vin. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indispensible) wrote2013-12-26 05:02 pm
indispensible) wrote2013-12-26 05:02 pm
six. list & private & spam. hail the pages turning.
This is rude.
private } arya
I want to talk to you.
[Because she feels weird and confused about this holiday, and she wants to beat it up.]
spam } stark
[Vin sends Clifford after Stark, not to monitor his behavior exactly, but to essentially bother him until he gets fed up with it and comes to find her. She has a question, okay.]
open spam } library
[She's looking for information - she's even writing it down. Not about the holidays, all of which frighten and annoy her in ways she can't even begin to articulate, but about dance. She starts with a history, gets frustrated with it, manages not to throw it across the room, and finds a book with more pictures and less history. Reading is still relatively new to her. She doesn't understand why it's harder when she's upset.]
[This is her gift to herself, if everyone is meant to get them: a search for movements that mean as much to other people as hers mean to her. Different ways of learning to speak.]
[Soon enough, she's surrounded by piles of books and half-crumpled papers, with her childish handwriting scrawled across it.]
➽ Ben: Comfortable, dressy shoes to dance in
➽ Alana: A slim knife, with a note that I’ll show her how to use it if she likes.
➽ Nathan: Memorable smells from my home – the beer and liquor of our hideout, the perfumes of the balls, ash beaten into a Mistcloak, the smell of metal shavings suspended in liquid. A locket with a picture of her in it.
➽ Beatrix: A glass dagger.
➽ Megamind: A music box, with music and steps from home, if you can do that.
➽ Morgana: A comfortable gown with space in the sleeves for weapons, and a simple circlet.
➽ Kelsier: A gold pocket-watch, with a picture of Mare inside.
➽ Marsh: Fabric, as much as he wants and any kind he wants.
➽ Zane: Things to touch. Pieces of coarse furs, or soft leaves, lamb’s ear, rough bark. Things to remind him who he is when he gets upset.
➽ Stark: A koloss sword
➽ Arya: Ways to conceal weapons – thigh straps, arm straps. Thin, light mail. A key to my cabin, in case she ever needs me.
➽ Dean: Ten pies. They have to stay good until he wakes up and be next to his bed when he does.
private } arya
I want to talk to you.
[Because she feels weird and confused about this holiday, and she wants to beat it up.]
spam } stark
[Vin sends Clifford after Stark, not to monitor his behavior exactly, but to essentially bother him until he gets fed up with it and comes to find her. She has a question, okay.]
open spam } library
[She's looking for information - she's even writing it down. Not about the holidays, all of which frighten and annoy her in ways she can't even begin to articulate, but about dance. She starts with a history, gets frustrated with it, manages not to throw it across the room, and finds a book with more pictures and less history. Reading is still relatively new to her. She doesn't understand why it's harder when she's upset.]
[This is her gift to herself, if everyone is meant to get them: a search for movements that mean as much to other people as hers mean to her. Different ways of learning to speak.]
[Soon enough, she's surrounded by piles of books and half-crumpled papers, with her childish handwriting scrawled across it.]
spam
Okay, the creepy watching you all the time thing I can get. But Kelsier judges the kids of the world, eats cookies, drinks milk, and walks around in a red suit?
[Why yes, he's being a smartass. This is what happens when you remove Stark from his natural habitat and into the field of emotions and sadness.]
spam
[She folds her arms, still not looking at him.]
Not the - man in the suit. The one who died for God. That one reminds me of Kelsier.
I hate it.
[She can't really explain why she's telling Stark this. It's not like he's good at comfort. But she doesn't know who else to tell.]
spam
[If it was anybody else except Kelsier.]
[Stark sighs.]
Well, I can't exactly make Jesus go away, Vin. Or Christmas for that matter. The most I can suggest is either focus on the fat guy with the suit or shut it out of your mind. With alcohol if that helps.
[See? Not good at this. But he is trying.]
I mean, there's more to Christmas than Jesus anyway. All that goodwill bullshit and giving each other presents. It kinda stole from Thanksgiving with that whole be grateful for shit thing, too.
spam
[But it's not anybody else. It's him. And she doesn't like being reminded about how he died anymore than she has to be.]
[Her facial expression is currently the rough equivalent of why can't you?, but at least she's listening. The suggestion of goodwill and gifts just makes her scowl more.]
I never knew anybody with gifts to give at any time of year. Nobody worth knowing, at least, not until I was grown. It seems stupid.
[Nothing to be grateful for, either, frankly. She sighs.]
What kind of alcohol? [She gives up.]
spam
Whatever you can stomach that gets you drunk as quickly as possible.
[He is the expert on this method though there is notable bitching in his head over it in general. Stark knows he's a terrible influence without an angel giving his input.]
spam
spam
Okay, Vincesca. Let's get you some of the black stuff.
[He's not really sure if she can stomach it. But no doubt she'll make an honest effort. And it'll get her drunk faster.]
[Plus, it's making the angel in his head huffy. Win-win for everyone.]
spam
[She walks unusually close to him; while she usually keeps a distance of at least a meter and a half, she's easily half that far away now. Stark is not dependable or kind or particularly sane, but she still feels more secure being close to him than being far away.]
[No hugs this time, though. She did promise.]
spam
[Stark leads her and Clifford back to his room, opening the door and motioning them in.]
Ladies and golems first.
spam
Do your worst.
spam
[One glass full of Aqua Regia coming up, Vin. Though for Stark first. Since you're being a pain in the ass. Then you'll get one.]
Don't chug it.
For the record, you end up sick? I'm not holding your hair. That'll be Clifford's job.