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

[wedonot]

[He comes over to take a seat next to her.]

My sister used to knit. I tried it once, and I can tell you, you're worlds better than I ever was. [Which is true, seriously, at least yours looks something like a hat versus an amorphous blob of yarn.]

[flatscamp]

[Admittedly, most of the well-shaped part was already done when she woke up this morning. But she added a few rows before it started getting snarled. She seems somewhat mollified but still displeased with her how performance.]

Well. Boys don't knit so much.

[Maybe this is why.]

[wedonot]

[He chuckles, shrugging good naturedly, because hey, it's not like he can argue about that.]

I just didn't have the patience for it. [Not that Raven really did, either. She'd made a couple things and eventually abandoned the endeavor, although Charles still had a sweater and scarf she'd knitted him. He wore them, too.] But I did get very good at untangling knots.

[flatscamp]

[Tentatively, like she's not entirely certain he means the offer the way it sounds, she sort of holds the knitting in his direction.]

[wedonot]

[He accepts it carefully, and just as gently starts untangling the knots. There's no further commentary on the state of it, because it just takes patience to fix this sort of thing, and considering how snarled and uncomfortable other things have been lately, fixing a problem this simple is nice.] Who's the hat for?

[flatscamp]

I don't know. It was started when I woke up.

I just thought...someone would appreciate the help.

[wedonot]

I'm sure they will. [And even though he's pretty sure Anya's going to redo most of the work her younger counterpart's started, there's none of that in his voice or expression. Especially not once he hits a particularly bad snarl to undo.] I still have a scarf my sister knit for me. And a sweater.

[flatscamp]

Really?

[So impressed.]

I'm going to teach my sister how to knit. She's too tiny now, though.

[wedonot]

How old is she?

[flatscamp]

One and a half. She cries a lot.

[8C Anya tries but there is only so much she can do.]

[wedonot]

I've been told most one and a half year olds do. [It's strange, to be talking about Wanda like this, especially knowing what was going to happen. But this Anya hasn't gotten to that point yet, and he felt like ever since Silent Hill, Anya was getting to a point - if she wasn't there already - where she would at least give thought before doing it again.]

[flatscamp]

Pietro's the one who keeps bumping into things! But he gets too bored to keep crying, even if I haven't got his band-aids on yet.

[wedonot]

[Charles chuckles because, well.] That certainly sounds like Pietro.

[flatscamp]

How do you know?

[Very surprised, not at all angry, a little bit each calculating and scared. She doesn't think her Daddy here would be as violent as Papa about people finding their home, but she still feels weird and squiggly in her stomach, not sure if she needs to warn him.]

[wedonot]

[The on the spot lie is easy to come up with, mostly because it's pretty much the truth. Obviously.]

I'm very good friends with your dad. [Although, actually:] The one here, I mean.

[Clarification seems necessary in this case. B(] He told me you helped him make breakfast this morning.

[flatscamp]

Oh, good.

[That's a relief. She sighs out her breath and kind of leans against him, smiling softly.]

Yeah. It was really nice. He's not so busy as Papa.

[wedonot]

[He smiles when she does it, and it's hard not to get caught up in that wish that this wasn't just a flood, that they were getting an opportunity to give these kids a better childhood than the ones they'd actually experienced.

Of course, he loves Alex the way he is, and there's no question that he cares for Anya quite a lot, too, but it's hard not to think about how things could have been better for them, if they'd had people who could look after them and give them the love and acceptance they so desperately needed. Maybe it was insane, to think that he and Erik - two adults who hadn't had anything that resembled a happy childhood - could provide that for them, but he didn't feel like it was, especially not now.

He hands over the untangled yarn.] There we go. Maybe once you've finished the hat, you should knit him a scarf. I keep telling him he should wear one when it's cold out.

[charles could you sound more like you're married]

[flatscamp]

[With all the tiny judgmental prudery of her Roma upbringing,]

At least he wears a shirt.

[Papa.]

[wedonot]

[... THIS IS NEWS.]

Why wouldn't he wear a shirt?

keywords so relevant

[flatscamp]

[SHRUG. Papa makes weird decisions.]

He says he doesn't get cold.

[You know, in the Alps.]

help me I'm dying

[wedonot]

[oh jesus erik NO]

Well, I'm glad that's a conversation I've never had to have.

ikr I'm so pleased with this

[flatscamp]

What color scarf?

[Because obviously Erik's clothing-wearing habits need to be rewarded.]

SO PLEASED

[wedonot]

Purple. [Which is being suggested not entirely seriously, even though it is a color that turns up in Erik's wardrobe enough, so.] Or black, I suppose.

[flatscamp]

I can do those.

[wedonot]

Excellent. I'm certain he'll appreciate it.