anayadolmen

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

ebrius | constantin & anaya

Oh, that song! [He remembers it now that Ana sings it; it’s catchy, and that lyric seemed so distinctly weird to him.] Pretty fucked up, if you ask me. If I like girl, I am not going to fuck all her friends to prove it. Who write this shit?

[She goes a bit weird when he jokes about her being a stand-in for his wife. Constantin notices. Of course he does; alcohol doesn’t numb the connection they’ve had for years. He doesn’t really think on it, though; he assumes it’s an English thing. They do get weird and awkward about strange things. To Constantin, it seems natural enough to joke about her standing in for his wife; what are they if not life partners? It doesn’t mean he thinks of her like a wife. It just means they know each other far, far too well. After countless poor-taste jokes about having to repopulate the Earth, it all sort of bounces off him.

Obviously he’s thought about it before. You get lonely, when you go through what they’ve been through. You crave touch in ways more intimate than they ever ventured. It just seemed like such a patently bad idea, because once that line is crossed there is no coming back. It simply isn’t in the cards.

He gives her hand a squeeze, hoping to convey that he’s realised it’s a difficult topic for her and he’ll try and avoid making jokes like that again.] 

Hm, I think I have to make list. Maybe– [He’s about to start planning his own funeral in greater detail – it is funny, if you’re them – when an errant rock catches him off balance. It’s so fucking small that nobody else would have a problem with it, but these days a small obstacle is all it takes. Constantin’s ankle turns, and there’s no hope of him regaining his balance. He’s pretty used to falling at this point, though the heart-clenching rush of panic just before he hits the ground never gets easier. And unfortunately, this time he’d been holding Anaya’s hand, dragging them both down.] 

Ah, my dick. [Constantin grumbles, glaring up at the bright blue sky.] Is the gravity, not the alcohol.

[It is, of course, Constantin’s prerogative to never admit what a lightweight he is these days. Almost immediately, his brow furrows and he rolls onto his side to check on Anaya.] You are okay, draga mea?

[Anaya splutters with laughter, letting out an ugly snort that she can't bring herself to be embarrassed about when she's just having fun with Costin. She has no idea if his issue with the song is a genuine problem in translation or if he's just saying that to be funny -- either way, she's amused and she is not correcting him. Let him think the Spice Girls ran some sort of weird sex cult.

The hiccup in her mood is quickly recovered, hands once again swinging between them as if nothing happened. This isn't a subject she's willing to get into just yet. This is something she hasn't even thought of herself, something that sounds so stupid and insane that it feels embarrassing to discuss even in the solitude of her own mind. Because she can't be catching feelings for her person. Life has a knack for irony when it comes to her, but surely it would not be that cruel. People might be inclined to roll their eyes, most of them likely assume the two astronauts are a couple anyway, but Anaya has always drawn that line in her mind. She has always been the one to hold him at arm's length away, based on some skewed belief that things would be much messier between them if they took that step. And now -- now she feels a pang in her chest every time she thinks about that line she drew herself.

It is stupid. She is not thinking about it.

Busy as she is pushing melancholy to the back of her mind, she has no chance against the sudden tug that drags her with him. The ground is merciless against her ass and her shoulder when she tumbles down, and she might have scraped an elbow, but the pain is easily muffled by the alcohol in her system. Instead, she laughs again, a happy sound that comes from her belly and shakes her shoulders.] You're so drunk, [she accuses, well aware she's a mirror to his state. She lays on her back, decides getting up would be too much effort now, and turns her head to him as her laughter dies down to a chuckle.] I am okay, draga mea. [The nickname is foreign on her tongue, more just a humorous effort to copy his phrase than anything she's used to saying. It doesn't sound right in her accent. Her hand reaches for him again, as expected, wanting to be tethered to him in any way she can.] Are you? Okay?

[His eyes look bluer in this lighting, she thinks, as she represses the sudden urge to boop his nose in hopes his brows unfurrow.] I think this is a perfect spot to lay down, actually. I think we should take this as a sign from nature to stay down. Do you also feel like the world is spinning really fast, or is that just me?

[anayadolmen]

lonesome, sometimes  |  ana & quinn

@quinn-dervilia​

Being awake through the night is no longer a choice, these days, and more just something that happens to her. The moon crawls up in the sky, claims its space amongst the stars where Anaya wishes she could be, and sleep doesn't come easily. It's almost as if there was jet lag affecting her, but she doubts anyone can explain the timezone gap from outer space to the land of the United Kingdom -- she probably could write about it, but her academic energy has been going elsewhere.

That, in itself, is another reason to be staying up late: academics. When darkness falls upon the entire colony and everything inside these walls gets hauntingly quiet, that's when she can think. She used to be a more chaotic student, always listening to music and watching television and writing all at the same time, unbothered by external noise. But since living in space, her brain is wired differently. There was silence there, in terms of not much talking, specially after it was just her and Costin left. But there was also the everlasting, comforting presence of the spaceship around them. It hummed, buzzed, whirred all around them, like it had a life of its own, deafening white noise that never stopped. Ever since then, she feels like she can put her brain to use better when there isn't constant chatter around her, even if the silence in the dorms at night is still overwhelming, for its lack of machinery sounds.

So she takes to the greenhouse. It's easy to slip out from her bed, the guards either know her or don't care enough to ask at this point. She carries her notebook with her, the one place she fits all of her annotations into; the pages are getting crammed at this point, filled with notes upon notes, drawings, schemes, calculations. When she first arrived, she wrote like a madwoman, putting down on paper everything she knew, all the basics of botanics she knew by heart, so her research could live on even if something happened to her. Now, she finally has her greenhouse.

The greenhouse doesn't have the familiar white noise of a spaceship, but being in it makes Anaya feel immediately better. She wouldn't say it feels like home, she still struggles to accept this place as the definite end in her (and Constantin's) story, but this feels like a nice spot in a world of chaos. A tiny oasis she has found for herself. She has her budding greens, which she can watch and study obsessively as they grow, she has a little desk in the far back corner, where she spends her free time -- and insomniac late nights --, she finally has a place where she can feel like herself. Not some weird version of her that she puts on, not someone trying to be more this and less that, just her.

Tonight, it's not even too late when she sneaks out to find peace in her studies. She makes herself comfortable on the desk and starts taking notes of this week's progress, getting lost amongst the mess of spread out papers and growth catalogs. Absorbed in her work as she is, she doesn't hear company joining her at first, not when the door opens; only when footsteps are shuffling much closer is that she registers them, and expectedly, she jumps in surprise.

"Oh, fucking--," she holds onto the rest of the expression, as if hell is the offending word that would be too embarrassing to say in front of none other than Quinn. "Sorry. Christ-- sorry, Quinn, I was so engrossed in my notes, I didn't hear you." She gets up from the chair, straightens her clothes and puts a hand through her hair, the first time she's given any thought to her appearance all evening. Suddenly, she finds herself wanting to look presentable (and cool, and nonchalant, and suave, which she can't do when her heart is giving a million beats per minute after this scare). 

"I was just... working overtime," she motions vaguely to her notes behind her. Please, god, let her not get yelled at for skipping curfew. "What-- uh, what time is it?" Pretending she doesn't know it's late is a really stupid angle, but she's not above pretending to be dumb if it gets her out of trouble, at least.

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

us amongst the ruins | constantin & anaya

[’That’s a sound I like to hear’ she says, and even as the laughter quietens, Constantin finds a soft smile on his face. Anaya’s presence is such a comfort to him, more than she will ever know. Or, maybe she does know, because he is probably the same thing to her. It doesn’t matter how many new people they meet, how many new relationships they embark on, they will always be the most important part of one another’s lives.

Constantin is perfectly aware that it will make relationships difficult, and he doesn’t care. He needs her, and anyone that took issue with their intimacy wasn’t someone he’d want a relationship with anyway.

He laughs again when she tells him that Quinn flirted with her – a proper belly laugh now, the hardest he’s laughed in weeks. The fact that he made a move on her in training is unbelievable.] 

No! You are lying? He fucking… [He has to pause, try and formulate his words. He can’t focus when he’s laughing like this – fuck it feels good to laugh, like the endorphins are a soothing balm working in real time.] He ask me on a date, during training, vhen I am barely able to stand. Oh, he have very certain type.

[It makes more sense now. Constantin had been pretty confused as to why Quinn had been so forward, but clearly he has a type, and that type is malnourished space nerd. Alright, actually, if he thinks about it maybe it’s a bit weird; he’s attracted to weakness? It’s something Constantin will ask him about.]

[The belly laugh that explodes out of him is so loud in comparison to the quietness of the chapel ambiance that it makes her flinch, even if her lips are already pulling up in a smile too, knee-jerk reaction before she can even figure out what's happening.] What? What is it? [She asks, cheeks heating up, although the sentiment is something much warmer than the embarrassment she might be feeling if this were anyone else.

Even if Constantin is laughing at her expense, thinking a fool of her, she's just happy she made him laugh at all. He looks so different like this, shoulders shaking, laughter lines showing again. He looks more like the Costin she really knows, and less like the gloomy creature that had taken over for the last few days. It's good to have balance and she loves him either way, of course, but it's nice to see him happy again.

She waits patiently for the explanation, doesn't dare cut his laughing fit short. When it finally comes, she gasps, shaking his hand in hers.] Are you fucking kidding me?! [Her voice is high pitched with disbelief.] Oh, my god! In the same-- training too?! That's insane. [It's impossible not to dissolve into laughter along with him, at the absurdity of this... coincidence, if one could call it that. More just like Quinn's type being made pretty obvious.] Does he have an astronaut kink? Are we being objectified? Or is he just super horny on every training session and shoots his shot with anyone, you think? 

[anayadolmen]

atlantis-easte​:

I’M TIRED || Atlas + Anaya

[She doesn’t recognize the voice that calls out to her and under normal circumstances that could easily be explained by her general status of having just arrived here but these were not normal circumstances. Hearing someone she doesn’t know walk in on her and her hallucinations wasn’t the big relief she thought it would be. There’s just a sinking feeling of unadulterated loneliness as the girl comes into view.

She looks as exhausted as Atlantis feels, a thought she actively keeps to herself. They stand together in the cool London air, moonlight cutting through the fog of black with the ease of an ax chopping butter. Her hands curl in instinctively as Anaya’s face comes into full view. She really did look tired. Even robbed of sleep the girl was beautiful, large hazel eyes peeked out from beneath thick swaths of brown hair, delicate features made all the more delicate by thick prominent brows. All this and none of it stands a chance against the pool of green that floats around her head. It ripples at times, as if someone was dropping things into it, like a stone sinking into a pond.

‘Are you alright?’ She asks, Atlas smiles, a small tattered thing. No, she thinks, I am not. ‘I don’t think we’ve met, have we?’ That seems easier to answer.] No, we haven’t. [She glances towards Torren, the fog receding beneath its metal doors. What made the darkness come this time? Her? The memory of her father? Something to possibly dissect next session with Dante. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t going to mention it to Dante. Maybe just the dream.]

Sorry, I’m a bit scattered at the moment but uh, I’m Atlas. Well, it’s Atlantis but no one ever calls me that. [She looks back at Anaya, eyes wide and wet from tears.] So uh, hate to be a bother but do you have any idea if any alarms will go off if I try to get back into that building. [Atlas points at the Torren dorms.]

[Anaya watches the girl closely, sees the way her eyes flutter from Anaya's features, to somewhere just around her head, as if she's peeking at something over or behind her. The botanist turns her head instinctively, looks over her shoulder just in case, but is happy to find nothing of interest there. Even if she knows guards like to turn a blind eye to her escapades, she's still wary of them. In her opinion, you can never trust someone with too much power in their hands.

Atlas, the other says, and Anaya searches her brain for any recognition. Her memory isn't all that great anymore these days, but such a unique name would have sparked an identification if there had been any. Maybe she's even worse at knowing people in this place than she'd thought. She'd always been adamant about avoiding friends in here, anyway -- she thinks, though, that she might be able to make a space for another kindred soul who's awake at this ungodly hour and looks just as tired.]

Oh, of course, no -- you're not a bother. [She waves a hand dismissively, even though the gesture doesn't have the energy it needs. From up close she can see the tears gathering on Atlas' waterline, her round eyes catching under moonlight, and Anaya's face pinches with concern.] Torren? I'm going in there now too, no alarms, don't worry. Do you want to come with me? I'm... visiting a friend.

[anayadolmen]

quinn-dervilia​:

ALL FOR ONE || quinn & anaya

[[ He would like to say he keeps a professional air to things. It’s difficult, though, with Anaya being so responsive beneath his hands. Looking to the side, he can’t help lingering for a moment on the nape of her neck. Small, wispy hairs that curl down around the base of her skull. It reminds him of Ceres. The way she’d tie her hair up and he’d plant kisses along the back of her neck—only to be gently chided and told off because she has to get ready!

Quinn step away, blinks, and returns to the present. A near stranger, so far from home, and he smiles at Anaya as though nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong, after all.

‘Feels good,’ she squeaks out, a note higher than she’d been before. ]] Yes. [[ He says simply crossing his arms, chin tipped slightly up as he watches her. Not the gun, not the shooting, just her. ]] Shoot.

[There's a part of her that thinks it's quite fun to have Quinn's eyes on her, in the same way people call themselves adrenaline junkies, she supposes. It makes her so nervous that there is no way other than to see some good in it, and give into the way her stomach twists on itself. She's only human, after all, it's not like she doesn't appreciate feeling attractive. Her hands so obviously can't keep the gun steady, trembling as they are, but with a crumb of confidence taken from his instructions and his steadfast gaze, she holds her chin a little higher and pulls the trigger.

The recoil is enough to send her stumbling back; she catches herself ungracefully, which is minutely better than landing on her ass.] Shit, [she mumbles under her breath, embarrassment melting the corners of her smile as she looks back up at Quinn. Her shot hadn't really hit anywhere good enough, but being in the general vicinity of the target already feels like a win, given she could barely hold a gun before.] That's not even remotely good, but it's the best I've done so far. That was... actually fun. [The words are hard to admit to out loud, but she's trying to offer him some honesty, at least.]

[anayadolmen]

atlantis-easte​:

I’M TIRED || Atlas + Anaya

Saturday, April 15th, 2163, 3:06AM

[The dream began the way it always does, with Arthur Easte coming home. It begins the way it always does, with Atlantis bounding down the stairs of her childhood home, each step creaking beneath her socked feet. It begins the way it always does, with Arthur Easte standing in a pool of his own blood.

His head is intact, his head is broken into a million pieces on the floor, his head is intact. His arms are outstretched towards Atlantis, his hands are empty, his hands hold her birthday cake—sage green frosting with 15 white candles brightly lit. “Make a wish, Lany.” She stares at the candles, watching the wax melt onto the frosting in thick white drops. Atlantis shakes her head, knowing full well her wishes never come true. “Lany.” She takes a step towards her father, her white socks staining red as she walks into the pool of blood. Arthur smiles as he holds the cake in his left hand, his right hand coming around to rest on her waist. Something ugly like anger twists in her chest. “Make a wish, Lany. It’s almost over, I promise.” She looks up at her father, streaks of blood spill from the top of his head, cracks slowly spread over his face like glass. Grief overcomes her, painting the room blue with her sadness. Atlantis shuts her eyes, leans forward and makes her wish.

Please be alive when I wake up.

She wakes in the middle of the courtyard, or at least she’s pretty sure it’s the courtyard. It’s been awhile since she last sleptwalked, but her birthday had a way of making the habit resurface. Her mind is still foggy from lack of rest, it struggles to take in any information presented to her, much less process what her father told her. She’s lost in her dream, lost in the memory of her father’s arms wrapped tight around her. She feels as if someone has taken an ice cream scoop to her chest and carved out what little was left of her and her soul.

Atlas places a hand over her chest, fingers curling over the soft fabric of her sweater. Her heart hammers beneath her hand, violent and wild as it always has. She lets out a shaky sigh, whether from relief or disappointment remains unclear. She’s standing under the moonlight like a wraith, gently swaying back and forth trying to self-soothe when she notices the courtyard growing darker. Atlas glances towards Torren Tower and frowns as a familiar black fog unfurls from beneath it’s doors. The darkness rolls down the halls before spilling into the courtyard, a flash flood of inky black water and with it the scent of rotting fruit.

If Miles were here, he’d tell her it wasn’t real. But he wasn’t here to reassure her, he was gone, buried six feet under in a country she will never set foot in again. Her vision blurs with fat tears as the black ink inches closer to the toes of her sneakers. Every step back feels like she’s trudging against cement, each step rattles the floor beneath her. It’s too much energy to spend on a life she isn’t certain is worth fighting for. She’s just so fucking tired. She glances up towards the moon, her light casting over Atlas like a desperate saint calling out for one last miracle.

And maybe she gets it. A door creaks open, although from which dormitory is unclear. The black fog consumes sound and light and all sense of reality with it. She shudders as the ink stains her sneakers, like a snake made entirely of liquid.] Hello? Is someone there?

[Please, let someone be there.]

[Anaya doesn't think she can ever break out of this habit. She tries her best, she swears, because she doesn't want to be on the receiving end of all those side-eyes from the Elites in the morning, she can't keep giving them more reason to believe she's so mentally unstable, but it's difficult. When she lays down in her bed, all alone, in a dorm room filled with people she's still unfamiliar with despite the several weeks she's spent in the colony... it's suffocating. She stares at the ceiling, she tosses and turns, she can try anything under the sun and sleep doesn't come no matter how hard she tries. Her therapist has said codependency isn't healthy, but isn't sleep deprivation even worse? At least she can function the next day, when she spends the night with Constantin.

Tonight, she tries her best again, because it is a habit she wants to break. It's a habit they need to break. Costin is dating other people, was just dating Koda a second ago, it doesn't look good for him to be constantly sleeping (just sleeping) with his best friend. She doesn't want to feel like a leech, uninvited and sneaking into someone's bed only for her own peace of mind without considering other people's feelings. So she does the same thing as always, she tosses, she turns, she wills sleep into her mind for hours on end until the silence drives her mad enough to sneak out.

It's not a hard task when the path to Torren's dorms is familiar by now, and when most guards turn a sympathetic blind eye to the poor codependent astronauts. She can fix this habit another time, she thinks. She tried.

She probably looks like something only half-alive, dragging her tired bone-y structure through the colony, but when a voice catches her, she jumps. Suddenly ten times more awake, her wide eyes find the source of the sound; she's relieved to see only a girl who looks lost, as opposed to some guard looking for someone to yell at.] Hello. Yes-- hi, I'm Anaya, [she speaks past the deafening hammering of her own heart in her ears, and takes a step towards the other so they don't have to be so loud to hear each other.] Are you alright? [The girl doesn't look it. Anaya doesn't suppose she looks much better herself, but still.] I don't think we've met, have we?

[anayadolmen]

virens  |  teilo & anaya 

@teiloembry​

[Kip's suggestion had been like a light at the end of the tunnel at the time, but now that Anaya has the information in her hands, she feels a little overwhelmed. She wants to help, she wants to mean something in the grand scheme of things -- just as she had meant something once with her research, her academics --, but now that it comes down to speaking up, she chokes. She lingers for a few days, sits on her own with this decision while she waits for the effect of the funeral to pass them by. She even keeps it from Constantin. She'll tell him all about it if this conversation goes well, but if her idea doesn't lead to anything, she will gladly pretend it never happened.

Approaching Teilo, at least, is not the hardest thing she's had to do. Teilo is a fellow scholar, someone she has exchanged pleasant words with before. It's unsure to her if they could be considered friends, the word seems to hold such a weight for her these days, but they are definitely in good enough terms that it's not so nerve-wrecking when she decides to reach out to him by the end of their lunch time.] 

Hey-- Teilo, hi. Anaya. [She introduces herself lamely, because they haven't talked in quite a while, and paranoia says that maybe he's a busy man and has forgotten about her by now. She'll save them the awkwardness of having to remind each other, if that were the case.] I want to talk to you about something. Could you... come with me, for a sec? [There's not enough courage in her to talk about this in hushed whispers in the middle of everyone else, even if no one would pay them any mind. She'd much rather take him to the greenhouse and share this with him on the way there, with many less prying ears around.] 

[anayadolmen]

ajay-benitez​:

AIR [ruina rex]  ╬ anaya + adrián

[She’s right about that; that he’d have liked to know that his presence would stick around beyond his death. That he’d made enough of an impact in life, that he’d be rocking the boat still from six feet under. That even his passing would make waves. 

It’s what he would have wanted. Though, to be honest, it’s probably what he expected. That man was nothing, if not confident. If not sure to the marrow of his very bones, that he was born to be a force and a force he would be. 

She’s also right, that the ‘regular comforts’ don’t do much. And in a way, it’s weird, because how does one comfort someone mourning after the End of the World? They’re all so use to loss by now, they’ve all lost loved ones, friends, home towns, memories. They’ve lost everything. So, by some arguments, what’s one more person? 

But somehow, even D-Day hadn’t changed what this felt like, apparently. Loss. It still felt jarring and unfair. It still felt like a surprise, even as death has laid bare and overpowering all around them for the last 6 years. 

He nods. She’s a bit rambly, but she’s making sense, and Ajay finds that hearing her talk about him and what he was like, describing his life, his spirit while he was alive, as opposed to how they’re all ‘meant’ to feel now—that’s actually the more comforting thing. He looks up at her.] 

Yeah… I mean, you’re right. He definitely would have. [A crack of a weak smile. The memory of the weight of his heavy arm draping over Adrián’s slim shoulder. He can almost feel it now, like a ghost.] You ever meet him? Or, y’know… talk to him? 

[He’s not expecting her to say yes, necessarily. It’s a small Colony and people know of a lot of people. But a surprising amount of people haven’t necessarily crossed paths. Regardless, he just wants to hear something, anything. Something that’s not from his own head. Something to get him out of it, in fact. If only for a little while.] 

[At least Anaya has the comfort of not completely fucking this up, since Ajay is not immediately kicking her out or crying harder. So, hopefully this means they share some of the same mind about these sort of things, and her words can mean something good. She's immensely glad.

He even cracks a smile, to which she responds with one of her own, something small and sympathetic, muted around the edges as to not disturb the now quiet ambiance of the half-destroyed room. It feels weirdly peaceful in here. She understands why he came all the way down to have an outburst.

The question has her perking up and, having to decide in a split second if she should lie or not, she ends up stuttering her way through the truth.] W-- yes, and no. I mean-- I knew of him. I met him. I-- well. He found me in the Games, once, and that was scary. [Is it rude, to be candid about how scared she was of a dead man? Surely not, anyone who takes one look at her can see why she'd be frightened to death by someone like Kaiser in a setting like the Games. She hopes Adrián finds it funny rather than insulting, since it's the only story she has to tell.] I mostly just saw him around, besides that. But I know he meant a lot, to this place, and to a lot of people. Right?

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

ebrius | constantin & anaya

[When Anaya stumbles, it’s only by mercy of her lightness that Constantin holds them both upright. By most standards he is still frail, but compared to Ana he’s a lot stronger. She’d starved far worse than he had, and it seems like it’s taking her longer to regain that weight even now. He can feel each bone of her arm as he holds her upright; he sways but doesn’t stumble.

She promises he can get pissed at her funeral, and that’ll be an easy enough task. It really doesn’t take much, these days. As a student he’d have killed to be this much of a lightweight; it’d make nights out so much cheaper.] 

I am not loud. They too quiet. [He disagrees, refusing to be cowed. Funerals should have singing, and if not old drinking songs, then there should be… Spice Girls. Whatever that is.] 

I don’t know vhat a Spice Girls is, but you sing? Then is good for my funeral. And you must cook koliva to put by my head. Oh, and everyone is get candle. I am serious. If there is no fire hazard, I do not want.

[Constantin’s got a lot of thoughts on funerals. He wants people to have fun at his, but he also wants it to fit with his faith.] Oh, and my wife must mourn for a year, wear only black. Since I have no wife, you can stand in for this, no? Black is good colour for you, it can be easy.

[He defaults to the word ‘wife’ out of habit, even if ‘partner’ would probably suit him better given his recent revelations. He’s drunk, and muscle memory is easier to rely on.]

They are too quiet, but both things can be true. [Anaya quips, her line punctuated by another loopy chuckle to make it clear she has no desire to pursue this argument. There's no denying that funeral was far too depressing, and that's coming from an English girl. She's not sure if her view of death has changed from greeting death in space, or simply from living with Constantin for so long. Maybe both of those can be true, too.]

How can you not remember Spice Girls? I've sung this to you before. You know? If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends? [she sings the lines from the song in rhythm, blinking at him expectantly, ready to be outraged if he doesn't remember it. Not that singing was a common occurrence, she doesn't think her voice is anything special, but he had to endure a lot of humming and singing from her when they worked together. It was a shame she didn't have music in her ears at all times anymore, she had to make up for it by singing it herself.] They're the ultimate vintage pop band. We've been friends for years, of course I've educated you on the Spice Girls, come on. 

[You can stand in for this, he says, as if he's not off-handedly talking about a wife. Anaya stutters, feels her tongue tie a knot around itself in her mouth, before she laughs her own clumsiness off and pretends she doesn't feel her stomach doing a weird thing.] Right. Of course. I can. [It's funny that they're always tiptoeing around their own paradox. She can't tell if joking about this kind of thing means they might blur the lines between friend and lover someday, or if they are so far into each other's friendzones that they can joke about it more easily. She thinks she has an answer on what she wants it to be, and that terrifies her. So she grips onto his hand a little tighter and laughs again, letting the alcohol take the nervous edge off the sound.] I do look good in black. Easy peasy. Any other requests?

[anayadolmen]

kip-whitmer​:

de luctus | anaya & kip

[Okay, she gets it. Thank fuck. Kip doesn’t really have the energy to get involved beyond this. He knows he should be angry about Kaiser’s death; it seems like everyone is. But he just can’t, not right now, because he’s worn out.]

I mean, it might not come to anything, I don’t know. But it’s worth asking. [He shrugs. Maybe Teilo will think the greenhouse is a terrible spot; it’s certainly got several flaws that Kip could point out. But it’s Teilo’s thing, not Kip’s, and Anaya seems totally earnest if nothing else. He turns the ginger leaf over in his hands, and a little juice seeps out onto his thumb. It’s sticky when he wipes at it with his fingers. It actually has helped with the nausea, but he also finds that he’s got no appetite for the rest of his lunch anyway, and he sighs through his nose, head tilting back as he looks up at the clouds through the glass roof. It’s too bright; he has to squint.] 

[Kip's words may not seem like much to go by, from anyone else's point of view, but to Anaya they make an important impact. They bring her hope. She doesn't have it in her to start anything on her own, she would never be the face or the voice of anything revolutionary, she knows she doesn't have that sort of bravery in her. But she wants to help, she needs to. It's the scientist in her, she thinks, to back up the change she wants to see in the world -- a backstage helping hand. If before she laid down ground work with her academics, now she can offer them a place, maybe.]

Yeah-- of course... Still. Thank you. [She means it, wholeheartedly, and she hopes he knows it. She couldn't put her gratitude into words if she tried, so she hopes her nod is enough to convey before she's averting her eyes again and allowing him the privacy and the silence.]

[anayadolmen]

my only two moods ever are tenderness and hysteria

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

us amongst the ruins | constantin & anaya

Kinda funny. [He agrees, nodding his head with a rueful smile. He mimics her pronunciation carefully, not to make fun of her (or himself) but because it’s a better way for him to work on his accent. It doesn’t work very well; his accent is as thick as ever, just taking on a different lilt.

He laughs against his will when she says that at least he got some. Hard to argue with that. If he was going to be oversensitive about it, he might be offended at his relationship with Koda being cheapened to ‘getting some’, but when it comes to his sense of humour Constantin has always been pretty blunt. It feels good to laugh, even if it’s still tinged with sadness.] 

Hm, this is true. [He fixes her with a look of great interest and scrutiny when she says she’s been flirted with. In the past Constantin hadn’t been much of a gossip, but after years of acute isolation he finds any sort of human connection thrilling. It’s probably why he gets on so well with Felix, in fact: the boy loves to gossip. Much as Constantin might pretend otherwise, he does like hearing Fee go on about who flirted with who, or what hot new guy just got transferred. It’s just nice to remember that there are still all these people alive, talking and bonding and loving.] 

But now you have to tell me, even if you think is not exciting. Who is flirt vith you?

[She knows it's a crude way to put it, but she's glad it has the desired effect, making him laugh. She just wants to see him cheer up a little bit. Time and Constantin himself can only be the true healers of this heartbreak, but in the meantime, she can double as a shoulder to cry on and a maker of stupid jokes.] That's a sound I like to hear, [she murmurs in response to his laughter, and gently bumps their shoulders together.] 

[He asks for a name and she hums, giving him a coy lift of her shoulders, her gaze drifting away as she considers if she should really give him an answer or not. It feels silly, in the first place, to assume that anyone is flirting with her. She notices the glances in some conversations, the tones, but it's rare that she would ever expose these out loud. She wouldn't be able to handle the utter embarrassment of being wrong, if she read too much into someone just being kind. 

But Costin is her best friend, and maybe he could use the distraction from his own woes, so he is owed a better answer.] Well, I'll give you one. Quinn. [That one's pretty obvious, or at least, she assumes. The man went out of his way to stand behind her and help her hold a gun, there's no other way to interpret that.] He made a move on me on training. Which-- is pretty brave, considering how I look there. Frizzy hair and red as a tomato and all that.

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

ebrius | constantin & anaya

[Oh, shit – it’s still light outside. Right, the funeral had been in the morning. The way Constantin is feeling, it should be dark out, but when he looks up it’s just cloudy sunlight, rain still spluttering down. Drinking had probably been a bad idea, but it’s too late for sensible thoughts like that now. Probably they’ll sober up after lunch, and if not then it isn’t as though either of them are known for their hardy constitutions. Going for a lie down wouldn’t be out of character.

The giggling is admittedly a little less typical of Constantin, but the image of Anaya sneaking out after dark to rob a grave is too good. He snorts again at the ‘boring’ comment, because it had been. Poor Cambie, she’d tried her best but there were obviously too many limitations for the event to have been really fun. Of course, ‘fun’ isn’t what most English people look for in a funeral, so he’s surprised and pleased to hear Anaya asking for a more exciting funeral. They’ve been joking about their deaths for long enough that the topic doesn’t bother him in the least.] 

Of course, of course, we give you full Eastern funeral, much more alcohol, and much singing. Only most fun funeral for my Ana. I ever teach you any drinking song? I learn this one at university, maybe we sing at your funeral: oй, мороз мороз! [Constantin breaks into song, louder than he should given how close they still are to the church, and swings Anaya’s hand between them. A combination of alcohol and their usual unsteadiness means the gesture is wild, their hands flying back and forth with great gusto.] 

[It's funny, to be comforted by the vague idea of her own funeral. It's a distant idea now, more distant than it had been when they were up there, making gruesome promises to shove the body of whoever died first out into space so the other could see firsthand what happened. Back then, it had been comforting because it was making light of a horrible situation, facing their own mortality head on and embracing it. Now, knowing that she actually gets to have a ceremony if she goes -- it's surprisingly nice to think about. She'll give Earth that point. 

She nods along with him, booze making the world spin and her feet stumble at the harsh movement of her head, and Anaya giggles again as she holds onto his arm.] Much more alcohol. You can get pissed, [she promises.

The sheer loudness of his voice makes her flinch, but more giggles are quickly dripping from her tongue and being muffled by the back of a hand, in an attempt to keep quiet. If anyone asks, she'll tell them the song is a heartfelt homage to the man being put in the ground, something sober and sad.] Shush, you're too loud! And I can't understand a single word you're saying. [Her grin is wide, despite the embarrassing admission of her drunken brain failing to compute any of what she assumes is Romanian (her second language, by now).] But I accept it. What do you want at your funeral, then? I can give you a beautiful rendition of some old Spice Girls song, maybe.

[anayadolmen]

kip-whitmer​:

de luctus | anaya & kip

[Kip is reminded for the umpteenth time just how annoying it is to be both an asshole and an Empath. He can feel the cold wave of upset that douses Anaya’s mood at his words, and he winces around the chew he’s just given to the ginger leaf. Before his Infection, he’d really not realised how tactless he was capable of being, but these days it’s inescapable. She turns away, but he can feel it anyway.

Maybe it’s his fault, then, that she seems to miss any subtlety to his words. She’s upset, so she’s not using her brain. Kip hopes that’s the reason, anyway, because he’d really hope an astronaut had overall good critical thinking skills.

Her upset tangles with his own, like milk into flour. It forms a lump, sticky and nauseous, in Kip’s belly, and his face settles into a frown as he fights off the embarrassing urge to cry. He’s done far too much of that already today. The only thing that stops a fresh wave of tears is his annoyance at himself – often sadness extinguishes anger, but he’s already so weighed down by sadness that for now the anger just warms him up a little.]

No, I meant– [He pauses, formulating his thoughts. He knows he’d sounded annoyed when he started that sentence, but he doesn’t want Anaya to think it’s her that he’s annoyed at. It’s just a bad fucking day.] I meant like, you should tell him what you’re thinking about creating a safe haven.

[He can tell she didn’t fully process his first attempt, and he doesn’t know how to make the point again without being totally transparent – which unfortunately doesn’t feel like a safe idea.] I think he’d be really interested in that.

[Anaya can tell he sounds annoyed when he speaks again, but the curse (or the blessing) of not being an Empath is never knowing if she's right. She's been wrong before, trying to pick up these emotional cues from people, ever since she's been stuck in space. It's like her settings have all been set to Constantin as a default, so anyone who doesn't act like him is immediately impossible to read.

So she tries not to focus on it too much, in favour of hearing what the boy has to say. And she's glad because when the rest of his words finally come out, she feels like a bit of a fool for not getting that sooner. Well, she can't be too heavily blamed for keeping her guards up so high. She always feels like people are too quick to belittle her in this new world.]

Oh. Oh. [She's quick to respond, her tone already apologetic. Although her cheeks heat up, she doesn't dwell on the feeling too much, shaking it off and hoping Kip also benefits from her best attempt to not drown him in another wave of embarrassment.] Right. Yes, thank you, I will. [That sparks some hope in her. She doesn't know what Teilo could be up to, but he's a smart bloke, and maybe she can finally find a way to do more, like she's been trying to, all these months. Maybe this is the door she's been asking for, to feel a little less useless in all of this chaos.] Thank you, Kip. Really. 

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

us amongst the ruins | constantin & anaya

[He doesn’t mind her swearing. Barely registers it in fact. Maybe in front of a priest Constantin would feel a little different, but overall his stance that in the entire lexicon of hateful words, swearing like ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ is pretty meaningless, and God is unlikely to care. He’s never really felt that swearing is disrespectful, though he knows most English people feel differently.

Anaya laughs a little too hard at the fact that Felix rumbled Constantin before he himself knew, and he elbows her.] 

Fuck off, not funny. [Alright, it’s a bit funny. Constantin doesn’t really buy into the notion of ‘gaydar’ but Fee was certainly intuitive. But maybe Anaya is right and everything is just more fluid than he’d believed. It was just such a major shift from the way he’d been raised, where straight was the default and any divergence was cause for a scandal.] 

Is stupid, no? To be worry about this things right now. We both have strength like dying Victorian child. [He takes her hand, holding up their bony wrists. He’s had better luck regaining weight than she had, but not by much. They’re both still shadows of their former selves.] And somehow I still just think about fucking. 

[Being with Koda had just reminded him of how beautiful and intimate it could be, being with another person. He misses Koda, but he also misses that connection. It’s something he can’t, or won’t, have with Anaya – though their years together gave them a unique sort of intimacy, it’s different to how fucking makes him feel.]

There is anyone here you are flirting vith? [He grins, a little tired, a little cheeky. Something they never had the opportunity to do on the ISS was rib each other for any crushes. He knows Anaya keeps to herself for the most part, but he thinks it’d do her good to put herself out there. Have a bit of fun, loosen up, connect with people.]

[She cuts her laughter short with his elbow colliding on her arm, but seeing the humour in his tone, she allows herself one lasting chuckle in the end.] Kinda funny, [she insists, even if she's shaking her head.

Dying Victorian child is a perfect way to describe their horrible lack of endurance. Anaya hums in agreement, contemplating their joined wrists and hands. She'd always been slim, before the apocalypse, but now her weight is alarming. She doesn't like seeing the way her bones seem to push out of her skin, even after being in the colony for weeks. Living in zero gravity had really done a number on them. It's funny, that she still remembers space so fondly, as her home, even after everything they've gone through up there. Costin's mention of fucking gets another hum from her.] Fucking is part of being human, though. I get it. [She particularly hasn't give it as much thought, but it's not something she completely ignores, either. Her drive may be lower, but not nonexistent.] And hey, at least you got some. [Her smile is a wide grin again, teasing.]

No, [she snorts.] But I've been flirted with, if we're honest. [People probably think she doesn't notice much, given how she always reacts with indifference or like a deer in headlights, but she knows. It's hard not to be aware of someone flirting with her when it feels like such a shock every time.] Nothing too exciting, or I would've told you about it. Still not even convinced I like this place, let alone the people in it, to get busy with anyone.

[anayadolmen]

cvnstantin​:

ebrius | constantin & anaya

[Constantin has been to several funerals before, but never an English one. It’s a very different experience to what he’s used to. Back home it was always a celebration of life, with laughter and enjoyment. Here, even when people get up to share stories about Kaiser there’s an air of sombreness about it. It’s not fun, and Constantin feels as though he’s going to get tutted at if he behaves how he usually would at a funeral.

There’s no right or wrong way to approach death, but the English are terribly uptight about it. Thank god for Anaya – she’s English, but she’s also developed a pretty intense irreverence towards death. She’s also drunk. He should know, because he’s drunk too. It’s not good for their balance, but he more or less manages to prop her up as she leans against him. See, Constantin thinks, this isn’t a problem you have in space. There’s no falling over because you’re always floating.

He’s clinging to just enough sobriety to feel bad that they’re tipsy and laughing when everyone else is so sombre; obviously people are going to be outraged if they hear Constantin and Anaya giggling about what great fertiliser the corpse would be. But she’s so fucking earnest about it, and she’s also probably right. It’s just not the sort of thing you ask, especially not at a funeral. With a guilty glance at the person that cleared their throat, Constantin nods. He doesn’t ‘want’ to go, as such, but he definitely thinks they should. Eyeing a bottle of wine, he weighs up his chances of smuggling one out with them. Given the presence of guards, he’s going to take the sensible route and not find out.] 

I think probably ve should. But if you go to dig up grave, I have to stop you. [With a protective hand on Ana’s back, he begins to guide them to the door. He’s focusing very hard on keeping his balance. Thus far they’ve managed to avoid causing a scene and he’s determined not to fall at the last hurdle. Thinking about it, he actually does want to leave. He’s so tired of feeling miserable these days. Having a drink and laughing with Anaya is the first time he’s really felt like himself in a while, and – sorry Kaiser – the wake is depressing. He’d far rather go and get some fresh air and just enjoy being around Ana for a while.] 

[Anaya still has the same problem she's had since Kaiser's death was announced; she feels as if she's borrowing everyone else's grief. She doesn't feel anything for the man on the ground, not in any meaningful way. Sure, it's sad, she knows how to recognise that, and she wishes things were different because she sees a lot of people suffering this loss. But at the end of the day, she's not going through any stages, she's already way past acceptance, and standing in the middle of this funeral is incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe their whole experience in space is also to blame. There's a film layer of nihilism over everything, after you already accept that you're one of the last people alive, fated to death, and that's before you begin to unpack the other near-death experiences they've both endured.

So she doesn't think it's entirely unfair to imagine she would want to bail on this event. The only remaining hope she had would be that they let her collect some organic matter to use as fertiliser, but since they probably won't, it's meaningless.]

I'm not a gravedigger, [she whisper-shouts, gasping in outrage. She won't even go as far as directly asking anyone for it, let alone going behind officials' backs for something like this, but loopy as she is, the thought makes her giggle again. Praying her feet don't fail her now, she walks out the door -- probably holding her body so tense, overcompensating, that she must look a bit insane. She only stumbles once near the door but doesn't fall, so they're probably safe.

As soon as they're far from hearing range of the wake, she allows herself to laugh more freely, grabbing onto Constantin's hand in fear that they might drift apart due to her disorderly steps.] That was so sad, [she's still whispering, just in case.] When I die, please don't let my funeral be so boring. Sing a song or something. Do a dance. Promise me.

[anayadolmen]

quinn-dervilia​:

ALL FOR ONE || quinn & anaya

[[ Slim fingers hold the weapon uncertainly, not sure what to do with her hands. Quinn steps forwards, at first he’s standing in front of her, moving the barrel with two fingers so it’s not pointing directly at his chest. ]] Your hands go here and here. [[ He says as he moves them on at a time. One to support the gun, the other by the trigger. ]] Finger off the trigger until you’re ready.

[[ After that and a gentle smile he stands behind her. Arms going either side of her, positioning her arms. Oh, he could easily have explained this, but where is the fun in that? ]] Hold it like this and you have to sort of tuck it in. [[ Holding both her hands he moves the butt of the gun to rest under her shoulder, the same way Clove had corrected Quinn.

Stepping back he looks over her corrected form (and at Anaya in general). ]] That looks good. How’s it feel?

[Anaya listens intently at first, holding her hands where they're placed, despite feeling so out of place doing so. To be fair, it's not like her previous stance felt any better, so maybe she just needs to get used to holding a gun in any way.

And then he steps behind her, and Anaya feels herself tense up. Suddenly aware of every single muscle on her body, she holds her breath, tension held in the hairs that stand on end on the back of her neck. It's not quite aversion that begs for such a reaction, no, by any means, she finds that she doesn't mind having Quinn so close, against her best judgement -- it's just the surprise of having anyone so close. Anyone that isn't Constantin.

He steps back, and she finds herself gulping, the breath that she'd been holding leaving her lips in a sigh. Her body still feels tense, but at least she can pretend that's because of the gun.] Um. Right. Yeah. [She stammers, none of those words being a good answer to his question.] Feels good. [Is her voice always this high-pitched? Oh, boy. She feels the tips of her ears burning, and tries with all of her might to focus on the deadly weapon in her hands instead of feeling Quinn's eyes still on her.] Can I shoot now?