fridgetothefire: (bitter)
2014-02-22 12:47 am

042 ☣ a tiger in dog's clothing

Narration TLDR )



[Private to Ben]

Ben. If you can hear this, tell me where you are.



[Private to Morgana]

[There's a lull of silence, just Anya's face, frowning faintly at the screen. She doesn't know what to say. She's harder and colder than the Anya Morgana knows - not bright and sharp like she was on the mirror barge, but hunched and honed.]

Do you have information about me, too?



[Open spam]

[She paces out the bounds of her new prison. Larger, nicer, stranger. She wants to rip someone else's hair out. Malachai walks behind her, with a buffer of air between them, one foot of No Man's Land. He's a sandy-brindled creature in the shape of a sleek, low-slung dog, some kind of mutt, certainly part greyhound - unless someone really looks at him, realizes how big he is despite the way he slinks, over six feet from nose to tail tip, or the curving, not-quite-right way his hips are slung. He is nothing like a dog.

She's been told there are no other daemons here, that it doesn't make them mindless, or monsters. but every time she passes anyone, she has to struggle not stare, and Malachai draws mincingly closer to her, though she pushes him away.]




[Spam for Riddick but also Open in the CES]

[Zane is hungry. And he's some kind of sea creature and not - (her brother) - not the one she knows, not the one she promised to try to come back to. But he's still hers, somehow, and he's in a box, and he's hungry.

Anya is the sort of person who leaves herself notes, nowadays, in case of floods just like this: a little folded placard in her own handwriting sitting on top of her warden's item, This opens doors, like a much more helpful version of Alice's Drink me. So she looks for a door with food behind it, and finds a forest instead. She hears rustling and bird calls and she doesn't understand, but it doesn't matter: Malachai is an ambush predator. She climbs a tree, and he stalks out a place some twenty-five feet upwind. It's a small stretch, for them. And they wait.]
fridgetothefire: (Default)
2013-09-27 12:37 am

027 ☣ some messages

Confidential to Zane, Abigail, Cassel, Ben, Sylvanas, Mal, and Arthas )


[OOC: I may add other starters to this post as older things play out/I think of them. If anyone has something they want to have brought up with Anya BEFORE she becomes a zombie, let me know and I will add it. There will probably be a separate public zombie post later.]
fridgetothefire: (Default)
2013-07-19 10:20 pm

019 ☣ Open!

[Public Spam]

[She works with her hands a lot, now that she's in the maintenance crew. But there's a difference between fixing things and making things, and her occasional forays into invention in Aeris Navem left her itching to create again. Rather than indulging her inner engineer - who has a tendency to slide a little too easily from 'productive' to 'pragmatic' to 'paranoid' - Anya has her knitting bag out again, clacking plastic needles and all. She sets up in a common room, listening to conversation and people watching comfortably.

She's into her second skein when she abruptly realizes the design she's been replicating on some subconscious impulse: a dark blue and charcoal grey sweater with a herringbone pattern, subtle night camouflage for Cassel the cat burglar on nights when frigid high-altitude winds sliced through the floating city like razorwire. She groans heavily and flings her ball of yarn across the room in moment of pique. Which is a terrible idea, because now she has to collect and rewind the damn thing.]


confidential to Erik, Lua, and Alex )