021 ☣ Open floodspam + stuff for Erik

[fridgetothefire]

[She wakes up early, even though there's no sunrise coming through her window, no harsh, glittering mountain vista, and no chickens to feed for the last two years. She spends a few minutes - three, maybe - excitedly exploring her room, treasuring the weird feeling of belonging and safety and freedom it gives her. But that doesn't last long, so she pushes out the painted door and immediately goes next door.

He's not her father, but he is, and it's weird. But she knows how she feels, and she trusts herself, trusts her instincts. She knocks on the door, excited pounding with all the strength in her little fist.]

Daaaaaaddy! Daddy wake up!


Hallways

[Anya is six, though she looks closer to five to anyone used to children raised on modern nutrition. Her hair is in little pigtail braids, a little less neatly pleated on one side, because she did them herself and she's not ambidextrous. She wears skirts with the hems let out, and stockings, and a blouse whose sleeves don't quite cover the ridged, shiny burn scars that skate up the outside edges of her arms like defensive wounds.

She roams the halls looking for her friends - because she has friends now, she's sure of it, a steady warmth in her chest even if she can't remember the details, eager to investigate everyone she comes across in case they make the little compass needle resting there twitch. She runs in short bursts, short braids trailing behind her, then pauses to bend over and gasp for a minute, still not used to the new limits on her lungs, or simply living in hope that if she pushes them enough, they'll eventually give.]

Wait up!


Library

[She flits around, stares at the shark in fascination for ten minutes at a stretch. She climbs one of the wheeled ladders and tries surreptitiously to ride it, almost - but not quite - falling off. She trails through the shelves, staring in glee at the bewildering array, even more impressive than the one in the fortress. She might end up falling asleep over a very large illustrated compendium of Oz, dwarfed by the large armchair she's nestled in.]


Deck

[She's sitting on the railing, ankles tucked around the lower bar, perfectly steady in her perch, head tipped back, staring at the stars as they go by. It's strange and beautiful and endless. She loves it.]


Common room

[The plastic knitting needles are almost as long as her forearms, and her lip is trembling a little. The hat she had half-started is a bit beyond her current capabilities, and the more she tries to fix what she's done, the more it becomes snarled. She can do it, though. She's not going to cry.]

[OOC: replies will come from flatscamp.]

Comments

spam;

[flatscamp]

Blyntsi!

[Basically Ukrainian crepes.]

With fruit and sour cream.

spam;

[wecanavenge]

[Also, blintzes. Erik smiles in surprise at the word, because that's what he's translating it as.]

Let's see if I can whip some up, then. With strawberries and sauce?

spam;

[flatscamp]

[Basically the same.]

Hooray!

[She squirms happily but not enough to dislodge herself.]

spam;

[wecanavenge]

[He's keeping a careful hold on her legs anyway, because like hell he is starting this flood by dropping her.]

And what would you like to do after? There's an arts and crafts room. [Kids like that stuff, right?]

[flatscamp]

I can't draw really. But I can sew alright. Can you draw?

[She has never seen either of her fathers draw. Not that she can remember what she has seen of this one, exactly. Maybe he can!]

[wecanavenge]

[He shrugs, and lets her bounce on his shoulders with it.]

I'm not bad. Would you like me to teach you?

[flatscamp]

[Wheee]

Oh, yes please!

[wecanavenge]

We'll get some paper after blintzes, then. [Oh god he is going to have to figure out how to cook blintzes.]

[flatscamp]

[She pretty much knows how. She's been cooking for herself on and off for the last year. 8c ]

Yay! Thank you, daddy.

[wecanavenge]

[Anya :C Well that will help at least :C

He carries her into the kitchen after getting permission from Lua - he doesn't linger with the warden, not certain at all it's a conversation he'll want to have later - and sets her down on a clean counter. He turns, and gestures, a come here movement with his fingers, and the appropriate pans shoot toward him to settle on the stove.

And he steals a quick look at her, because it's possible he's showing off.]

Are you going to help me cook?

[flatscamp]

[She is, tragically, not impressed. She is pretty used to metal things moving around.]

Of course I will! Can you get all the high stuff down?

[She is already tugging on the fridge door for the eggs and milk.]

[wecanavenge]

[Well, he had hoped, but oh well.] Of course. You just tell me what you need. [He's just eyeballing and hoping she doesn't drop the egg carton.]

[flatscamp]

[She lists off the rest of the ingredients, ferrying things one at a time from the fridge and reaching to set them up on the counter. She's pretty careful.]

[wecanavenge]

[Which is impressive, and he realizes he shouldn't be surprised, given her life, but he still is. He gathers all the things she can't reach, and gets all the mixing bowls for them.]

All right, Chef. You're in charge. [But he'll do anything involving cutting or heating.]

[flatscamp]

[She grins. Well, if he says so.]

Can I have a chair or something to stand on? And I need a measuring cup.

[wecanavenge]

[He has to search around for a decent enough chair, but he finds one and sets it in front of the counter for her, before going in search of the measuring cup. Both are brought to her with a 'yes Chef,' or a 'here, Chef.']

Anything else?

[flatscamp]

You crack the eggs in that bowl.

[She's gotten pretty good at it, but it's still an effort with her little hands. She measures and sifts the dry ingredients with comfortable familiarity, points to the correct bowl just a little imperiously with a wooden stirring spoon.]

[wecanavenge]

[He cracks the eggs easily, with one hand and no shell spills. Erik's fine with letting her lead, and though he might have been slightly afraid this was going to end in disaster, she proves him wrong pretty immediately. She's good at this - and that's a shame, he thinks, that there was no one looking out for her, doing this for her. He doesn't argue with directions, just follows them.]

[flatscamp]

[When she was smaller, she helped mama every morning, fetching eggs from the yard and stirring and mixing while she did the more complicated parts. She learned it all then. Sometimes she still does, on Magda's good days. But she can manage through the bad.

She giggles at first at being addressed as 'Chef', but it wears thin after a few more repetitions. She doesn't frown, quite, but bites her lip a little.]

Can you just. Call me Anya, please? I'm sorry.

[wecanavenge]

Of course. [He smiles at her, head tilted a little.] You don't have to be sorry. Here - will you mash these up for me? [He hands her a bowl of strawberries.]

[flatscamp]

[She smiles, nervous/hopeful. She just - wants to hear her name, for reasons she doesn't really understand.]

Okay!

[She gets a fork and mashes them very meticulously]

[wecanavenge]

That's perfect. [And he tends to the blintzes, filling and rolling and frying them. The smell rises, and he smiles a little at the faint memory it pulls.]

Will you get me a plate, Anya?

[flatscamp]

[BEAMING]

[She scrambles after it, only slowing when she has breakable dinnerware in hand, and then not very much.]

Here you go, daddy!

[wecanavenge]

[He's going to miss hearing that, and the moment he realizes it will kill him.]

Thank you. [And he is picking them out as they finish and piling them on the plate. It doesn't take too long; he's a deft enough hand with cooking. Once the heat is off and the blintzes are piled high, he turns to her.]

Now then, you wanted sour scream and...?

[flatscamp]

...fruit?

[Which was what she asked for. She likes just about any kind.]