017 ☣ Infirmary post + some housekeeping things

[fridgetothefire]

[Backdated to Tuesday]

[She's been in the infirmary since late Sunday night, but she spent most of Monday sleeping. She looks a little pale, propped against pillows, hooked up to an IV, but she seems comfortable enough.]

Hello, barge.

I am so bored. Worse, I can't read without getting a headache right now. So.

[She holds up an infirmary clipboard, the paperwork turned over so she could draw neat, careful charts on the back.]

Come in, sign up for a half-hour time slot and book. Books are sorted by genre and how many hours I estimate it will take to finish them. If you read to me, I'll bake you something nice later.

[OOC: feel free to ignore the regimented tyranny of storytime and talk to her about whatever, either on the network or via spam.]


[Private spam for Ben, before the attacks.]

[She knocks on his door, a cold, shaken look on her face.]

Comments

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[fridgetothefire]

I'm not - I'm not beautiful or unbreakable or any of that stuff. I'm just some girl.

[Strong, maybe, she can accept that one. Sharp-edged and full of too many emotions, certainly. And that's the terrible perfection of the story, how obviously he means her, how it wraps around her like a tailored coat, warm and perfectly fitted to her jagged edges and masculine hip bones, vibrant and lovely. She wants to button it up tight and pretend she's as beautiful as the person he's talking about.]

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[warisart]

[Ben stares at her crying, the acrid scent of them stinging his nose and making him want to do something, anything. It's a visceral part of him that needs no thought and no logic; in another lifetime it would be all he needed, it'd be all he listened to and acted upon.

But Manticore hardwired logic into him and another part of him understands with unwavering certainty that this will pass; that she's overwhelmed, not sad, and his hands stay where they are folded in his lap, even when he leans forward towards her.]

Anya.

[His voice is low, insistent. A gentle push for attention, not a persistent shoving or pulling. His eyes are steady, nearly unblinking, as he waits for her to meet them, continuing only when she does.]

Why not? [He has to grope to find the words, caught between his straightforward soldier mask and the easy, sweeping metaphor of the storyteller in him. It's the disconnect he can never quite reconcile.] The stories... this is what they are for.

Take one thing, one aspect, one person - take the truth of them and build on it to create something that may not be, but might be. To explain something that cannot be explained. To show us how to be it, or how to understand where it came from.

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[fridgetothefire]

[She meets his eyes when he calls her name, suspended by the line of his attention, then hiccups, and it catches her by surprise so much she almost giggles through the tears. When she listened to the story, she almost believed it, that she could be something extraordinary, something suited to the cadence of a fairy tale.]

Which one was that?

[Aspiration, or explanation. There's a very thin edge to the question, warning and teasing. He'd damn will better tell her that she's all those nice things now, not just in hopes and might bes.]

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[warisart]

[He hears the warning more than the tease, of course, though he's not sure what it's for; the corner of his mouth twitches at the hiccup, though, confusion clouding his gaze somewhat though he doesn't waver.]

It's whatever you need to hear. But like I said: I only build on the truth, when I build stories.

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[fridgetothefire]

Maybe I need to believe that you believe it.

[But she's smiling a little easier, roughly wiping the tear tracks off her cheeks.]

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[warisart]

I do.

[It's immediate, simple, straightforward. Ben doesn't see the value in withholding the information, though admittedly he hasn't been very skilled at anticipating how anything about this interaction has gone since he first saw Anya and the creature in the hallway. The answer isn't tentative, but he's watching carefully for any signs of tears again, or kisses, or some new, unexpected reaction.]

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[fridgetothefire]

[Her shoulders hitch, and she makes a small, rough noise, a jerked-out and abruptly ended exhalation, the last aborted dregs of a sob, or a choked-off laugh, or something kin to both of them, but she's smiling, crooked and real, crinkly around the corners of her eyes. She blinks a few times, sniffles, but doesn't cry more, not quite.]

Thank you.

[Raw and wise, heartfelt and carefully considered, young and weary.]

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[warisart]

[Ben winces in empathy with the noise, because he understands that much at least, but makes no move to either pull away or lean closer.

Then she says thank you and he smiles, because he didn't do anything but give her what was hers from the beginning, the story he told himself to amuse himself and explain her to himself. But it's an actual smile - just a small one, quiet and warm, starting in the mildest curve of his lips and ending behind his steady eyes.

His hands stay folded in his lap, at least until he begins to shift his weight, moving to the front of the chair and putting his feet back on the floor.]

I should go. You should rest.

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[fridgetothefire]

[Seeing his smile makes her beam a little, reflexive, surprised and quietly delighted. She thinks about protesting, mildly, but is waylaid by a yawn.]

Alright. I'll see you around.

[ Spam - Infirmary this time! ]

[warisart]

Most certainly.

[He doesn't linger, but neither does he reach to touch her when he stands; straightening his field jacket, Ben glances up one more time, then turns to go.]