009 ☣ Private Messages + Zero spam

[fridgetothefire]

[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.

Comments

[supersonic]

[ She can't see the flinch, the way his expression crumples in an instant at those words. Father. Of course. He knows that they bear a certain resemblance, he's looked in the mirror and seen his father and hated that fact plenty of times before, but it's so much worse to hear her say it to his face, with such venom. ]

I'm not him. Anya, it's Pietro, it's your brother— [ Your brother who's really no better than your father, he thinks, and he feels small suddenly, and she doesn't seem to be listening anyway. He takes a step back, then another. ]

[fridgetothefire]

[Why can't you be more like your sister - Pietro is your responsibility - if you don't fix this then I will deal with you - stay out of sight, it does not concern you -]

Shut up. Shut up. Pick one, you don't even care what's possible or contradictory as long as you get to punish me, do you think I can't tell you're stacking the deck, do you think I'm stupid-

[She's curled away from him now, glaring from within the hunched recesses of a defensive posture, eyes flicking away in fear every once in a while, mumbling her bitter litany to herself with barely a pause for breath, more pain in her voice than anger.]

[supersonic]

[ It's the pain in her voice that is the tipping point, for him. He can handle yelling and cursing and even hurling abuse at him if it gives her an outlet, but he won't hurt her. He backs away until he finds the wall, pain and indecision writ on his face. He can't leave her, but he can't stay here and make this worse for her, either. ]

I'll get help. [ he promises instead. ] You won't be alone.

[ And, with one last wounded look her direction, he speeds off toward the stairs. ]