ᴅʀ. ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴀ ❝ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ❞ ᴢɪᴇɢʟᴇʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cadeuces) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2017-02-19 12:00 pm
cadeuces) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-02-19 12:00 pm
( open ) there's a road that follows to a home
Who: Angela & you!
When: The month of February and onward
Where: Region 2 farmlands, at her cottage
What: A permanent downtime log for house shenanigans!
Warnings: None, but I will update if anything comes along!
[ Angela's work schedule is a fairly clear-cut thing on the best of days. Three days working in Kauto's hospital, three days up on Chioni, and then two days off. Around the time of planet discovery and the initial burst of travels, she hovers around the Ingress Complex to assist any who may return injured, and she's otherwise on call across all three if emergencies required her skills. To say she isn't home terribly often is a fair enough assessment, but she still had plenty of downtime every evening, considering the longer days.
There's a key in the base of the lantern beside her front door, but not everyone knows about it— not even a handful from her own world. Those who do, however, know they have a free pass to her home whether she's there or no. A spare bed to crawl into, a couch to wait on, access to her stash of medical supplies (but seriously just call her for help). A kitchen to rummage through, now often with fresh-baked bread and a steady offering of apples off her trees on hand, as well as any leftovers in the fridge.
Eiger still accompanies her to work as a resident therapy dog, but he could be found around the property when she works her shifts on Chioni, access out the back door through the flap when he no longer feels like awaiting her return at the front. The cottage itself is on a hill and the back extends out on a bridge as an elongated sunroom, stretching out over the creek running through her property. The back door itself leads one to a winding path down through the copse of trees preceding her quaint little orchard of apple and walnut trees, surrounding a gazebo set up with a fire pit and the basics for cooking in warmer weather, hammock piled high in furs leftover from the Midway Hub's game— if anyone chose to visit and didn't have access to her house, this would be the ideal place to camp. (Just make sure to message her so she knows you're there! She'll come around once she's home to let you in.)
If she's home and not in the house, one would undoubtedly find her in that hammock with her work, fire crackling at hand and her cup of coffee long-since cold, Eiger curled up behind her legs. It's not the largest of places, but it's home, and there's blankets on near every surface— even the chairs in the kitchen. The creek is a relaxing babble, the creak of the water wheel partially powering her home, and if she's home, there's always a fire going if it's cold out and coffee going. ]
( ooc: This will be a permanent post for house stuff! I'll be posting monthly headers and any prompts relating to events or going-ons within to link from my toplevels, but I am 100% open to casual plotting or visits; just hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
clegane or on discord (gauche#5968) and we can work something out! ♥ )
february ● march ● april ● may ● june ● july ● august
When: The month of February and onward
Where: Region 2 farmlands, at her cottage
What: A permanent downtime log for house shenanigans!
Warnings: None, but I will update if anything comes along!
[ Angela's work schedule is a fairly clear-cut thing on the best of days. Three days working in Kauto's hospital, three days up on Chioni, and then two days off. Around the time of planet discovery and the initial burst of travels, she hovers around the Ingress Complex to assist any who may return injured, and she's otherwise on call across all three if emergencies required her skills. To say she isn't home terribly often is a fair enough assessment, but she still had plenty of downtime every evening, considering the longer days.
There's a key in the base of the lantern beside her front door, but not everyone knows about it— not even a handful from her own world. Those who do, however, know they have a free pass to her home whether she's there or no. A spare bed to crawl into, a couch to wait on, access to her stash of medical supplies (but seriously just call her for help). A kitchen to rummage through, now often with fresh-baked bread and a steady offering of apples off her trees on hand, as well as any leftovers in the fridge.
Eiger still accompanies her to work as a resident therapy dog, but he could be found around the property when she works her shifts on Chioni, access out the back door through the flap when he no longer feels like awaiting her return at the front. The cottage itself is on a hill and the back extends out on a bridge as an elongated sunroom, stretching out over the creek running through her property. The back door itself leads one to a winding path down through the copse of trees preceding her quaint little orchard of apple and walnut trees, surrounding a gazebo set up with a fire pit and the basics for cooking in warmer weather, hammock piled high in furs leftover from the Midway Hub's game— if anyone chose to visit and didn't have access to her house, this would be the ideal place to camp. (Just make sure to message her so she knows you're there! She'll come around once she's home to let you in.)
If she's home and not in the house, one would undoubtedly find her in that hammock with her work, fire crackling at hand and her cup of coffee long-since cold, Eiger curled up behind her legs. It's not the largest of places, but it's home, and there's blankets on near every surface— even the chairs in the kitchen. The creek is a relaxing babble, the creak of the water wheel partially powering her home, and if she's home, there's always a fire going if it's cold out and coffee going. ]
( ooc: This will be a permanent post for house stuff! I'll be posting monthly headers and any prompts relating to events or going-ons within to link from my toplevels, but I am 100% open to casual plotting or visits; just hit me up at
no subject
And he enjoys this, the rapport. He could spend hours just listening to his companion paint pictures of the Swiss Alps in accented English, put color to descriptions with her inhales and exhales, but Angela isn't a cassette and this isn't an impersonal ACC; if he wants more from her, he's going to have to give.
That's also novel. What do you mean, conversations are two-way streets???
He exhales as she rises up to sit, a whisper-sigh-laugh that ruffles her clothes. ]
Makes sense that you're a winter person.
[ A warm spot in an avalanche. Without explaining his somewhat obtuse statement, his vague smile persists, and V hums the first few bars of a song that he woke up to in Dhekelia under his breath: "walk out to winter, swear I'll be there—" ]
My stint in warm weather sure as hell wasn't comfortable. [ a rare moment where he uses a half-expletive. He's comfortable around Angela, sue him. ] The Middle Eastern heat sticks around. The sand, too.
[ Another laugh-sigh, since he seems to be full of these today. ]
Keep fishing. Pretty sure you'll find half the desert in my hair.
no subject
He's listening to her every syllable and she always feels like she can keep speaking to him, allow him to listen when he takes it all in so readily. Yet she wants more out of him, always wanting to learn, and that means letting him say his piece as well. Gently nudge him into a zone of his discomfort to glean further information from him, if she must, but never out of spite. His laugh catches her sweater and leaves her smiling in turn, a flash of teeth as she settles about his shoulder joint and takes his elbow in one hand to pivot his arm about, giving her access to the tendon and a wider range of deep muscle.
Before she had the chance to reply, in the few moments his words sink in, he hums a few bars and her eyes fall shut, listening to his voice, head slowly tipping in an imitation of a sway.
The expletive only leaves her smile twitching a fraction wider. He's comfortable; that should be a given with his shirt off and his arm detached, but it's still a nice indication. ]
That it does. Though on the topic of seasons, if I had to peg you, I'd say you're a crisp fall sort of man. Leather jackets and scarves; I'll have to find you one when the season's right.
[ Her hand skims about the joint, pressing in to feel, yet he laughs again and his good humor is plenty contagious— and, with the gentlest tug at his elbow to encourage the remains of his arm to uncurl, she leans down to reward it with a kiss to the crook of his elbow. The joint feels all right so her hands reposition at his shoulders, one on each side to work into a gentle knead. ]
I was quite certain I washed all of that out, but I can always go for another pass just to see.
[ Okay, the shoulder massage is briefly abandoned to slip her fingers into his hair from his temples, nails skimming along the shrapnel on one side to give him a tiny ruffle. There, see? Sand-free. Her integrity as a hairdresser wasn't to be questioned today. She'll go back to kneading the heels of her hands into him, brushing down his neck to settle back where they'd been resting before. ]
no subject
Beyond the massages— which work, make no mistake— what lowers Venom's guard is the realization that the more he relaxes, the more Angela does. The kind of proliferation he can get behind, a language rendered in flesh and bone. ]
Hellbent on cleaning me up, huh.
[ He takes her affection without protest, the kiss to his skin and the sift of her fingers. He even files away her preference for him, the image of himself in a clean-cut leather jacket and a scarf. Ha.
(not red, Ocelot— Venom wouldn't dream of stealing someone else's trademarks.)
Angela ruffles him like a dog, and he shivers lightly under her hands like one. His body thanking him and the attentive hands for freeing him from weight and pressure, reciprocating by slacking and relinquishing. No contesting Angela's ability to make him look like a human again after a long day; no, he won't tarnish her credibility.
Instead, he breathes a soft huff. ]
Skip the leather. People say I look scary enough.
[ leather daddy is intimidating, ok ]
no subject
Clean often means comfort. I'm hellbent on seeing you comfortable.
[ It's the least she can do. And, she's often convinced, about all she can really and truly offer him at the end of the day. He allows her kisses and her attentions to fall on him, distracting from everything else whirling about outside these walls, but her image of him is nowhere near so harsh and menacing.
Ahab shivers to her touch, quiet though it may have been, before she's righting his hair still pulled back in a tie and grinning with her mischief. ]
You're not scary at all, Ahab. I was thinking more along the lines of an old bomber and something dustier. Olive drab maybe, or a denim blue.
[ It'd bring out his eye(s) and soften the severity with sheepswool and earthier colors. One of her legs careens in and she catches his knee between her own, a bit of warmth to combat that earlier shiver lest his body get any ideas about goosebumps, yet all he manages is to relax further until she's working up the sides of his neck once more, ensuring as much of that tension from hauling around a mischievous and heavy arm gets smoothed away. ]
How's that feeling?
no subject
Comfort will ruin him; he knows that softness will only make whatever roughness waiting for him in the future chafe more.
Still, Angela will be Angela. He lets her have this, hands on skin on heart. ]
Sounds dangerous.
[ Both her mission and her outfit choice for him. Take a snake out of the jungle, sure, but don't remove his fangs; Venom can't imagine being so civilian, but maybe that's just him.
Still, his lips twitch upwards imperceptibly as he rears up, letting Angela's hands slide down to his shoulders. ]
...Feel as good as new again. [ He rolls his neck, demonstrating his ease of mobility as he fixes her with his single fog-blue. ] Now it's just the other arm that needs to be looked at.
no subject
(Or will it brace him when the going really gets rough, knowing the world can be better? That people can be better?) ]
You never struck me as a man who shrunk away from danger.
[ Her amusement warms his skin, carried on syllables reverberating along sun-faded brown because she can't ever imagine him as unintimidating. The power in his frame, his sheer size alone speaking to his strength, the scars and eyepatch— he is someone who's lived a rough life and still come out ahead, still breathing. A change of clothing isn't going to make such a difference when his shoulders will always be broad, he'll always be scruffy, and the softness of the expressions he turns on her will never quite make her forget that deep vein of anger roiling beneath the surface, ready to open a yawning void in the earth's crust and swallow cities whole. A quiet danger, something she's only seen once rendered impotent with his control over it, never turning it on anyone or anything. And it had receded back down given time and the twine of their fingers, speaking of the circumstances allowed to mitigate those emotions.
He had his venom, yes, but rarely did he bare his fangs.
And she doesn't miss that little smile when he rises from her hold, hand slipping back down to his shoulder and the other in the crook of his elbow, first hand eventually joining the second as he rolls his neck, finishing the job as she kneads down his forearm. ]
I'm glad to hear it, as always, but do let me finish. [ The little smile that echoes his own has another fraction of genuine relief warming it, mirroring his own and all the warmer for it, finally working down to take hold of his hand and massage the joints, between the tendons in the back of his hand and thumbs working deep circles in his palm. ] My reputation's at stake, you know. I don't leave a patient half-cured.
no subject
[ Careless banter, delivered with ease. Angela brings that out of him, the easy rapport that he used to share with—
—with? It's hard to remember, but he casts that thought aside to settle his remaining hand against Angela's palm. She's still smiling, and the temperature of her voice pitches a few degrees higher than the cool skin against his now-relaxed muscles. The difference is always welcome; like the first whistle of spring after a long winter.
He turns his hand over, and curls his fingers over the unmarred plane of his companion's skin. It always strikes him, how clean Angela is despite the hellscape her hands must've seen. ]
...Sounds like you've got a hell of a success rate.
[ Fully cured or six feet under. That's more illustrious than it sounds. ]
no subject
[ It's come easy to them for some time now, and she appreciates the familiarity and idle distraction as she works down to his hand, eyes closing when he turns palm-up for her, fingers curling about one hand while her thumbs work gun-worn flesh. She hadn't missed that quiet moment of consideration after his statement but she wants him to remain relaxed, and it had passed either way.
She'll let it go to curl her fingertips against his wrist, giving him her hand and stroking over the soft thin skin there, the network of blue veins relaying his pulse. ]
Nanotechnology has its uses. With a bit of bedside manner. [ Her hand slips from his slowly, fingertips ghost off his palm, tracing down his fingers until they drop off the ends, nails rasping off the very tips to pat his knee, easing back out of his space so she can stand and shift over to sit beside him, scooping his prosthetic back up. Cradled along her arm for quite the picture, yet she's delicate. It's an extension of him that has worked hard and to the bone, and it's time for a little TLC. ] All right, that should tide you over. Scoot just a bit, please.
[ Because once he gives her half the couch, she's pulling over a lapdesk to cover with an anti-static sheet, crossing her legs up beneath it, and turning her back to his side to spread the fingers out at a relaxed curl. Here, too, she's at ease. It takes her back to late nights and younger years, fiddling about with spare parts and learning how to care for biotics. She's interested to see what sort of technology came in a 1980s biotic, reaching for the necessary tools to begin removing screws, piecing apart the outer shell. Angela's spent enough time examining his arm in all these months; she knows where to start.
And no, she doesn't leave anyone broken. If her best isn't good enough it's usually for a reason, but Ahab is nowhere near such a point. Is it any real surprise her success rate has such a narrow middleground? ]
no subject
Stay professional, doc.
[ As if he didn't start it first, with all his allusions to being shirtless in her general vicinity. Even a half-dead man with a fake face has his moments.
With his limbs free from attentive hands, Venom employs the luxury of mobility (debatable, since he was enjoying the massage) to get up from the couch for a spare beat and find his TAB between the folds of his discarded shirt. Even in comfortable company, his movements are silent— not even a rustle as he dislodges his device and settles back against Angela, giving her the requested space. The familiar click and grind of his prosthetic is cognitive dissonance when it's not coming from directly to his left, but that's fine. He can adjust.
His right hand fiddles with the controls on his TAB screen. The mechanism shifts to camera mode, and he cranes backwards along the length of the couch to get Angela in frame. A serious-looking profile, cast in warm overhead lighting.
Click. ]
no subject
Right, right. Please forgive me.
[ No one's pointing any fingers, especially not when she's lifted back up in his presence, a sorrow-wilted flower given water and sunshine once the clouds were parted with that desert breeze, a place to thrive in the presence of a friend. No restrictions on her behavior or expressions, no needing to reel in her words or body language— she would never have called Jack a stressor, yet she had gone out of her way the entire week to ensure he didn't bail at her slightest show of discomfort and that he could rest and relax. It certainly hadn't been his fault and other things had compounded her malaise, channeling that energy into other tasks at hand. Continuing to file it further back in her to-do pile until it stares her in the face once again.
And relaxes another fraction again with his ease in her presence, padding about the living room half-bared and without his arm, not making so much as a scuff of his socks on the floor and weight distributed so there wasn't even a creak of wood beneath him. If she weren't aware of him in her peripheral, she wouldn't know he was moving at all until his weight is sinking the cushion beside her own, feeling the shift of the sofa frame accommodating them both once again as his warmth returns.
With the protective plating and the casing off, meticulously set aside on another sheet laid out on the table, she's exposed the inner workings to the expected grit and grease and dust buildup of age and the occasional twisting of the limb to crack open the sleeve beneath, allowing in the occasional organic bits of the world. With another tool she tests for live wires and begins thinning out some of the excess redundant ones, especially the ones that have long-since gone cold. It's antiquated, certainly, but well beyond its time even so.
It's when she's carefully unwinding the wire ends from a particular bundle assigned to his ring finger that he snaps a picture, turned halfway between sideways and the back of the sofa as he frames her and the click is chased with the twitch of a smile, freeing the wire a moment after to set aside with the rest. It will lighten things for him, yes, but also give her more room to work. ]
Shall I pose?
no subject
Sentimental, he hears in the back of his head. Chiding and biting.
Still, he takes another picture before leaning over Angela's back and extending a forearm over her shoulder to show her what he's taken. He's not half bad, really. ]
You look fine.
[ As if she'd been asking if he wanted her to pose because she was concerned about how she looked— buy yourself a clue, Venom Snake. No real attention paid to his opened arm laying across her lap. He trusts that she has that under control. ]
no subject
Have you ever considered photography? You're quite talented, Ahab.
[ She hadn't been worried about how she looked, no, but the praise is certainly warranted. It was only the TAB device but he still had an eye for taking them. The undulation of her spine has her sitting back upright, shoulder skimming under his arm before raising with a little shrug, head tipping as if to hug him there. Trap his arm over her for a split second as she sets her tools down and makes to take the device.
Let her have it, and she may take a picture of them both. ]
no subject
Angela curls like crepe paper, hair to shoulder to cheek to jaw. She's in his space before he realizes it, and the scent of her shampoo is warm and dense to offset the sharpness of medical disinfectant. He barely smells the latter at all, really, as he shifts to let her slot against his chest and take the TAB from him. ]
If I ever put down my gun.
[ He says, offhanded. Some part of it is melancholy— he knows he'll never actually do that— but it's not particularly weighty. Just a statement of fact.
It's also a little strange to see himself on the other end of the lens, austere and scar-pattered on his TAB screen. Something about seeing that face next to Angela's smooth, perfect features feels like cognitive dissonance.
He almost pulls a face. ] You sure you want me in this one?
no subject
At least here, for however long we're caught, you can. I think we could find some beautiful places to get pictures. Now, what do I have to bribe you with to smile? Even just a little.
[ It's held a little higher than eye level to look up into, drawing his cheek in against hers and to angle his horn away from reflecting light, her own coy little smile on the screen beside him. There's no countdown, no "say cheese", just the shutter-click of the camera when he seems to decide on an expression.
She'll trust him to let her lean against him a few more seconds to send herself the picture. (And still not giving it back.) ]
What kind of a question is that? I'm appalled it's taken so long to get a picture with my sweet, handsome friend.
no subject
So, yeah: he smiles. A sliver of one, with scarred lips angled upwards just a millimeter. Relaxed.
He knows he'll lose her too, but it doesn't hurt too terribly to commemorate her. ]
Sounds like you've taken a picture with the wrong friend. [ Sweet????? Handsome??? Ok, Big Boss is probably handsome, so he can't exactly refute that outright, but.
He breathes into Angela's hair, and watches her relinquish control over his device. He's in no rush to get it back. ]
—Your teammates settled in alright? [ On the subject of friends, though. ]
no subject
It's the knowledge of forgetting everything so important that's happened that really gnaws on her bones. Rends cartilage and rips tendons. She could lay in bed a rag doll some nights just thinking about who's left and that they don't remember their time here, and that one day it'll be her not remembering the gradual ease of her new friends adjusting to her presence and the warmth of their trust in her hands. The way Jack had held onto her so tightly or Jesse's easy drawl still curling in her ears. 'Just here and there, Ang. You know me.' She wants to believe they'll find a way to keep one's memories, somehow. Even if it'd hurt. It'd hurt worse in the here and now to know there'd be those gaping holes in her and not know why they exist once she's home. You can't cure a disease when the symptoms have already flared and there's no underlying cause visible.
His words are what spur her back to action, reflected smile lopsided with her exasperation before she's turning just a pinch playful, one hand coming up to his opposite cheek to hold him in place while she turns her face, camera snapping one last photo a millisecond after she plants a kiss on his cheek. There's one for the photo wall. He can write "Not Mistaken" on the back. She doesn't reply until she's well on her way to forwarding that one, as well, leaning back on him. ]
I have a PhD, you know. I don't make mistakes so easily. And you're perfectly handsome. Here; all yours.
[ He can finally have his TAB back and she'll finally climb back out of his space, hand at his leg to push herself back upright after resting so comfortably against him. Time to get back to work. As for teammates, though... ]
Ah... As far as I'm aware, yes. Though everyone ended up quite scattered throughout the regions. I don't hear from many of them often really, and Genji... [ Ahab should remember him; he'd been camping in her tent with her during their trek, and he was seen at her hip more often than not before the Moira had crashed. ] I don't believe he made it through.
[ The million dollar answer right there. It explains enough, doesn't it? The fine sag of her shoulders even as she's picking her tools back up, her sails falling limp until she could catch her breath to fill them once more. ]
I can only hope he made it back home safely, but I couldn't get an answer one way or the other.
no subject
(He never does. That's the problem.)
This place is transient. It's a cassette that they're filling with ambient noise, a test recording that'll be taped over when the time comes to move on with the real meat of their usual lives. It might not even be real; for all Venom knows, he's lying face-up in a hospital bed with a kind nurse speaking into his ear. Maybe that's Angela, embellished by his subconscious. Something to look forward to when he opens his eyes again.
But that's unfair, isn't it. He sees the sadness curl into the edges of his companion's expression, so he picks right up where he left off to take his device from her and toss it back into the fold of his clothes. ]
This place isn't good for answers.
[ She straightens to make room for herself again, but Venom shifts right back into her bubble. It's the kind of tactic that would be used for intimidation in more unsavory situations, but in the here and now, it's only meant to be conspiratorial. Protective? Maybe, to some extent. Especially considering her confession.
His remaining palm settles in the space between her shoulderblades, where he remembers the fasteners for her wings would've been. She carries so much of everyone in the arch of her spine, and he traces it up to her neck with idle reverence. He doesn't even realize that he's done so. ]
I'm listening. [ If she wants to keep talking about it, or if she wants to talk about something else. He's not going anywhere. ]
no subject
Sometimes that's all it took.
(It's a little unfair to think she may not be real at this point, yes, but who could blame him?)
He seems more concerned with her than with the pictures she's taken with him, tossing the TAB aside to follow the curve of her when she sits back up to work, his warmth a balm against her back even before his hand rests between her shoulderblades. Ahab could never pull off intimidation with her, anymore. He's long-since forfeit that angle by placing his trust in her hands time and again. No matter what may happen or how his demeanor shifts, she'll always tap into some deep vein of patience for him.
Her eyes close for a long few moments to simply soak in the heat of his hand seeping through her sweater, his touch tracing up to her nape and to bare skin where rough fingertips come to rest. Her head tips forward just a little, the stretch of her neck inviting as she softens to him. ]
It isn't, is it? [ Conceding, for another long moment, and his voice is so close to her. He really is right behind her, curving over her. His bulk dwarfs her yet he isn't overwhelming in the least— it's a comfort to have him at her back, shelter from a buffeting gale and warmth from the cold. How could he have doubted her claim of his sweetness? There's sugar spun into the very fiber of his being, surfacing here with his presence encasing her and his touch, the words he offers her. The offer to listen. ] A lot has happened, is all.
[ Angela finally opens her eyes once more and sets about working anew, filtering out shorted or ripped wires and carefully piecing it apart in small chunks to clean everything thoroughly. Over a year's buildup of grease and grime and grit. She'll have to repair the protective sleeve or perhaps replace it altogether with a more comprehensive carbon fiber. She'd get him taken care of, however it panned out. Just when it seems she had capped off the conversation with that, though, she begins to speak again. ]
Though I did find out someone I had thought dead managed to survive, as well. There's always balance in the universe, isn't there? I distracted myself for a while with his presence, ensuring he was all right after he was badly injured. He hadn't wanted to tell me who he was, yet it just sort of tumbled out. I've been so glad. Even if it'd been an accident. Even if he never would have told me otherwise.
[ The hurt in that statement is unfortunately clear, but it's still laced with her understanding— of course she understood. It didn't make it better, but she understood. Even her attempts in speaking of it with David had been cut short. Being able to say it here, now... She slumps a little further, deflated, but it's a weight off of her chest. ]
no subject
He listens. Absorbs. Connects dots with lines, and rewrites some of the things he knows as mental snapshots so that they make more sense in context. There's really only one person that Angela's ever mentioned being dead and presumably six feet under in this place— or, well. Two, really, but she'd already told Venom that one of the pair'd clawed his way out of purgatory long ago.
So that leaves the remaining one. Not terribly difficult to narrow down from the list of former Moira crew members, and of course, of course.
No wonder 76 was so critical. ]
That's his problem, not yours.
[ The matter of him not wanting to tell, the matter of the so-called mystery man's need to be tight-lipped. It's delivered with sympathy, but with an overarching neutrality; ascribing blame would be easy, but it would also be a disservice. Both to Angela and the dead-turned-living.
Still, Venom moves his palm from Angela's neck to her shoulder, fingers tightening to grip in solidarity. ]
Not a crime to say that it's a difficult pill to swallow, either.
no subject
As well as how deeply he cared for those around him. He's a good man. And intelligent beyond a doubt. The world has doled out so many shiners with him yet he still walked forward. That took a particular brand of strength she's long-since come to respect.
It should be horrendous how easily he figured it all out.
His words are kind and delivered with care, but still she shakes her head. ]
It shouldn't be anyone's "problem". I should be able to just be glad he's alive. It isn't something I should have to fight over and justify. No one's relationships are so cut and dry. It doesn't simply come down to "someone lied to you" or "what were my feelings for"; it isn't for me to make it about myself. Far more happened beyond my purview.
[ She isn't saying anything he doesn't already know, just... she isn't seeking sympathy nor is she upset. It's nice to tell someone, is all. Finally. Ahab's touch at her neck works back down to her shoulder, relaxing to his touch and then another fraction as he offers her a little squeeze, voice textured on her exhale with a soft hum. Her head tips to press her cheek to his knuckles— just for a moment. ]
You sound as though you speak from experience.
[ Halfway through removing, cleaning, and replacing the wiring now, on the elbow side. The opposite end would be an even larger chore, but this is a steady start as she puzzles out the technology. It's a good distraction for the topic. ]
no subject
It's not something Venom is used to.
(Something about him feels dirty— the part of him that wrings necks and pulls triggers and knows that he's never really been above anything, no. The part of him that sat, baking under sub-Saharan heat, with blood crusting under his nails and the blunt edge of a dead animal between his teeth.)
When Angela's cheek touches the crest of his knuckles, he jerks his fingers up to drum the flat of the back of them against her jaw. Her pulse is steady, and her breath is warm. It's instinct that drives him to rest his chin against her hair for a fraction of a second, as if her fortitude could be infectious. ]
That's easier said than done. [ 'Being glad', that is. But his tone suggests that he's not trying to admonish; it's a solemn admission of something that's probably more pertinent to him than it is to her. He acknowledges the shift, to some extent, and compensates by wrapping the arm he has left to circle Angela's middle.
Don't worry, he's still got her. ] —I've got experience, but I'm not as generous as you are.
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It had hurt, but the pain was manageable. It fades by the day, by the minute, bit by bit. Putting more pain into the world is no way to live life, and she does her best to avoid it.
Everyone had their own ways to live their lives. (Even Venom Snake, with strong fingers about the neck of enemy soldiers and kills in the desert for survival.) This is simply hers. She can take anger and pain and disappointment into herself and wring the energy from it all, discarding the scraps and putting it forth into something better.
Just like this. Her nervous energy poured into repairing his arm because that was far more important, bettering his life and his functionality in the world. A positive butterfly effect.
Angela stills for the press of his fingers beneath her jaw, knuckles to her carotid and feeling the beat of her heart, calmed further from his arrival. Like magnetism, his chin is in her hair again and she can feel half an exhale against her head before he's tipping back out of her space. Did he catch the bug? ]
I suppose it is. I've had some difficulty convincing others that it can be so easy for me when others can't conceive it. [ She knows it's without admonishment. Ahab doesn't throw his judgment around so easily, either. They share that in common as well. Taking the time to analyze situations and feel out their own emotions in regards to it, never acting impulsively. Yet she also realizes how unlikely it is that he agrees with the mindset, even if he doesn't speak up one way or the other. They had drastically different lives when it came down to it, and have chosen to lead them in drastically different ways. For all the ways they're similar, they were also truly not. ] You must feel the same, but you're delicate enough not to argue with me on the topic.
[ There's a healthy dose of mirth with that, gently baiting the hook on that topic to see if he'd share a little more in regards to the discussion— not as it applies to her, but rather, the feeling in general. But then his arm snakes about her stomach and it's reassurance as much as it's warmth and perhaps even an invitation— let a girl dream, but also dig her heels into the gap between cushions and effortlessly slip herself back, up onto his thighs and tipping forward to keep him behind her head, bodily blocking the project in her lap. He's free to displace her as soon as he's had his fill of her. ]
You're just as patient, though. I have a hard time imagining just what could truly rattle you.
[ Proven by the fact that she's just put herself in his lap like a dare to do something about it. ]
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That's difficult. Pain is, in a way, easy to contextualize. Something that can be reduced to simple one-to-one ratios, even if reality is less cut-and-dry.
So it's that complex tangle of cause and effect that Angela carries with her when she pulls up onto his knees. If she weighs more for them, Venom doesn't notice, and that, that's what makes his brows turn down and his lips float upwards in a resigned half-smile, half-wince.
(How do people turn out like her?) ]
...Sometimes the things you learn aren't easy to digest.
[ He trusts her with this sliver of himself; knows that he doesn't have to tell her not to tell anyone else. The couch protests quietly under the concentrated pressure of two bodies in one spot, but Venom keeps Angela in place with the unhurried settle of his single forearm around her middle.
His head tips forward, the bridge of his nose pressing along the curve of Angela's shoulder. ]
Some of those things ruin people. [ 'People'. His grip tightens just a fraction, speaking to a vague runner of protectiveness he feels for his companion's situation. ] Patience might just be what's left over.
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With the weight of that complexity readily accepted, even. ]
Perhaps not easy, no, but the human body is a wonderful thing. Usually all you need is a bit more time.
[ Which is to say, she's confident she can take on anything— even a mysterious little statement like that. Even if it might take a little bit to properly absorb it. It shows in the little smile she turns to give him once she's settled and his arm fits comfortably about her, head tipping in the slightest curiosity to see him wince. But then he's leaning forward and his head comes to rest at her shoulder, and she tips head head against his as she settles into working.
It's a brief lull as she disconnects and reconnects another chunk of wires after a wipe-down, ensuring the connections are clean, and then she's finished the elbow. Her attentions shift to the opposite end at the wrist, settling right into work. With the inner workings streamlined, she can work open the casing about the joints, clean and re-grease everything, and he should be good as new.
She can feel the faintest hint of the shrapnel in his brow at her shoulder when she moves her arm. The cut of his eyepatch ties across the bridge of his nose. All the little things that reaffirm that this is real for both of them, and she's smiling again.
It was always so easy. Just settling into a comfortable place with him. It only falters when he's tightening his hold around her waist with his words, leaning her head against his with a fraction more weight. ]
Are you saying you've been ruined by things you've learned, in your years? I think there's far more to you and me than that.
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Something about it is familiar. History has the tendency to run away from itself: news travels from mouth to mouth, and gives fangs to people who've worn their canines down with their grinding. 76 wears the burdens of these rumors on tired shoulders, and Angela tries to temper them, still.
They both seem like stubborn people.
(Probably why they work so well.)
Venom eases when Angela opens her mouth again, offering him time and companionship in the course of easy facts and rhetorical questions. His grip doesn't relax immediately, but the thumb digging just a millimeter into her skin slowly peels itself away from the jut of her hip. ]
You and me. [ He parrots. His trademark syllables like exhales. ] —Hm.
[ She's right, though. It's not just patience; Venom doesn't just put up with Angela. He wouldn't be here, sharing personal space and parts of his truths, if that were the case. ]
I think I've made myself too comfortable around you. [ A gentle admission of truth, without accusation or sarcasm. ]
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