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capeandcowllogs2010-03-19 04:24 pm
lapequenaarana.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2010-03-19 04:24 pm
Entry tags:
[ BRING ON THE AZURE ARTHROPODS ] [open to Blue Beetle and Speed]
WHO: Araña, Jaime, Tommy if he wants I guess
WHERE: near the Stark building that Tony doesn't own derpadur
WHEN: backdated to Anya's intro!
WARNING: Oh my god,BEES bugs! Millions of bugs!
SUMMARY: Anya's about to curl up in a spidery cocoon to fix her carapace. ¡HALP!
FORMAT: Parapace
More than anything, Anya'd missed the carapace. Sure, it'd been ugly and buglike and got her mistaken for a boy more often than not---the fact that Spider-Man's first words to her hadn't been "Good job!" but "You need a haircut!" still rankled---but it'd been hers. It'd made her different, made her strong. It'd felt like a gift, and when Miguel had told her that it was one---well, her chest had felt tight to the point of bursting.
The carapace was a gift. Her mother may not have been with her in body, but she'd made sure that she'd kept her baby safe. The mottled blue exoskeleton had done that for over a year, until Doomsday Man had dug his fingers in deep and pulled it off, piece by piece.
The pain had been excruciating. More than being attached to her skin, the carapace was her skin. Anya hadn't known what to do when she'd woken up in the hospital and tried to call the armor out---only to have ragged little pieces of it emerge, utterly useless and on fire from exposed nerves. She'd cried, when Carol and her father hadn't been there to see her. Anya had cried because it'd hurt, cried because she had failed, but mostly cried because the carapace had felt so much like her mother that sometimes she imagined she could hear her through it like some sort of abstract ancestral memory.
That was supposed to be that. She'd moved on. Dealt with it. Accepted its loss like most people would accept a limb that a war had taken.
But now it was back, but in a bad way. It was back, but it felt wrong, stretched thin---a carapace a size or two too small for her. Instead of not fitting entirely, though, it felt like it was eating her down to fit. It was sluggish, not responding like it should.
She leaned dizzily against the wall of the Stark building, trying hard to breathe and not succumb to the panic attack cinched around her throat.
WHERE: near the Stark building that Tony doesn't own derpadur
WHEN: backdated to Anya's intro!
WARNING: Oh my god,
SUMMARY: Anya's about to curl up in a spidery cocoon to fix her carapace. ¡HALP!
FORMAT: Parapace
More than anything, Anya'd missed the carapace. Sure, it'd been ugly and buglike and got her mistaken for a boy more often than not---the fact that Spider-Man's first words to her hadn't been "Good job!" but "You need a haircut!" still rankled---but it'd been hers. It'd made her different, made her strong. It'd felt like a gift, and when Miguel had told her that it was one---well, her chest had felt tight to the point of bursting.
The carapace was a gift. Her mother may not have been with her in body, but she'd made sure that she'd kept her baby safe. The mottled blue exoskeleton had done that for over a year, until Doomsday Man had dug his fingers in deep and pulled it off, piece by piece.
The pain had been excruciating. More than being attached to her skin, the carapace was her skin. Anya hadn't known what to do when she'd woken up in the hospital and tried to call the armor out---only to have ragged little pieces of it emerge, utterly useless and on fire from exposed nerves. She'd cried, when Carol and her father hadn't been there to see her. Anya had cried because it'd hurt, cried because she had failed, but mostly cried because the carapace had felt so much like her mother that sometimes she imagined she could hear her through it like some sort of abstract ancestral memory.
That was supposed to be that. She'd moved on. Dealt with it. Accepted its loss like most people would accept a limb that a war had taken.
But now it was back, but in a bad way. It was back, but it felt wrong, stretched thin---a carapace a size or two too small for her. Instead of not fitting entirely, though, it felt like it was eating her down to fit. It was sluggish, not responding like it should.
She leaned dizzily against the wall of the Stark building, trying hard to breathe and not succumb to the panic attack cinched around her throat.