Abigail Hobbs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
versusnurture) wrote2014-08-02 09:24 pm
versusnurture) wrote2014-08-02 09:24 pm
nineteen ♢ video
[When the feed comes on, the first thing there is is a wall and half of a desk. Those people on board who've been inside will know it as Abigail's room. There's a small blood smear on the edge of the desk, another dark spot on the corner of the lens.]
[She doesn't turn it towards herself, but the camera does move towards the desk, is set down at the edge of it. Two hands appear in the frame, blood-caked, palm-up. There's blood under her nails, too, drier blood that's oxidized to a deep, almost black color.]
[She doesn't say anything. But after a moment, there's a strangled noise, and she knocks the camera off the desk. The briefest flash of dark hair and a pale face; then it hits the floor and shuts off.]
[She doesn't turn it towards herself, but the camera does move towards the desk, is set down at the edge of it. Two hands appear in the frame, blood-caked, palm-up. There's blood under her nails, too, drier blood that's oxidized to a deep, almost black color.]
[She doesn't say anything. But after a moment, there's a strangled noise, and she knocks the camera off the desk. The briefest flash of dark hair and a pale face; then it hits the floor and shuts off.]
spam
Come on.
[ It feels wrong in a way, off-kilter for reasons he can begin to explain. It's just different, it's a different kind of smile she smiles, tears running down her face. Abigail Hobbs, ever-changing and colorful in ways that he can never fully understand.
It's been some time since she's felt like "his", something shared instead. She's been taken from him, and then she's been taken away from him. This isn't the Abigail he knows. Who knows what's been jammed into her head along with everything else?
He understands the fact that the only reason he's probably alive right now is because of Hannibal's skewed "affection" for him. An attachment, a mutual understanding between the two, of sorts. He no longer has that mutual understanding between himself and Abigail, though he's not sure he ever has. Something different between them has been created, sets his veins alight and squares his jaw. ]
What did you do, Abigail?
[ A low voice, a voice meant to be a comfort even as he refers to the blood coloring her hands. The fear is easy to sense, an innate feeling. It's what starts to make his touches more minimal, the hand falling from her back. They just walk instead. ]
spam
[She almost laughs. What didn't she do? She wonders if he knows about Alana; if he doesn't, she won't be the one to tell him. Not here, not now, not ever. She can't imagine that he'd be talking to her if he did know, much less leading her kindly away. Why be kind to the killer of someone you love?]
I stabbed Ben.
[She slows down, leaning back against Will's hand, and glances up at the ceiling, as if expecting to see something there.]
He surprised me. So I . . . stabbed him.
He said he'd be okay. He said he'd go get help, and then come back. In half an hour.
[Unconsciously she parrots his exact words to Will. It's weirdly comforting. Ben means what he says, she's pretty sure of that.]