sky_from_sea | (no subject)

(no subject)

Anna has been avoiding the Wasteland of late, even though she has stopped avoiding other people.

Well. She's stopped avoiding Daniel, at least.

But now--well.

She's not going to let Nicky drive her out of this (her) city, so it's time to stop being a shadow.

Which means--talking to Gwen.

Now, if only Anna knew how best to find her. The shelter isn't as small as it used to be, and Anna's never spent that much time there, anyway.

Still, someone's sure to know where the Wasteland owner is.

Right?

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Gwen, for her part, watches Anna.

She's definitely twitchier than she was before, which ... stabbing a guy may do that to a person. Although she was okay before, and that was after an alleged murder, so ... all the more reason to get the whole story.

There is a guard at the apartment building; she opens the door for Gwen and offers a tired smile.

"Nice night?"

"Sort of," Gwen says, lips quirking. "Thanks."

She glances back to Anna.

One corner of Anna's mouth tilts upward.

"I've had worse. Thanks."

She moves to slip through the door, if Gwen goes first.

"We'll ... have to climb a few stairs," Gwen says apologetically, stepping up onto the first one. "Not too many. Plus, it's great exercise."

Anna shakes her head, slipping her sunglasses off and into her pocket.

"It's non trouble. Really."

"Well ... good."

Gwen shrugs lightly, hand trailing lightly on the banister as she goes.

She's ... having trouble thinking of small talk.

Anna smiles again, faintly, but remains silent.

Small talk isn't her forte, either.

It's unfortunate at this precise moment, perhaps.

Some things can't be helped.

"... God, I wish there were still sports teams."

Anna's lips twitch.

"I'd still be staring blankly at you, I'm afraid."

"Well, maybe that's better," Gwen points out, rounding the second landing. "Because now, if I say something like 'How about those Yankees,' you can say, 'They're probably dead,' which is probably right. Also a lot easier than trying to come up with batting averages."

"You mean you wouldn't prefer a zombified hockey team?"

Anna is kidding.

She knows the Yankees played football.

"... Oh, Anna. You're breaking my little New England heart." She shakes her head. "For the record, the Red Sox would totally kick Yankee ass as a zombified hockey team. Only ... they wouldn't, because the curse would probably still be in effect."

She sighs.

"2004 was totally the year, too ..."

Beat.

"Oh my God. The Curse of the Bambino ended the world.

"It all makes sense now."

Anna just gives Gwen a Look.

"Now the Red Sox, I know they played baseball."

Anna is from Boston.

Some things stick.

Gwen holds up her hands innocently.

"Hey, hey. Never hurts to check."

Then she grins, stepping out into the third-floor hallway.

"Floor sweet floor. We're down near the end."

"It's just you and Preston there?"

Anna's checking to see, perhaps, if Russ has moved in.

That would be . . . awkward.

"Just us," Gwen says cheerfully. She pulls a key out of her pocket and twirls it jauntily. "And, uh, unless it gets packed to sardine levels in here, that's how it's going to stay."

She smiles ruefully. "One roommate's enough."

Anna smiles back.

"I know how that is."

Though Daniel's not a bad roommate at all.

(It helps he doesn't have a fetish for Gandhi.)

(Preston's Gandhi fetish is soooooo unhelpful, man.)

A few more doors, and Gwen comes to a stop.

"Here we are," she says, turning the key and pushing the door open. "Preston! We've got company."

The room is small, but not cramped. There's space for two beds, a futon couch and small coffee table, and a dresser that's seen better days. Also: a beanbag chair belonging to Preston.

Preston himself, however, is nowhere to be found.

"Huh." Gwen frowns, then shrugs. "Place to ourselves, then."

One kind of tension fades from Anna's shoulders, even though it is partially replaced by another.

"Ah. Well, then."

As openings go, it isn't much at all.

"Yeah," Gwen agrees, nodding.

She casts around for something to ... say? Do?

"Um. Want to sit?"

"I'd like that, yes."

Anna eyes the couch and the beanbag chair, then steps hesitantly toward the couch.

"... Good choice," Gwen says wryly. "The beanbag chair gets a little ... short? I don't know. I always start feeling really gangly and weird."

She shrugs, then makes her own way-- hesitantly-- also towards the couch. About as far from Anna as she can get, though-- she doesn't want to mess with her personal space, especially not now.

Anna's currently sitting there, legs crossed primly, looking at her hands.

"Did you have any specific questions? About--things?"

Gwen frowns.

"Well ... yeah, I guess."

A beat. She huffs out a breath.

Then:

"... Did you want to work for that guy? In Philadelphia?"

"No."

Anna's answer is immediate and over-sharp.

She takes a deep breath.

"I didn't even particularly want to be a vampire."

Beat.

"Not that Nicky took the time to ask me."

Gwen's eyes widen.

(Her reaction is immediate and under the skin, and she stifles that as best she can: Not now not now not now.)

"He didn't--"

She snarls, without meaning to. It was supposed to be, what, a sigh? Something harmless and sympathetic.

"Son of a bitch."