ᴅʀ. ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴀ ❝ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ❞ ᴢɪᴇɢʟᴇʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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
Something right out of a storybook.
He's calmer now than he was before the trip, undefined panic conceding center stage to gentle numbness. He walks in a straight line, even-paced to match Angela's slightly-shorter strides.
Hm, is Venom's initial reply. His expression relaxes, and he hefts the bags resting on his bionic's forearm to slide further towards where metal meets flesh so he can reach into his pocket for his TAB. ]
Quieter, too.
[ It's, for a lack of a better word, nice. Something worth preserving for posterity.
So he brandishes his device up to eye-level, finds a good panorama of farmland bracketed by the effervescent rustle of leaves and branches. Snaps a picture, and then takes another one from a different angle for good measure. ]
no subject
Hopefully the conversation hadn't been too bad— she spoke of things she hoped would be easily recalled, details Ahab was already familiar with from his time spent in her home and around her dog, though she can't recall if she's ever walked him through the property itself. If he even knew there was a gazebo out past the orchard, along the wind of the creek passing through. They continue putting distance between themselves and the trolley's platform, her hand sneaking into his and weaving between his fingers and the tote straps, arm laid against arm and tugging some of the weight up as if she could help— and trying to (unsuccessfully) hide her smile when he lifts his arm to go for his TAB, bags sliding down the metal to rest near his elbow and effortless as he begins to line up shots. He looks calmer, too. She's glad for that above all else.
Still, the pictures are good. If he has memory issues like she suspects, especially after peeping at his medical file to see the details of that shrapnel, pictures are something he can look back on and spark his memory, or at least have concrete proof that he'd visited a place. That he must have spent time somewhere, at an annotated time. ]
Mm, sometimes that's the best part.
[ But only 'sometimes', because silence was also, on occasion, unbearably lonely.
So while he's taking his pictures, so carefully lined up, she slips her TAB out and catches one of him, too. TAB held up and expression placid, the set of his brow focused as he frames his shot, dappled sunlight catching his eye. There's no way he can argue about being handsome with the way she catches him. Whether he notices she's snapped a picture of him or no, she smiles to herself and sets about sending it to him, pocketing her TAB once more and waiting for him to finish before leading the steps again.
Maybe if he's feeling better a little later, they can go out walking and get more pictures. ]
no subject
It's a shame that he has to let go of Angela's hand to check the message that's come up on his TAB screen, but he doesn't have very long to miss her. There she is on his screen, the designated profile picture of her from a few weeks back when she'd fallen asleep on his lap (he won't forget that, not by a long stretch).
Seeing himself as Angela sees him, eyes narrowed in fond concentration against the sun, is surreal— but it's not cognitive dissonance.
He's thankful that this is how she's framing him. Here's his response, shot to her in text despite literally being inches away. ]
Should have waited for me to shower first.
[ An easygoing tease, leveled even during his worst moments. The hand that'd been previously occupied by Angela's palm moves to rest on her shoulder, squeezing for a moment in gratitude before coming back to rest at his side, bags hefted anew as he scales the front steps to Angela's entranceway. ]
no subject
It's what she carried in her suitcase when she traveled back home; little pieces of others and her photos. To add to that was always a bittersweet fondness, both to have something to remember someone by and for the need to even require such an item. It meant that person was no longer actively in her life or someone far away.
But when his fingers unfurl from hers, she knows exactly what it's for and she fights to keep anything more than an idle smile off her lips, letting her touch skim up his arm to settle in the crook of his elbow, still loosely linked with him. Watches as he pulls up the image and long moment he considers it, seeing himself as she sees him— even exhausted as he is, in the dappling of the trees you can't make out the circles under his eyes, and she'd already straightened his hair and scuffed her nails through his whiskers, mopping up sweat. In a camera lens, he didn't look bad at all.
And when her TAB chimes and she has to fish it back out to read the message he had so obviously sent, her reply is only in her open laughter at his side, shaking her head and repocketing it. She leans into his touch settling at her shoulder, squeezing, the gentlest bump at his side that won't jostle him. They're almost home. ]
I don't think you need to worry; pictures don't have a sense of smell. You look perfectly handsome, Ahab.
[ And she scales the steps with vigor, a bounce in her step and ponytail swinging behind her until she's at the door, fishing out her key to unlock and swing open, inviting him inside with her laughter still playing at the corners of her eyes. Eiger's sitting impatiently yet attentively at the far end of the hall, butt wiggling on the hardwood with the ferocity of his wagging tail just to see Ahab in the doorway. ]
Welcome home...?
[ Because she's always shared her home with her friends, and Ahab's no exception. He's stayed the night before; it's official. ]
no subject
In the same way he'd kept his fallen comrades' ashes in his pockets as diamonds, he'll do the same with the most minute details of Angela's life. He'll carry them, because they matter.
(She'll always be an active part of him then, won't she? 'Put your roots in me.')
Angela's use of the word 'home' is like a cold compress on flushed skin, and Venom replies with a gentle sigh (the contented kind, the 'I-just-had-a-good-meal' kind) as he steps into the welcome privacy of his friend's space. ]
Always good to be here.
[ No posturing, no 'I'm only gonna be here for a bit's. Just another squeeze of hand to shoulder before stepping inside to settle Angela's groceries on the kitchen counter, freeing himself up to respond to Eiger's expectant tail-beating.
Look at this fucking old nerd, crouching next to this sweet son so he can ruffle his fur and whisper good dog under his breath. The Legendary Big Boss, ladies and gentlemen. ]
no subject
That soft 'home' strikes a chord in him, the soft breath leaving him to finally take in a lungful of spiced vanilla and apples fresh from the orchard just off in the kitchen, filling bowls on every surface. The rich soil and woody scent of whole walnuts, the green husks to peel away and reveal the pit to roast awaiting the busywork in a basket in her sink. He steps in and she closes the door behind him even as she toes off her flats with his hand steady at her shoulder, then she gives chase to the groceries with a cursory ruffle of Eiger's ears in passing before he's turning back to her dog, sure she can hear the creak of his knees when he crouches down to the beat of a thick tail.
It's something Eiger takes to with relish while she tucks groceries away from her totes, the regular sound of her opening and closing the refrigerator and freezer between armfuls, the slide of drawers— and she can hear the rasp of a wet tongue against his whiskers, eager to lap up all salty traces of distress from a friend, gentle in his demeanor despite the ardent affections. She may have murmured trösten in passing, giving a command. She didn't have much and it's only a moment before she's padding back over to lay a cool hand between his shoulderblades, thumbing at the nape of his neck when she strokes up. ]
Make yourself at home and get comfortable, Ahab. I'll see if I can find those pants.
[ It's good to see him calm, now, greatly reduced from how she'd first seen him today. His words coming sure, no trembling in his hands as he scruffs Eiger, no tinge of green at the gills once he'd settled into her presence and knew he didn't have to be on-guard against the world. And now in her home, always quiet and private, extended to him as his own, she can only hope that continues to hold true. That she'll be able to offer him more than a back to follow and a bottle of water. Angela wouldn't kid herself and even hope to believe he was so easily helped out of the hole he'd been in. The best she'd done is peek over the edge and tell him she'd go find a rope; whether or not she'd be able to successfully help heft him free would be another matter entirely.
Thankfully enough, she still had a few pieces of Jesse's things— or maybe they were Genji's, but... holding them up, no, definitely Jesse's. or would have been, had he ever taken her up on her offer to stay. She'd still gathered a couple changes of clothes in the correct sizes for anyone she could have expected, always kept freshly laundered. They should fit Ahab just fine, though the shirts would be another issue altogether— shame she hadn't found anything for Jack just yet. She pads through upstairs from the guest room to the bathroom to deposit the clothes near the tub, claiming the corner of a little stool with some plant or another, before she's at the top of the staircase. ]
You're in luck! I found a couple things that should fit. [ Just chonis and lounge pants, but it would have to do. ]
no subject
Venom sees a trend.
When he pulls up to meet the sound of Angela's voice, makes his way to the foot of the stairs to greet her with a tip of his disheveled head, his exhaustion is a gentle gauze instead of an oppressive cloud over his head. Something he can work with instead of having to wrestle to the ground. ]
I owe you one.
[ He says, without any sort of actual commitment to the idea of exchange. Neither of them have been keeping track of the metaphorical "debts owed" tally for some time now— it's just a thing to say to make Angela puff up.
(It's kind of cute when she does, in all honesty.) ]
Don't peek. [ Is his dry warning while he scales the steps to find the bathroom, the statement as dispassionately delivered as the one preceding it.
She's already seen enough of him, none of this is going to be new or exciting for her. ]
no subject
It's a trend he'll have to 'suffer'.
And seeing the exhaustion slowly beginning to soften as it unwinds, never fully leaving him but at least lessening, she's glad and meets him head-on as he comes up the stairs, stepping into the bathroom just before he's at the top landing. ]
You owe me a few hours of rest, and we'll call it even. I'll start the water.
[ Not that she didn't expect he couldn't figure it out, but it was easier on him to just go ahead with it. (Because she does puff, the slightest ruffle of feathers and straightening of her shoulders he'd even try to imply she'd keep track, cheeks puffing with her 'ire'. Soft-hearted though it may be, and because it left him a little softer in expression.) So she turns away, an idle gesture at the clothes she'd laid out (and a shirt to try, though she has her doubts it'd be comfortable with how tight it may be) before she's cranking on the water. Close enough for him to see how she did so, so he knows how to turn it off after. The sundries are clearly labeled for shampoo and body wash, and she hangs a clean washcloth beside her loofah before dipping her fingers in the shower stream, feeling the temperature. The tub was a separate entity but there's still plenty of room in the glass stall, quick to steam.
With the warning, she very nearly startles— the faintest twitch as she begins to turn toward him and changes her mind right after, twisting the other way with a little quirk of a smile. She hadn't heard him shed anything, but just in case. ]
I'm a medical professional; it's nothing I haven't seen before, sir. [ Cheeky, that. ] I'll be back in for your clothes in a minute, all right? So I can get them washed. I'll stay if you get light-headed.
[ He's in her peripheral when she turns, just enough to lay her hand against his arm and catch his expression before moving off, leaning the door behind her for his privacy. ]
no subject
(he wonders if the space between them have evened out any, if those rough waters have calmed enough for communication to sail; none of his business, of course, but maybe he'll check in with 76 to see if any invisible weights have been lifted from those squared shoulders.)
With that done, and his wandering thoughts set aside in favor of lingering back on the way Angela touched his arm before leaving, Venom finally starts peeling away at his layers. His sweat-stained skin thanks him for it, and even more so when he steps into the slow of the hot water and lets the stress of the night and morning roll off of him in fast-moving rivers.
He realizes too late, when he squirts a generous helping of body soap onto the loofah left for his benefit, that the entire bathroom now smells like he's dipped himself right into Angela's preferred choice of perfume, but. It's not exactly a pressing concern, so he gets right to scrubbing himself down in what almost feels like pure vanilla. Ditto with the shampoo, even if that's a little more floral.
The sound of the door opening from the other side of the shower curtain, heralding Angela's entrance back into the bathroom, is the opportunity Venom sees to open his mouth. ]
Smells like a bakery in here.
no subject
Jack doesn't have the ass to measure up to V, let's be real for a sec.She's out of the bathroom shortly after he's shed his shirt, nothing she hasn't seen before, as she says— she leaves to sort out the guest room, just in case, and fishes around for any other possible shirts. Nothing comes up. So she's back in the bathroom after a single rap of her knuckles on the wood, soft, just enough to hear.And he heard. The door is quiet on its hinges but she makes no effort to conceal herself, only taking a second to ensure that, yes, he's in the shower by now, and yes, the glass has steamed enough that his silhouette is impressionism in motion, no scars and no defining metal— his arm is only a shadow on the far side of his body this way. The air is sweet with her wash, vanilla and honey and woods, realizing too late she hadn't brought out the other soap (because she did actually purchase soap for men, at the rate her friends are over). Well. He was still using it, so it clearly didn't bother him.
Only confirming her thoughts when he speaks above the water, her laugh under her breath and barely audible for him. ]
I'll make sure Eiger doesn't try to take a bite, though I don't make any promises for myself. Are you feeling a little better? Any dizziness or lightheadedness?
[ She'll want to stay on hand just to ensure if he does suffer the effects of such, she's at least on hand. There's a stool to sit on and she'd keep him company. ]
no subject
The nausea's gone. [ There's a shift behind frosted glass, the dull red of Venom's prosthetic refracting and glittering in pink-grays. ] —Still trying to work out the fading issue.
[ A subtle warning that the hollow space in his skull keeps dragging him back and forth along an unwanted tide. If he sounds apologetic about it, well.
He's sorry for the trouble. ]
Might want to tell you what the source of that is, for future reference.
no subject
As it is, she's behind the door and her eyes are closed, head resting back against the tile wall. ]
I'm glad to hear that much. [ She isn't looking, but his lack of any cursing or fumbling tells her her repair work is holding up; she's glad for that, too. ] ...Fading issue?
[ Is that what he's calling it, those moments of drifting? The blankness? Hallucinations...? She'll let him put it into his own words, though, instead of guessing at blurred shapes in the distance. The apologetic tone, however, is thoroughly unnecessary. She can hear it over the din of falling water and has the decency to be cross, though it likely doesn't carry strongly enough to be heard through the humidity, dampened and made weak. ]
It might help— just a little. [ That's an understatement, but she's still trying to be calming. It's not something so easily turned off, and while the topic can of course wait until he's finished showering and in clean clothes, refreshed and able to attempt winding down: ] You know I'm always ready to listen whenever you feel up to the discussion.
no subject
His photography, his music, his dedication to action. He knows them for what they are: motion-activated lights.
(Clap on, clap off. Walk far enough away from him, and the last traces of blue turn invisible in his gray eyes.)
The sound of running water fills in the space between Angela's question and Venom's moment of self-reflection. When he turns the heat up just a sliver, Angela should be able to feel the humidity curl around the room. ]
Dissociation. [ The flatter, more medical term to use. Venom lets the hot water hit for a few more lingering seconds before stopping the stream altogether. ] Comes with the hallucinations.
[ Which she already knows about. A light huff, and an arm reaches out from behind the glass door to rifle for the towel Angela'd left for him to use. ]
You remember when I told you that everything happened 9 years back, in my time?
[ He starts drying himself down, mulling over what to say as his hands work. Efficiency always helps. ]
no subject
And that's fine with her. She'll catch up, and he hits fast forward every time he tells her something new, allowing her closer and closer. Perhaps soon she'd be able to wander through that house and help keep the lights on for him. Ahab creates his own touchstones in those photos and with his music, fills empty halls with something to sing along to; it's less lonely that way. Just like he turns up the shower, warming a space she isn't used to anyone else occupying but herself. The heat is welcome, as is the humidity even as it settles on her skin.
(She already knows they're blue— it doesn't matter what they look like at a distance, anymore.)
Dissociation. She'd suspected. Nothing concrete, but she's certainly seen him drift before, and it explained his blackout leading up to this point— can't help but wonder if it hasn't happened before, when he's been under duress and seems to surface, anchoring himself to her if she was present. Those quiet moments of confusion or blankness as he pulls himself back together and lets her hold onto him. When he's grasping for the towel, she cracks an eye open to fingers over textured glass and pushes the towel along the bar and into his fingers, closing her eyes once more to rest her head back. ]
I do recall, yes.
[ She'll let him finish instead of interrupting with questions; he'll likely answer them as he continues either way. She also recalls the way he'd let her draw his weight down onto her and the cold sweat she'd dabbed off his brow, still salty on her lips when she'd kissed his temple. The swipe of his thumb collecting cream from her mouth before lapping it up, the idle confession he'd dropped her way that hardly seemed fair. Trying to take the brunt of the blame for someone's death. ]
no subject
He's shifting into his new clothes when he finally decides what he wants to say about his lost near-decade, purposefully rustling fabric over his skin to make sure that his companion knows that it's fine to turn and look. It would be decidedly unfair to hide behind his relative state of undress, after all.
As always, Venom decides to shoot straight. ]
I fell into a coma after that incident, 9 years ago.
[ He steps into Angela's periphery, offering her the now-moist towel to dry his hair for him if she wants. Give her hands something to do.
Despite the words that come out of his mouth, he's steady. He's already compartmentalized this; he doesn't let this grenade blow up in his face anymore. It just—
—burns, caustic and slow-moving. ]
I was in that coma for 9 years.
[ So, okay, maybe his math is wrong: the accident happened a little bit over a decade ago, technically.
The point is, he hasn't been awake for long. ]
no subject
It's quick to lose its ease when he finally says what he'd been building up in his mind, though it never entirely falls— he's stepping closer and offering her the towel, after all. One brow furrows as she tips her head, huffing out a soft sigh before she's pushing herself upright with palms at her knees and taking the towel from his hands. She doesn't look terribly surprised; only chagrined. Ahab is steady, yes, but it still isn't easy to discuss. Especially not when he follows the fact with another, and she throws the towel in a tidy loop, up over his head before tugging the folds of terrycloth up from his shoulders to cover his hair, fingers splaying wide.
Her touch is gentle even as she ruffles wet hair, using the proximity to draw him in just another inch closer. As if the topic were something to keep private between them, as if anyone else were in the bathroom, let alone the house. ]
With injuries as severe as you've sustained, I'm glad it was only so long.
...So when you'd arrived here... [ "You hadn't been with us very long, had you?" finishes itself. She remembers how quiet he'd been back then, as well. Overwhelmed. Needing the quiet to process, conversation sparse but friendly, kept shallow. How they'd joked so lightly of having hours-long briefings thrown in his face, still expressing gratitude they had familiar faces to find here at all.
One thumb brushes along the base of the shrapnel embedded there before both hands slip down to cup his nape, thumbs rubbing the towel behind his ears until she can draw him down into a hug. The kind she doesn't let go of easily, cradling his head to her shoulder and ready to stand there for hours if it helped. ]
...You've not had an easy life, Ahab. I'm sorry.
[ There it is, that little admission. An apology for all he's had to suffer through and everything else thrown at him. ]
The dissociation is tied into this?
no subject
Instead, she has her touches: that fluid slide from his hair to his ear to his nape, a natural progression that ends in a hug, because of course it does. They've communicated this way from square one, even when Venom was disoriented and looking for a way to digest his new surroundings— she offered her openness through the fact that she felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of him, this strange cryptid with an obvious alias for a name.
So he tilts into her contact now, wet hair against blond hair, warm palms at the small of a thin back. No one owes him an apology for this, let alone Angela, but that's not a debate that needs to happen right now.
Don't worry— he can even joke, albeit at his own expense. ]
No rest for the wicked. [ A light nudge of shrapnel to skin. No, he hasn't been awake for too long, but he's been managing. Active. ] It's fine, Angela.
[ His arms tighten just a fraction around her middle, punctuating the sentiment. ]
When I woke up, I had no memories. Pretty sure the dissociation comes from that, too. [ Once the outlines of his secrets are bared, it's easier to fill some of those blanks in; it's a bit alarming, to some extent, how effortless it is to work up to the rest. ] ...Still working out some of the kinks.
no subject
Angela continues the gentle massage of her palms over his scalp, folds of the towel between her fingers and scruffing at him from brow to shoulders, then right back up to go again until she's satisfied and is wrapping her arms about him. More than anything, all she's ever wanted to offer him is the ability to be who he wishes in any given moment. That he wouldn't have to put up a facade or pretend to be in any other state than the one he was left in. He's always had her to reach for him and hold him in place, the slide of her fingers through his own, her warmth to lean against and know she had eyes on their surroundings where he can get some rest. She's never once turned the times she's cared for his wounds against him, nor let the thought cross her mind that he may owe her anything.
That just isn't how their friendship worked. They filled necessary pillars in each other's lives, and when he tips into her hold and covers her spine with his hands, they're both all right in this moment.
He may not need an apology, but it's still something she's sure he needs to hear. They're no spring chickens at this point and it's all too easy to assume someone of a certain age would know how to deal with these things— but that's just it, isn't it? That component was missing. No one knows how to deal with being in a coma. How to come back from grievous injury and continue to function. To have that all nearly ripped from your hands and then placed back in them like you'll be able to continue on the same as always. No, it isn't easy. Not by a long shot.
That gentle nudge of shrapnel against her cheek has her kneading the nape of his neck and turning into him with the softest hint of a nuzzle, hugging him a little tighter. ]
Except you're far from wicked. That's no excuse. [ Words a breath against his skin, over the shell of his ear. When he says he'd lost his memory... She softens, to start. Melds against him further, grip tightening another fraction with her exhale. ] A head wound like this... That isn't an easy trauma for the brain to recover from. [ So yes, dissociation makes sense. ] Have you had much memory restored?
[ He's told her stories, after all. Vague though they may have been, in some cases, and she realizes the vaguest were ones regarding his past. Anything else had been fairly recent to her understanding. The tone of her voice and the way she holds him says that it's anything but fine, and she wants to know more with carefully-tailored questions. ]
no subject
She reaches for him, and that's the sum total of his parts. When she says his name, she says it as if she knows what that entails; and she does, and that holds true for her. He exists as something in her eyes. Someone.
He doesn't know how to articulate how gratifying that is to him, without framing it in his core reality that his sapience is entirely founded on the memories and accounts of Someone Else. It sounds trite to say that her words and her continued existence is all he needs from her, the way plants need to reach for the sun to photosynthesize— humans don't need to be taught to breathe, and Venom doesn't need to know who he is to know that Angela can make the space in his chest feel like a beating heart.
So he keeps on hugging her. Chest to chest, with his scars against her shirt, his skin bared because he hasn't bothered to put a shirt on despite having the decency to step into his borrowed pants. His pulse is steady, slow, and if she listens close enough, maybe the one-two hum is a message in Morse code: thank you. ]
Some of it. [ Not a lie. He can remember the moments preceding his accident, which isn't nothing. ] The others...
[ A mild hum, and he rubs his palm up the length of her spine, settling between her shoulders to give her a gentle pat. I'm alright. ]
...I've settled into them. [ An odd thing to say, maybe, but not enough to be alarming. He's admitted to having dissociation— it only makes sense that some of his 'returning' memories may feel difficult to relate to. ] Which is why something like this throws me off-balance.
[ When he thinks he's reconciled events that have happened to him, only to be told they weren't real at all.
Thanks, vanishing asteroid. ]
re: icon usage do you mean 150+ icons and using the same 10 always?
Angela is simply thankful that they've found each other. That he'll take of her what she offers and allow her the kisses she plants on his brow, hoping they'll take root in him and keep him upright for years to come, even if she's gone. She doesn't need to be told what she means or how her actions frame him, and he didn't need to struggle for the words— she knows enough. That what they have is important, and that, somehow, she's helping him and keeping him steady.
This close, he'll find her heart beating a pinch quicker, heightened with her general worry and only a hair above her average calm tempo, but it may be something he picks up on regardless— as often as they're together, measuring breathing and holding one another, whether it's palm to palm, chest to chest, back to chest— they've become intimately familiar with one another's beat. She doesn't mind the drag of still-damp skin against softened linen, the slouch of the collar mimicking his scars, cool hands pressing between shoulderblades still heated from the water pounding him to malleability, and it's here that she handles him with care. Not because he's delicate but because he's precious and she'll cradle him in her palms where he's steady and comfortable. She won't be the first to pull away. Angela much prefers feeling the sincerity in his words thrumming against her chest to a comfortable distance. As if words lose their potency the farther they travel, like the soundwaves they ride. ]
Ahab... [ He's patting her back in reassurance, as if she's the one needing reassured. Always, this man... Her eyes close, focusing on his breathing, comfortably raised up onto her tiptoes and remaining there for those added few inches of height— half her weight likely held up in his arms anyway with the way he squeezes her, neither of them like to notice. ] Newer memories not lining up with the old, when they come? I've heard of it before.
[ Soldiers with head wounds, sent home to recover in lush green homelands with loving faces claiming to be their wife, their children— when they'd been sent home achingly lonely from years in the desert. Things that feel like a dream, a sudden shift in the world under their feet. But that doesn't seem to be the important part and she'll let it slide, rotating to the back of the line she'll deal with again soon. He says something like this and it takes her a solid few moments of stroking his back to realize what he's referring to, and she thinks she gets it. ]
Something like this— You mean the asteroid breaking contact.
you bully me with the cute hug icons all the time, you fiend!!!!!
You know you've found someone important when they make the insurmountables seem like an easy step up. A stool instead of a hurdle, something to build on top of instead of leap over and never look at again.
Angela Ziegler, in a nutshell. ]
Mm. [ Despite the brevity of that noise, Venom is never impassive. The slight hitch in Angela's pulse and the grip that she uses to pull herself up onto her toes, he notes all of these— considers picking her up again, even, but now might not be the time.
Instead, he gently walks her backwards out of the bathroom. With her still attached to him, as he talks. ]
So I'm not the only one that remembers being there.
[ Therein lies the root of his initial disorientation: he thought he was going crazy, again. ] —You were there with me.
[ Right??? Tell him this is the case. ]
WELL THEY'RE ALWAYS HUGGIN MAYBE U SHOULD STOP
It didn't need to be complicated, that shift of gears. It just needed to be oiled to work. Ahab can make his peace with his demons and tell her their names another time; she only needed to lay eyes on them in this moment to know they exist. He hums his acknowledgement and begins to step back, and she slides down just to lower to her heels and pivot, taking the "lead" so he won't stumble with a quietly murmured "careful, now". They could almost be dancing (again). ]
No, süässli, not at all. We went through six hours of decontamination and you came out the other end so restless and beside yourself I had to fix your arm because you'd left them in a rush. I took your hand just like this— [ And she's fishing his flesh-and-blood one from her back to lace her fingers through, to give him a squeeze, then replace it. ] —and you about herded me right into a corner where we could have a moment of peace out of sight, where I could ensure the sleeve was dry and your bionic was aligned properly. Then I'd hugged you, we'd made sure the other was all right, and you'd said you were glad to see me.
And I kissed your head like I always do, and you rested your face in my hands, and we teased about cigarettes. And once I was sure you were all right, we waited for our clothes, got dressed, and went to check out the rest of the facilities. The strange food and their experiments and shows of medical breakthroughs, right?
We were there.
[ He's not going crazy. Not at all. She's at the top of the stairs and she pulls away from him just enough to be arm's length, still keeping her hands on his biceps as she backs down the stairs, sure in her steps. ]
you say that BUT.............................
So. Here they are, in a makeshift waltz. One stair at a time, in an impromptu box-step in time to Angela's expert recollections. ]
...Yeah, I remember.
[ Next time, though, maybe he'll find her when he's not a certified fucking mess. Just to let her know that he doesn't actually have to be picking up his pieces off the floor to spend some idle time around her; what kind of impression is he giving if that's the case?
He pauses halfway down the stairs, nudging Angela to stop so he can reorient and mirror some of the gestures that she's just mentioned, as if muscle memory will be more reliable. He pulls one of her hands up to his face, satisfies himself with the cool flat of her palm, then places it down at his hip where she would've braced him if he had his back to the wall.
It feels real. His eye closes for a beat, and his breath comes from the pit of his lungs, slow and genuine. ]
"Just the person I wanted to see."
[ He remembers saying that, and it still holds true. ]
whispers "don't stop (don't stop make ginger pop////)"
She told him before he was an excellent dancer. That continues to hold true.
Ahab confirms his recollection and her smile softens with her relief, head tipping gently and taking another step before he's stilling her in his hold, one step below him and drawing her foot back up to stay on the stair with an inquisitive glance back up before he's bringing her hand up to his cheek. (In Ahab's defense, she's met him more than enough times when nothing was wrong; when he used to swing by now and then and they'd go listen to his music player together, or they'd spend time in the garden, or they'd meet up and let DD and Eiger play.) She recognizes this for what it was— furthering his immersion in the memory, confirming with the cool press of her palm against his skin, and she'll bring up the other for that moment the same way she'd cupped his jaw before. He'd rested his face in her hands and gave her the weight of his head to prop up, and she'd done so without complaint; he was a large man, but he was far from dead weight. Then and now, thumbs smoothing over bare skin before reaching coarse whiskers softened by the heat of the shower. Then he's lowering her hand to his hip, watching him consider it and draw up the sensations to match to his memories. ]
"You're not such a bad sight yourself."
[ Had been her response, if she remembers correctly. It's said just as fondly, stroking his cheek as he takes that deep breath and lets it seep back out, before her touch slips from his face to brace along his arms once more and she goes to take that first step down— if he's ready to move. ]
Come on, I wanted to show you something.
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And the fact of the matter is that there are a hundred and one ways to kill someone, but the easiest way is to keep reminding them that they have no future: nowhere to go, nowhere to be. Venom is dying a little each day, stuck in his own head and outrunning the metaphorical eraser that'll snuff out the vague smear that his existence left in the margins of history's papers, but here—
—there's a guarantee of safety. Hands that stem that steady bloodflow. When he's around Angela, he dies a little less.
(is that melodramatic? maybe, but forgive 'Venom Snake' for having been born on a stage, then.)
His steps take certainty when Angela guides him, and look! They've finished the stairs to tango right back onto even ground. She makes it so easy, and he taps an appreciative beat against her hand with his callused fingers. ]
You're always full of surprises.
[ Fondly meant in reciprocation, even despite the low rasp of his voice. The dull ache in his chest's subsided, and he fills it with all the cues that his friend offers with the lightness of her being; it's easy to step out of himself when she reminds him that levity is the only anesthetic that really works. ]
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