vin. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indispensible) wrote2014-10-06 04:25 pm
indispensible) wrote2014-10-06 04:25 pm
fourteen. spam. co co rico co co rico, in a flash of lightning.
[She has been, if truth be told, a little lost since Stark left. Not because she was dependent on the schedule created by making sure he didn't do anything stupid, but simply because she misses him. His magic is still working, it seems; the things he enchanted for her function just as they always did, her golem-dog following behind her alongside Mike as she makes the rounds of the Barge.]
[Having his magic still at her back gives her a very specific sense of power - or maybe support. She knows she's powerful. It's nice that someone has her back anyway.]
[She spends most of her time on maintenance, at Anya's direction. But since she doesn't have an inmate to boss around anymore, she has more free time than she knows what to do with; since there are so many obviously dangerous people since the latest collision, she's experiencing a nice uptick in paranoia, too. She pays extra attention to the Mirror additions - not conspicuously, not drawing attention to herself, but she watches all the same.]
spam } psyke
[She has been watching this one - the one who was Jean - especially closely. Whenever she comes out of her room, Vin is there waiting. When she doesn't come out, Vin's there, too, listening with flared tin at the door for any sound that might filter through.]
spam } ben
[Vin is not as good as she might be at identifying the subtleties of emotion. If she was, she'd be able to put a proper label to this feeling. Right now the best she can do is betrayal, even though it isn't Ben's fault. And sadness. She is sad.]
[She sits outside his cell in silence, unblinking, waiting for him to speak. Wonders if he's going to spend the whole month in here. Probably he is.]
[Having his magic still at her back gives her a very specific sense of power - or maybe support. She knows she's powerful. It's nice that someone has her back anyway.]
[She spends most of her time on maintenance, at Anya's direction. But since she doesn't have an inmate to boss around anymore, she has more free time than she knows what to do with; since there are so many obviously dangerous people since the latest collision, she's experiencing a nice uptick in paranoia, too. She pays extra attention to the Mirror additions - not conspicuously, not drawing attention to herself, but she watches all the same.]
spam } psyke
[She has been watching this one - the one who was Jean - especially closely. Whenever she comes out of her room, Vin is there waiting. When she doesn't come out, Vin's there, too, listening with flared tin at the door for any sound that might filter through.]
spam } ben
[Vin is not as good as she might be at identifying the subtleties of emotion. If she was, she'd be able to put a proper label to this feeling. Right now the best she can do is betrayal, even though it isn't Ben's fault. And sadness. She is sad.]
[She sits outside his cell in silence, unblinking, waiting for him to speak. Wonders if he's going to spend the whole month in here. Probably he is.]
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Unfortunately, Phoenix barely keeps any food in her room. She can't live on snacks and tea forever, especially if she wants to keep her strength up. (She's been doing her regular drills, and more besides - Phoenix does have the proper equipment, thank god.)
She's already made a few runs, late at night, moving as quickly and silently as possible. Stealth never came naturally to her, really, but Magneto drilled it into all of them.
Psyke slips out of her door with hard-won grace, but freezes immediately once it closes. It may have been a coincidence, the first few times, but now - ]
You're watching me. [Her voice is flatly accusatory. She refuses to show any apprehension - there's no need to flaunt her weakness.
She does, however, keep her back pressed to her door, and her hand lingering on the handle. She doubts this is her Barge's Vin, but if they have the same powers - it doesn't matter how quick or skilled she is, she's drastically outmatched.]
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[Her lips go thin, an unreadable expression, neither a smile nor a frown.]
I've been watching you. Yes.
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[To call her suspicious would be a vast understatement. It would be safer, probably, to just slip back into her room and slam the door.
But it wouldn't solve anything.]
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[And probably hungry. But Vin doesn't bother saying that. It's like sticking your fingers in a weakness and wiggling your fingers around.]
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That's not what this is about.
She's not the right Jean, she knows that. Knows it right down to her bones, because that Jean is powerful, is in control. (Is noble, is loved.)
She takes a breath. She can't afford to lose her temper. Not here, not yet.]
And? [But her voice is sharper, now, harsher.]
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[Vin goes over the words she said. Not right. It would have made Zane angry, once, to hear that from her. Why? Because she said 'not right', not 'incorrect'. There's an implied moral judgment. Vin tries not to make those, but it seems like she did by accident. She doesn't know anything about this woman's morals - except, now she knows that to question them is to insult her almost beyond bearing.]
And this isn't your home. So I want to help you, or help other people stay safe from you. Whichever's necessary.
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Why would you want to help me?
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Why wouldn't I want to help you?
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But she doesn't have any family, not on the Barge, not any more.
She doesn't let herself deflate, she doesn't let herself seem smaller, but her shoulders do sink, just slightly.]
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[She just watches. She's survived this long by reading people well, by acting on instinct - maybe she can manage a little longer.]
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That was a long time ago.]
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Ben barely even registers the pain. He woke up, groggy and disoriented, in the cell again and that's familiar enough that the sound he makes strangles and dies in his throat before it makes it to something intelligible. Then he pulls himself upright, stands stiffly, and returns to his corner.
He feels betrayed, too. He feels sad, too. And he feels isolated. He does not speak for a long time.
When he does, it's barely audible, and he says it to where his thumbtip is idly tracing the knob of his opposite wrist. He is thinking about the bloody fragments in the interior pocket of his field jacket, his only hope, coveted and all important. He does not mention them.]
How long until I disappear?
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[She watches him touch his wrist. Does he know how easy it is to break all the bones in someone's hand? She thinks he must. This version of him better than any other. Look how breakable he is. He was broken before she ever got to him.]
[It's a good thing she isn't the comforting sort or she'd be trying to comfort him now. Instead she waits in silence for the ring of his too-quiet words to die away. Her voice mirrors his in the end when she speaks, a breath rather than words, a certainty rather than hope.]
You will not disappear.
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He's coming to realize he was still broken even hemmed in by their security; he was a cracked ornament held together in a palm, whole only as long as the fingers are closed around it. Now he's alone. Now it's just him. Now he's falling out of the shape he'd been cobbled back together into, and it's only a matter of time until he's discovered.
Until he disappears, because he's already in the basement. He's already the nomlie. That's the next step, only she says no.
Ben breathes out, can't help the faint tremor that goes with it, and does not stop tracing the bone under his skin.]
Then I already have.
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[Sometimes that ruins everything. But sometimes it doesn't.]
[She watches the tightness of his jaw and doesn't allow her expression to soften.]
Then you think I must have disappeared, too?
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[This is a reprimand, something obvious, something self-evident. She is on the outside of the cell. She stopped him. She has the power, here, and he does not. He hates her for it, fears her, and expects that she will have orders for him or she will have consequences for him one way or another soon, soon.
She can't disappear. She is on the outside of the cell. He is on the inside.
He is the mistake. (A nearly dead part of him exhales, vindicated, tired and horrified and ready.)]
My designation is X5-493. My name is Ben. None of you can take it from me.
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[Once they draw level with each other in the corridor, she tips her chin up at him.] Are you you?
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Why not ask me something and find out?
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How did we meet, and who won our first fight?
[They should really just have passwords and things.]
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You were looking for me around the hallways and walked right passed me. I was on the third floor.
[The seriousness drops to a sigh and a short smirk.]
Given the no rules, I'd call it a draw.
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Not much of a draw.
[But oh good. It's him.]
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One mistake is all it takes.
[Never mind he messed up first.]
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[Because she totally will.]
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He's rusty, unarmed, doesn't even have his Talent to work with. These are arguably the worst odds he's dealt with in a while. Sounds like an excellent idea. But no pressure.]
Only if you want to.
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All right. Let's go, then. Gym?
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[She nods, turns to go.]
Come on.
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Hey. What do you think about these other selves. Think you have one?
spam;
It's been a few days. She speaks to no one. She stays in shadows and comes out of her cabin rarely, usually late at night and early in the morning. She doesn't use the showers, doesn't use the network, doesn't visit the dining hall during mealtimes. She stays in her room-- but it's not her room, here it's Sarah's room, and she finds herself hungry to know why and how. She plays old conversations her other self has had and listens, fascinated and frightened, and part of her wants so badly for the friends the other her has made to be her own, while another part reminds her sharply that some of these friends are the worst kinds of wardens on her rightful Barge.
There's rot around her counterpart's door. This is one of those rare times when she leaves the cabin, finally needing to collect more food from the dining hall, and when she returns she finds maintenance working there. Instantly, she turns to leave, hands deep in her pockets, hood up and covering her hair.]
spam;
[Soon, she knows, she will go. She is only slightly upset about this, and because she knows it, because she sees this time as a storm she can weather and then will go far away from, she feels it's only right to lend her strength to the people she loves.]
[In one way or another, she does love Helena. She sees her and feels seen by her. No matter which Helena this is, that remains the case.]
[She turns and puts down her tools carefully on the ground.]
Don't leave. [Not quite a plea: a request.]
spam;
Why? [Why would you want me to stay? She turns, ever so slightly, just enough to look back from under the fur that lines her hood and shadows her face.] What... do you want from me?
spam;
You seem sad. [That's why she should stay.] And I . . . could use some help. Some company.
spam;
And yet... after a few moments of hesitation, she does finally turn and move towards Vin. She stays closer to the wall, running fingers along it, skipping them over the repaired rot spots.]
Help and company are different things.