p o s t s 1 : the house of the rising sun

[cem]

[ Family meetings are nothing new. They had been a staple growing up even as Sir Reginald marked them as debriefings — a more accurate term, since it wasn't like any of them ever got a say in anything anyway. They had been quick to fall back into them since the funeral. What's new is Vanya being invited as something other than barest courtesy. As an actual member of the family instead of a bland butt in a chair that was ignored or spoken over or forgotten about three minutes into proceedings. Her brothers and sisters ask her questions, wait for the answers, seem to really listen to what she says. She should be happy to be included. Satisfied to be recognized, valued. But it's not there. She chalks it up to the house, still standing again where and when Five jumped them to safety; to the room, to the echoing muted memories of Pogo hanging from the stag's antlers, back arching in agony before going limp; to being this close to Luther even as they both refuse to look each other in the eye. Vanya rubs at her arms as the phantom pressure squeezing until she can't breathe, until she's snapped out of it by Five's voice, sharp and insistent. Everyone else is looking at her— Clearly something had been directed her way but she'd missed it in the pain still circling her chest and sending her stomach into knots. ] Sorry, I didn't... [ Shaking her head to clear it, she swallows down bile and tries to focus. ] Can you repeat that? [ There are a few glances she can see but no one presses the point. They all know what Allison's done, the only thing she could think to do in the moment, and the lasting effect it's left on Vanya's hearing. They assume it's that and speak a little louder and it helps a little bit. Doesn't make her less exhausted, doesn't stop her hands from shaking where she tucks them into her armpits. Doesn't stop her from seeing herself, young again and colder-eyed than she ever remembers being, lingering in the corners of the room and offering acidic commentary where it suits her. Vanya shakes her head again, wishing she'd gotten more sleep before this. The ringing in her ear has been incessant since she woke up after the Icarus, keeping her up no matter how tired she gets and it's making her miss things. A lot of things. The meeting seems to take years to finish but she can't remember much of anything they'd spoken about, if she was supposed to do something now or. Her palm presses against her forehead, a clammy anchor as she counts her breaths like she'd learned in therapy. It takes Allison's hand on her shoulder to get her attention back, blinking up at her sister whispering about lunch. Mom's making it. Soup and sandwiches. ] Not that hungry. [ A water-weak smile doesn't stand up too long in the face of Allison's concern but Vanya can't even imagine eating right now. Or she can— The results are just very unpleasant. So she removes herself, forcing one foot in front of the other and ignoring how her legs wobble on the way back to her room. ]

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[bestfuneralever]

He shakes his head again, "Not right now." He knows they're supposed to help, but he just can't even stomach the idea of food right now. So instead, he just continues his slow trek toward the stairs, fingers sliding over the banister once he reaches it, because he's not sure how steady he'll be on his feet going up the right now. "I think.. I'm just gonna go lay down for awhile." He admits with a soft sigh. "What are you doing?" Not accusatory, just curious. She isn't going with the others, and... well-- Vanya had always been good at isolating herself, and he thinks that's probably not the best plan, these days especially. "Just- I mean-- if you weren't really doing much, or whatever...company would be nice." He hates being alone, especially sober and alone. "If you want, I mean-- no pressure." The smile he manages in a small, tight-lipped thing; a strain to even make exist, tired, but it's as sincere as possible, still, too.

[cem]

"Dunno what kind of company I'll be." A wry, weak smile that doesn't have much energy to stick around. Not with the whole of the stairs left ahead of them. "Laying down sounds pretty good far as I'm concerned."

As she focuses on taking the steps though, one at a time, one a time, it seems just the littlest bit easier. She's used to being alone, had to get used to it or lose her mind, but that never meant she'd found a way to like it. She still feels miserable as they start for the bedrooms but at least Klaus will let her focus on somebody else rather than herself. Make things a little better.

How convenient, a voice drips ice and acid from the landing above, brown fringe framing a cold glare at Klaus. Vanya hadn't seen her get up there but then again she never does. All she has to do is lift her head, or turn, or open her eyes after too long shut and there she'll be: implacable and furious, dressed in the uniform that she'd truly belonged in with a smudge of black marker on her wrist. Bet you he's spying on us. Making sure we're well-behaved and quiet and doing as we're told. Running off to Luther to tell so they can shut us away again. Where they think we belong. Where they think they can control us.

"Please shut up," Vanya mutters, quiet and desperate for the voice to just stop. And then as she's pressing knuckles into her temple she realizes that...may have been out loud. Shit. Glancing at her brother would have put an embarrassed flush on her face before, but Vanya is just...pale these days. Mortified, but pale. "I didn't m- Not you. Sorry."

Great. Harbinger of the apocalypse and now she's sounding extra crazy. Couldn't even blame her siblings if they were to keep an eye on her, the way things are shaking out.

[bestfuneralever]

"S'okay... I won't be either," he admits with a small, half-hearted smile. Smiling kind of hurts. But then so does blinking, breathing...everything. God, he hates detox He pauses near the top of the stairs and turns back to her, "Oh- I... you- Vee, you don't have to...come with me or whatever, if you don't to. I just...meant if you..." he shakes his head and turns to finish the trek to his room. He doesn't know how to take that whole moment, and now everything feels weird. If she wants to come, she will, right? If she follows into his room, she'll find him curled up on his side on his bed, blankets tugged up and held in place, bunched in his hand at his chest. He stays cold. Colder than usual, lately.