versusnurture | first ♢ voice

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first ♢ voice

[Abigail's voice quavers, as though she's uncertain of the connection, like someone making their first long-distance call. She starts out firm and then peters out into uncertainty, the tail end of her first sentence almost a question.]

My name is Abigail . . . Hobbs.

I'm not sure how I got here, but I'm here now. [A pause; who to ask for?] I'm looking for Dr. Alana Bloom. She's tall with dark hair. She was supposed to check in with me this morning, but instead I'm here.

Are there - [And here she inserts a little more tremor than necessary into her voice, because she doesn't know what else to do right now - ] Are there letters home? That kind of thing? How does this work? Because I need to talk to my dad.

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[Ben's eyes flick down, dagger quick, to catch the movement before returning to her face. He tilts his head.

Curious.]

Noted. You have been assigned quarters on level eight, which is currently at approximately 60% occupancy and contains two common areas, one at each end of the corridor, a broom closet, and the engine room. The common areas are standard per level. I do not advise attempting to enter the engine room unless you have experience in this field. It is a somewhat sensitive area.

One level below is the detention block, colloquially called Zero. One level up is level seven, containing the maintenance and repair office, the custodial closet, and the art therapy room. Does any of this interest you?

Edited 2013-07-23 03:52 (UTC)

[This is a lot to take in, but she manages it, letting it soak into her mind. Her eyes half-close as she thinks.]

[She's very interested in Zero. But no. That's not a good idea, not today, not yet. Maybe if she asks him again later, he'll still let her in.]

We used to do art therapy, where I was before. [A brief, disdainful smile.] Is there a - is there somewhere outside?

[Ben waits patiently, observing in a practiced, detached way though his gaze is intent and focused. She's still an unknown. She might be pretending, but Ben doesn't really think that she is.

He's been wrong before, but it hardly matters.

Ben doesn't care much for the disdain for something he's truly beginning to enjoy, and he's drawing in a slow breath to explain about the proper use of the facility when she asks a question to which he absolutely knows the answer.]

There is somewhere that simulates being outside. You will not be able to tell the difference unless you have some manner of internal ability that would allow you to, or enhanced senses. It is on the deck.

Do you have a fear of flying, space, heights, or darkness? [He's already turning to lead the way towards the nearest stairwell.]

No. I'm not afraid of any of those things.

[She follows him unquestioningly, in part because she wants to see what there is to see, and in part because he seems like the kind of person you follow.]

I'd be up the creek if I was anyway, being here.

[It's a long way up from level seven to the deck, and Ben paces himself with careful attention at the corners of his eyes, sparing a very small portion from the characteristic wariness of their surroundings in general.

He blinks.]

Why? What creek?

[She opens her mouth, closes it, and looks at him in confusion. Is he joking?]

[He's not joking.]

In trouble. It means I'd be in trouble. If I was afraid of flying, space, heights or darkness, in a space prison. You know?

[Oh.]

That is true. It would be unfortunate.

[He doesn't know, of course, but it seems less important now that she's given him a partial explanation.]

Where were you before?

Port Haven Psychiatric Facility.

[She wields this information like a weapon, though against what she's not sure. Regardless, she watches his face as she tells him for any signs: concern, fear, pity, surprise. She doesn't look like a crazy girl. She just looks like a girl.]

[This is something she knows, and also uses.]

[Ben does look her way for a moment, but it's curiosity behind his eyes. He's vaguely aware of psychiatric facilities, wondering at them from the outside like he had churches. How he felt about them changed with the day and his stability levels, but all that means is that they're as much a mystery to him as the rest of the world he left.

He doesn't know what she looks like. He only just met her.]

You did not enjoy your experiences there.

[He's strange. Beyond the obvious - the obvious is incredibly obvious - but underneath it all he's not right. She wonders briefly what it would be like if Hannibal got his claws into Ben, and to her credit doesn't flinch at the thought. She is sure that it would be ugly.]

[Her smile, now, is faint and vague, but not teary, like she might make it for someone more likely to pity her.]

I didn't. No. I ran away a lot. But they always brought me back.

I understand.

[They only ran once, and he'd died rather than be taken back, so there are differences. He does, however, understand.

He glances ahead of them, thoughtful while he considers.]

Some find it to be better, here. Others never will. I hope you are amongst the former.

Why? I'm not important to you.

[This is not a dig, although it can easily function as one. She presents it reasonably, as a logical argument. She just got here. She's not important to anyone.]

Not that I disagree. I'm just wondering.

[Ben accepts it exactly as she presents it, lifting his chin slightly by way of acknowledgement. She's right, after all.]

Because it's no way to live, being held captive.

It's no way to live, not expecting better.

[This, too, is a statement of fact, but it's one with which Ben is intimately, thoroughly familiar.]

[She smiles at him. It's easy to transition from sadness to happiness with him; it almost feels natural. He is an odd thing.]

You know.

I wasn't captive for very long. Were you?

All of my life.

[Ben does not even consider smiling back, though his tone carries through with his reply: he says it like most people would say they have blonde hair and blue eyes and like the color green. It's a piece of who he is, no more and no less.]

Including, technically, here until approximately a month ago. I did not mind as much as others do.

You were like me.

[Abigail marvels at this, but doesn't find it all that surprising, really. She knew there was a story there.]

How did you get out? What did you do? Why didn't you run?

Where would I have run?

[He's about to point out that the reasons for not running are every bit as obvious as why a fear of flight and darkness and space would be unfortunate when he realizes he's not sure which time she's asking about, not certain why he's like her. He hesitates.]

When?

When you graduated. Why didn't you run then?

I kept running even though they kept putting me back in. I didn't want to be stuck anywhere.

[She's been stuck enough. She wanted to fly.]

I don't have anywhere else to go.

I would rather be brought back here, than where I was before.

[Her lips form a soft 'oh'. She understands this, too, and wonders if she might feel like she should be brought back anywhere specific, someday.]

Why were you locked up?

[She isn't afraid. She just wants to know.]

Because they didn't want us to know they didn't own us.

They only wanted us to know what they taught us. So they created us, and then they kept us.

[Ben is still working that out for himself. He's becoming, slowly, attached to people but not yet places; slowly because he remembers that had been his mistake, before.]

You?

I was locked up because my father killed a lot of girls who looked just like me, so he wouldn't have to kill me. They thought it would cause problems.

They thought maybe I helped.

[She did.]

They wanted to keep me safe and sane and ask me questions.

Did you?

[Overall, Ben doesn't have much of a reaction to this. He doesn't understand the connection between fathers and daughters, though Anya is teaching him. He also doesn't understand, on the gut-level that any human is supposed to, the discomfort with death, with being an instrument or an excuse for it. Oh, he understands that it's wrong as well as the next person, but he doesn't have the kneejerk horror reaction that others do.

If anything is strange to him, it's that someone wanted to keep her safe and sane enough to lock her up; but Ben has learned about that, too, thanks to Alex.]

[There is a bizarre temptation to tell him. To say yes. I did. I was kind to them. I was their friend, with the knowledge that they'd die soon. Quickly, but painfully. I knew what would happen after.]

[She wonders what would happen. If he would make that same non-expression upon hearing what she's done. If he would have too many questions, or none at all. If he would feel fear, revulsion, an urge to distance himself. Or if he would be curious, like Hannibal was - would help her, like he had.]

[Instead, she dons offense like a mask, lip curling. She looks like she's been smacked.]

No.

[Ben reacts to that, not overly so, but all the more pronounced for his lack of reaction to most of the rest. He swings a bit wider as they round the current landing in the stairwell, pulling away ever so slightly in a way that has little to do with his physical proximity, eyes cutting to her, steps slowing.

He's cautious, but it's difficult to tell why.]

I'm sorry.

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