fifth ♢ private + voice + spam

[versusnurture]

private/voice } ben

[She contacts her warden as soon as Hannibal makes his announcement. Last night, when she checked in, she was distant; this morning she seemed more confident. This afternoon, she's shaky, uncertain, every bone in her body trembling, it feels like.]

Ben. I lost time. [This is an excuse, she knows.]

He made me dinner, Ben.

public } voice

[She cuts the feed on, then off. On/off, on/off, in strange but rhythmic patterns like Morse code.]

[She's fishing. Questions, accusations will come - she remembers that much from last time, with her real father, with Garret Hobbs, the Shrike. She wants them now. She doesn't want to wait.]

public } spam

[She doesn't change her routine, not even slightly. Which is not to say she's not afraid: she's terrified. There's no Freddie Lounds here to publicly doctor this story, to minimize her shame. Even if there was, she honestly isn't sure she'd want that anymore.]

[So she walks the halls and accepts what comes, goes to the art room, goes to lunch, visits Ben on his shift. Sometimes she goes to the CES and forgets where she is and how time passes. Hours and hours go by as she sits under a tree with her knees pulled up to her chest.]

[This is the only vulnerability she shows, and it is accidental.]

private } zane

I know what he wants from me so I can ask him for information if that's what you want.

[It's about the Emperor, of course; she no longer has the privilege, in her own mind, of contacting Zane for any reason other than business.]

Comments

[myironeyes]

[He doesn't even really have a chance to say yes before the realization crashes down on her, and then he has no idea what to do, but the sound is so awful and raw, cut from somewhere formless and familiar, helplessness and despair and self-loathing. In the end, he puts an arm gingerly around her shoulders. If she tries to bolt, he can bolt faster; if he cannot help, at least he will not expel her from the place she chose in her suffering.]

[versusnurture]

[She can barely feel his touch, she's so far away. It's forced to filter through the layers of her perception as the sound dies away slowly, as though the animal she is (or was) is finally giving up. In the end she slumps, exhausted by her own ugliness, but doesn't move away from his touch.]

[myironeyes]

Abigail.

[Loudly, for how close they are, heavy and clear.]

I can. Lessen your distress. If you allow it.

[He should have thought of it before. But he hates it, still feels twisted and torn for using it on Riddick, even to prevent him from hurting himself further. Normally he tries very hard not to think about it at all.]

[versusnurture]

[His voice is as precise as a church bell. She hears. She doesn't understand.]

I don't want drugs.

[myironeyes]

Not that. It is an ability I have, to reduce the intensity of emotions, temporarily. I do not know whether that resembles - the tonics you expect.

[versusnurture]

[She looks up at him now, red-eyed and tearstained.]

It shouldn't all be gone.

[It's hard to say why, other than that she feels she deserves at least some of it.]

[myironeyes]

It wouldn't be.

[He's not subtle with it. But he can manage that.]

You could tell me to stop at any time. It's - the effect doesn't linger.

[versusnurture]

[After another moment's thought, she nods. She can't be out of control like this, it's a terrible idea.]

Please.

[If he does something he shouldn't, she'll get him back later. But she doesn't think he will.]

[myironeyes]

[He starts burning brass, just a little, very tentatively, aims to brush away the sharp edges of fear, sorrow, guilt, and its fiercer twin, self-loathing. He thinks about listening to it from the other side, about the subtle changes in timbre of soothing different emotions. Then he burns a little more. His arm is still around her, and - he doesn't think that should make it less horrifying, but it does. A little.]

Better?

[versusnurture]

[It helps. She's surprised. It doesn't blanket her and smother her, like the psilocybin did. It pulls off the damaged skin of her psyche and leaves her fresh, raw, but quietened. His touch, his presence, is all aloe.]

A little.

[She breathes.]

A lot.

[myironeyes]

I'm glad.

[And he is, not just for her sake. He feels a speck less monstrous, wielding it in a way that is - if not healing, then comforting.]