six ☼ spam & audio

[deshabille]

spam } anya

[Mal goes to Anya first. Of course she goes to Anya first. Pietro, she thinks, would want her to know first - would want her to hold the news for a while before anyone else did.]

[She tracks her down in the library and stands with her legs braced apart, fingers tapping on her hips. There is an edge about her; she is doing her utmost to hover in frustration, rather than head straight into bloody rage.]

Anya.

private } erik

Pietro's gone. Thought you might like to know.

private } barbara

We need to speak in person.

public } voice

Pietro Maximoff has left the Barge. For good, it seems like.

Comments

[deshabille]

[That look almost hurts. Almost. (It hurts a lot.) Her brows draw together, delicate and unreadable.]

Your brother is gone.

[She doesn't say I'm sorry. She's patronizing, but not that patronizing. Her sorrow doesn't mean a thing.]

[fridgetothefire]

[Lua, Cass, Pietro. She will miss him least, but it still feels a bit like getting knocked down again every time she tries to stand up. He was - he could have been like Erik, she thinks, could have been everything her real brother was not, was beginning to approach it when he first slipped into the coma. But he did, and she already has a place in her to slot the official declaration of his absence.

Still, it stings. Someone faster, and more annoying, she'd suggested to Dean with a grin. Someone she was fairly certain would have held Dent down while she tortured him, if she had asked him right. Someone who was sorry, maybe not for all the things the Admiral wanted, but for the things that struck Anya worst. Wherever he is, she hopes he's found a way to do better by Luna, for both their sakes.]

Thank you for letting me know.

[It's a quiet acceptance, not quite bleak, not quite resigned. Somewhere sighing between the two.]

[deshabille]

Don't thank me.

[She has no desire to be thanked for this. Anya's getting the very smallest amount of what's owed her. She doesn't need gratitude for that.]

[What if, she wonders, Anya was one of hers? One of Polly's? One of the lost lads? It's not such a far-fetched thought. Something to think about later, maybe. There is a sense of responsibility here, of protectiveness, that she has to inspect.]

It was a privilege. [As close to open affection, to regret, as she'll come. The rest she'll hold in - it will never see the sun - but this, it's true, it was a privilege.]

[fridgetothefire]

[She nods slowly, accepting on his behalf, in some strange way.]

Who are you angry at?

[Softly, not looking at Mal, not giving any particular indication of why she wants to know, or whether she suspects any particular answer.]

[deshabille]

The Admiral.

[Her answer is instantaneous and deeply impotent. Because he is as close to a god as she can see in this place; because he is he ultimate authority and therefore corrupt by necessity; because he is faceless and because of the choices he made, because he took her friend away (whether Pietro would term them such or not, she doesn't very much care), she is angry with the Admiral. She hates him.]

[This is no secret, not really, but her eyes narrow anyway.]

Why?

[fridgetothefire]

Just curious. Sometimes loss makes people irrational.

[It's maybe 10% projection. The rest is just a life with Magneto.]

[deshabille]

[She puts her head on one side, shakes it ever so slightly.]

Often. Not currently.

Are you irrational, Anya? [She feels such responsibility even now. A distant sort - she's never been, never will be parental material, so maybe it's best that-- but responsibility nevertheless. The sort forged of damage.]

[fridgetothefire]

Only a little.

Running away is what he does.

[But it's melancholy more than angry. She knows, she knows that isn't what happened. And yet.]

[deshabille]

[Hm. She smiles. Because it helps, and because it's such a patent lie, and because that's what she does, too. Or did. It's frustrating, their commonalities. More's the pity that he's gone.]

Running away is what a lot of people do. And a lot of people are very, very stupid.

[fridgetothefire]

I will admit to being somewhat jealous, the first time.

[Lightly, dryly. It's taken a lot, for her to do so. But the words are easy enough now.]