something brand new for you, you know.
spam
[She gets a very small, very delicate sort of smile, thinking about it. She put Ben's story on her skin; it feels like the same sort of tenderness, a deep twining sort of love.]
spam
I'll start drawing up sketches for you, okay?
spam
[It'll be lovely, anything he comes up with. It will be the best of her given form and let loose.]
spam
[Her trust is so precious to him, the most valuable thing he owns.]
spam
[Muzzily, as she slips toward sleep.]
You rest too, yeah?
spam
Thank you. I will. I'll stay strong for you.
spam
[She loves him so much; everything is a little better with him.]