fridgetothefire | 028 ☣ public post

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[When the view clicks on, Anya is obviously changed. She has the glowing blue eyes, and her skin looks almost grey. She isn't quite light-skinned enough for classic pallor, but the color is leached from her face. She sits still and straight, with a degree of composure that is, in fact, precisely normal for her. She missed breakfast today, and now it's quite clear why.]

I've allowed Arthas to make me into a zombie for a few days. It is entirely temporary, and I am in control of myself and my faculties. There is no need for anyone to be alarmed.

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[Lecture. Listen. Yes, no, no, he opens his mouth and closes it again, locks his jaw for a moment before making himself give the right answer, even though he knows it won't be easy to swallow.]

Yes.

[She hangs up, because this is - if she's going to be honest about it with herself, she needs to be able to be honest about it with him. And she doesn't think she wants to do that in public. So she goes next door and knocks.]

[The door opens immediately, though he's not standing by it. His hand is still clenched from the gesture, though, and he's looking at her - angry, frustrated, a touch wary. He doesn't understand why she would do this, after spending so many years thinking someone had made him a monster.]

Do you want to sit?

[She drifts in, thinks about it. It might be kinder not to leave any traces of corpse on his chairs. Then again, there are the social cues of sitting to consider. More intimate, more permanent, more lifelike. The dead don't need rest. She perches on a nice hardwood stool, elbows on her knees, chin in her hand, embodying her personlity, her contemplation as she picks her way through what to say. Letting him see in the lines of her shoulders that her body language is the same, that she is only so much changed.]

The barge made me a mutant, once. Did you know? It was before we were close, really.

[She's walking dead, but she's still herself. Mostly herself. It's a fine line, he thinks, and that doesn't soothe his anger at all. He stays standing, a few feet away from her, arms tight at his sides.]

No. You never told me.

It was when the barge crashed at the bottom of the ocean, do you remember? Other people got to be mermaids, but I was a particular aquatic mutant, one I'd seen before. Her gills, her scale patterns, her particular fin placement.

[He nods; he remembers, and frowns a little.] And? [He wants to ask who this mutant was, but saves that for later.]

And I loved it. Swimming, weightless, the endless space of the ocean - I can't remember not wishing I could fly.

[She sounds angry, teeth gritted. And beneath that, pain. Even months later, some part of it is still raw.]

And then I came back and I - saw. And it was like everything they'd ever said about me was right, like everything would be so much better if I just -

- and it was all poisoned, and I hated myself, I felt so. Greedy and weak and hypocritical, and treacherous for wanting, and stupid and pointless for wanting not to want, why should I even bother trying to delude myself, of course everything is better with superpowers, and if it's that simple then my whole life didn't mean anything at all.

Edited 2013-10-16 16:56 (UTC)

[He listens, almost feels bad as that anger comes through - but he has his anger buoying him, too, and he shakes his head.] You had to understand the downsides. Is that why you did this, so you could have superpowers again?

[He's doubtful. He doesn't think she'd be that ridiculous.]

[She turns away, stops bothering to breathe for a few beats. The dead equivalent of a sigh. She has to inhale again when she decides to speak.]

What good would that do? They still won't last.

It's not about having them. It's about...getting them, and using them properly this time even if the deck is stacked against me, and giving them up again. On my terms, because I decided to do it, not because the Admiral wanted to play with me.

It's about...if I'm going to keep getting changed into different things, if I'm going to make use of it and appreciate it when it happens, then I have to stop feeling like it's taking my identity away. And everything important that ever happened to me, every decision I made always had to do with being human. So I had to make some decisions that weren't. I had to carve out a part of myself that...didn't have to be defined by that.

And if I could do that, then. Even when I go back, I'll be...I'll have that capacity. That flexibility, that bredth of possibility to me, without being miserable and confused and hating myself. That's why.

Edited 2013-10-16 18:24 (UTC)

[It's about control, and for a moment he wonders a little at how often this happens, here, how often she makes him realize something. He was angry with her, and now maybe he doesn't have a real reason to be. Anger is so powerful in him, but it's still so unnecessary most of the time.

He's silent for a long while, but finally he nods, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against a chair.]

When you give it up, what will happen?

I'll have to death toll. And then I'll just...be regular me again. But slightly less crazy.

Crazy, [he snorts, shaking his head. But he's not frowning anymore, at least not anymore than usual.]

I wish you'd have told me before you went through with this.

You'd have told me not to.

[This is a perfectly reasonable counter.]

Would you have listened?

Honestly? Listened, yes.

But I wouldn't have changed my mind. Fait accompli seemed easier on everyone.

Then I wish you would have told me. [Not that he doesn't understand why she didn't - and in the end, does it matter if he understood before this, or after it was done?]

[She ponders. Part of her wants to apologize, but it's just - an etiquette impulse, something to ease the social tension. She's not actually sorry.]

Once I decided I had to do it, I didn't want to take the chance of anyone trying to stop me. And I didn't want to make you keep secrets for me, or put you on the spot to put me down if anything went wrong.

I do trust you. It was just complicated.

[She wouldn't ask him to destroy her - which means she asked others.

Jean asked.

For a long moment, he looks away, staring off into some empty middle distance.]

Who did you ask?

Mal.

She's strong, trustworthy, pragmatic, and she doesn't love me.

Don't give her any trouble about it, okay? She - made things easier for me and she didn't have to.

[Pietro's warden. He wonders if that's why she asked.]

Easier how?

[It's because he cares that he needs the details.]

[Erik, you're overthinking this. She just told you why.]

She made sure I was okay and then she didn't make a fuss.

Edited 2013-11-02 04:29 (UTC)

[He is having a lot of feelings. 'She doesn't love me' just isn't enough right now.]

And that's who you wanted with you.

[Feelings. Not logical ones.]

That's who I wanted as a contingency. I needed someone who would be okay if she had to rip my head off. I wasn't going to do that to you.

[He walks away from her, then, running his hands over his face and through his hair before crossing his arms. Someone to rip her head off. It bothers him just considering that Mal would have done it.

And, at the same time...

He turns back to her, nods curtly. He understands. Still hates it, but - he understands.]

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fridgetothefire - 2013-11-03 05:39 (UTC) - Expand

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wecanavenge - 2013-11-07 21:17 (UTC) - Expand

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028 ☣ public post

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