Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fridgetothefire) wrote2013-03-29 11:49 pm
fridgetothefire) wrote2013-03-29 11:49 pm
Entry tags:
- actions have consequences,
- alex is okay,
- alex will be last against the wall,
- ben is her actual hero,
- charles you aren't my real mom,
- do adopted bats still sleep upside down,
- epic meltdown mode,
- good twins shouldn't be so badass,
- hashtag actual hellboat,
- hashtag imaginary fire and brimstone,
- hyperzero,
- lua is out of her depth,
- more daddy issues than anna freud,
- murder arson and jaywalking,
- no exit is suddenly relevant,
- physically as well as philosophically,
- pietro is the adult here,
- seriously disproportionate consequences,
- she totally deserves it though,
- who designed this place,
- your mind makes it real
009 ☣ Private Messages + Zero spam
[Private text to Lua, Ben, and Alex, with a voice version sent of the same message sent to Cass]
I have a decent stockpile of non-perishable food, bottled water, and an extensive first aid kit in my cabin, 5-13. It's in the cupboards under the window seat. You've all got access. Take it if you need it.
[Private text to Pietro]
Are you busy?
[Private voice to Erik]
If you're not dying, talk to me.
[Despite the demand, her voice is strained, shaky, raspy. She's not going to cry, but she's already been screaming tonight.]
[Zero Spam - arrival - OTA]
She sprawls onto the floor of her cell with a thud, off-balance from the sudden shift in velocity, her hair in a wild mess as though she were caught in a windstorm, her face shocked, her breath coming in shallow gasps. After a few moments of stunned stillness, she drags herself to a corner and curls into as small a space as she can. Keeping her eyes open, She focuses on a point on the far wall, counting her breaths as they slow, trying to figure out what on earth to do next.
[Zero spam - later - OTA]
She's pacing, with long, mathematically precise strides, a look of furious concentration on her face. She's standing rigidly upright, taking up more space than usual, exhausting the confines of her cell. Pained flinches twitch across her face but she doesn't let it break her stride. Sweat trickles down her face but she only brushes it out of her eyes, refusing to even strip off her overshirt. She can see the fire, feel it, hear the jeering. But her body isn't damaged, isn't small enough, doesn't fit into the horrors of memory. She moves and it responds. Step-step-turn, step-step-turn, step-step-turn.
[Zero spam - some other time - OTA]
She's shivering hard, but it's better than the heat. She's learned that practicing her drills to keep warm - anything strenuous enough to get her short of breath - will lead to visions of Castiel choking her again, struggling uselessly while her vision blurred black, caught in a limbo of dying and not quite getting there.
I have a decent stockpile of non-perishable food, bottled water, and an extensive first aid kit in my cabin, 5-13. It's in the cupboards under the window seat. You've all got access. Take it if you need it.
[Private text to Pietro]
Are you busy?
[Private voice to Erik]
If you're not dying, talk to me.
[Despite the demand, her voice is strained, shaky, raspy. She's not going to cry, but she's already been screaming tonight.]
[Zero Spam - arrival - OTA]
She sprawls onto the floor of her cell with a thud, off-balance from the sudden shift in velocity, her hair in a wild mess as though she were caught in a windstorm, her face shocked, her breath coming in shallow gasps. After a few moments of stunned stillness, she drags herself to a corner and curls into as small a space as she can. Keeping her eyes open, She focuses on a point on the far wall, counting her breaths as they slow, trying to figure out what on earth to do next.
[Zero spam - later - OTA]
She's pacing, with long, mathematically precise strides, a look of furious concentration on her face. She's standing rigidly upright, taking up more space than usual, exhausting the confines of her cell. Pained flinches twitch across her face but she doesn't let it break her stride. Sweat trickles down her face but she only brushes it out of her eyes, refusing to even strip off her overshirt. She can see the fire, feel it, hear the jeering. But her body isn't damaged, isn't small enough, doesn't fit into the horrors of memory. She moves and it responds. Step-step-turn, step-step-turn, step-step-turn.
[Zero spam - some other time - OTA]
She's shivering hard, but it's better than the heat. She's learned that practicing her drills to keep warm - anything strenuous enough to get her short of breath - will lead to visions of Castiel choking her again, struggling uselessly while her vision blurred black, caught in a limbo of dying and not quite getting there.
no subject
He could leave it at that, but for some reason, he keeps talking, thoughtful and sad, still not really looking at Anya.]
For Erik - for my Erik - I think it was just too hard to forgive the American and Soviet navies when they fired on us. He told me he knew they would, that I was naive for thinking they wouldn't, and I just think he couldn't handle the idea of watching the people he cared about get hurt again, or be hurt himself now that he had the power to do something about it. He couldn't do that when he was at Auschwitz, but he could in Cuba.
But he didn't hate Moira, and he doesn't hate you, or his parents or Magda. I think he's just afraid of what people's fear and prejudice makes them capable of, and thinks it's better to hit back first before they have a chance to hurt you at all.
no subject
[She makes a wordless growl of aggravation, lets go of the blanket enough to scrub her hands over her face. He wouldn't have had the same propaganda drilled into him that she did, not if he spent the fifties traveling the world, never setting down roots.]
no subject
I understand why they did it, but that doesn't stop it from hurting.
no subject
...Alex isn't a kid, any more than I am.
no subject
You know what I mean.
no subject