fridgetothefire: (bitter)
ExpandNarration 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: (fidget)
[Open Spam]

[At odd times, Anya can be found in the common rooms, curled up on a couch with the guitar Bea gave her for Christmas, humming and practicing chords. She's still new at it, and not worried yet about picking up anything fancy. Her fingertips are still in the raw stage, pink and sore, but she practices diligently, with a small smile.]



ExpandConfidential to Morgana, Zane, Bruce, Cassel, and Dean )

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Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400

November 2015

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