Inbox: Ximilia

[singlelogbridge]

// Wei Wuxian

TEXT • AUDIO • VIDEO

XIMILIA

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a selection of texts sent as status updates, and one voice message

[construing]

Another joke: what do you call a pig that does karate? A pork chop.



Good morning, residents of Dystopia. Today will be a perfectly cloudy day with a light acid drizzle around noon. Come evening, there will be absolutely no difference, because no sunlight has touched ground in decades anyway, and there's a dome above our heads. Back to you in the studio.



No, okay, Animal is who I aspire to be. Beaker is who I actually am.



So, Betty found this Pokémon type filter, and we all tried it. It was shockingly, one could say emotionally damaging in its accuracy. MJ got fire right off the bat. She wanted to redo, but we snatched the phone from her. You don't mess with perfection. Glory got normal first, did it again, got grass/fighting which. That's Glory. Sweet as grass, but she'll fucking deck you. Betty…you'd have thought she won the freaking lottery when that psychic/dark popped up. She made the labels for herself, wore them all day. And I get ghost.



〈 in response to the prompt "bread": 〉 Smash.



I wonder if the big bed has come in yet. I mean, I will take waking up slotted between our beds over this, but I'd also like to not wake up because I'm about to slip through a crack, you know?



Remind me that punching a guard would be a terrible idea. Be specific as to the reasons why I should not do it.



Like yes, filter, I am aware I am pasty with a proclivity for dying, I do not need the reminder. Fucking ghost…



I have a friend back home. His name's Harry. He'd transferred to my school. First thing I heard about him is he scrambled for his die while yelling MY PRECIOUSSSSS. Of course, I immediately insisted on making friends. Like I did with you, actually. He has my die. When we're back, we can probably start a campaign of our own. See if we can't drag Itachi in. He'd kill as a DM, honestly.



〈 away from the others, gwen lies on the desolate ground surrounding the reservoir. in the distance, the water laps gently at the shore. spiders crawl along her chest, following the vibrations of her voice through her torso. quietly, she finishes singing, 〉 Just close your eyes. You'll be all right. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound…

[singlelogbridge]

Beaker is the one who communicates in squeaks, right?

[construing]

Meep meep.

[singlelogbridge]

Meeps. But Animal plays the drums! Does Beaker play the drums?

[construing]

Nope.

[singlelogbridge]

Then how are you not Animal? He plays the drums! Wait, who am I?

[construing]

Because it's not based on skill, it's based on who they are!
Animal has no concerns. He plays the drums and vibes. That is what I want.
Beaker is a magnet for disaster. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Aka ya girl.
You, I want to say, are Gonzo. Ridiculous appreciation for life + no one has any idea what you are.
And in case you were curious, Itachi is both Statler and Waldorf.

[singlelogbridge]

[Brb convincing one of the guards that his incredulous laughter is because he had a breakthrough.]

I stand corrected, you're Beaker. Which one is Gonzo? I love his air of mystery already. Is he charming? Oh, next mission where I need a fake name, please remind me that I will be Gonzo. Now please tell me about Statler and Wardorf in detail.

[construing]

〈 and she does.

oh boy, does she. 〉

[singlelogbridge]

don't punch him, but get his name and then give it to me. what'd he do?

[construing]

Are you planning to curse him?

[singlelogbridge]

depends, what'd he do? does he deserve being cursed?

[construing]

What do you think?

〈 a pause follows between messages. 〉

You know that feeling when you're caught between a rock and a hard place? 〈 rhetorical, of course. 〉
That's me. The rock: blowing my cover, endangering Percy, potentially risking the people here.
The hard place: every tortured face I have to see.

[singlelogbridge]

[It isn't as bad for him and he knows it. Despite being a prisoner, they've treated him as more of a guest. His status as someone willingly working for the government with government sponsors had assured that. He doesn't see the other prisoners as much either, only a few in the same lab. It's a different kind of labor than where Gwen is at.

(They still suffer here, he sees it, and he knows about the ones like Sadir, but it's different.)

But Gwen's words call to mind his memory of the Wen internment camp and he takes a minute to close his eyes and breathe through the immediate onset of rage.]

Yeah. I'm familiar with the feeling. Don't punch the guard. Remember his face instead. Remember all of their faces.]

[There might not be a plan yet, but knowing the Orbers, one is coming. If the labor camps aren't freed in the process, he'll do it himself. And then they can come back to those guards.]

[construing]

I appreciate the sentiment, but it doesn't come down to me.
They need to face justice. That can only come from the people.

[singlelogbridge]

Then we should set the people free and leave the guards to them

[construing]

That's the plan.

〈 and it needs to happen sooner rather than later. 〉

Voice

[singlelogbridge]

[Wei Wuxian sits in his cell for the moment, tucked into a corner on the ground despite the bed available to him and listening to Gwen sing. The handful of black spiders that had returned to him with Gwen's return march a meandering path up his arm, and he reaches out to cup one of them and bring it to eye level. The spider tilts in a way that feels like a glance, and Wei Wuxian smiles at it before lowering it back to his arm.]

Gwen. [His voice is soft and mostly hides the deep concern in it. It's all he says, his brow furrowed as he sits in the silence.]

[construing]

〈 hers by contrasts remains light: as if she is asking his opinion on a nail color. 〉 I was reassigned today.

〈 raising her hand, she draws constellations among the hoverbots like stars. 〉

I'll be a water tester come tomorrow.

[singlelogbridge]

[He remembers what they did to Sadir. What Sadir watched them do to others. He remembers and he burns with anger, faintly contained because it's not meant for Gwen. After a long pause, he swallows and curls his hands into fists.]

Can Venom stop it from hurting you?

[construing]

Does it matter?

〈 the spiders form together into a little black ribbon which winds between her fingers like a cat seeking cuddles. 〉

If it doesn’t, we’re fucked. If it does, they think their experiments have been a success and other people are fucked.

She looked like May. 〈 the elderly woman brought to test the newest batch. she was terrified, but she moved with a quiet dignity. 〉 My neighbor. Peter’s aunt. Which is funny because she actually looked nothing like her. But I saw this woman, and I—

〈 gwen sighs. 〉

[singlelogbridge]

[She took her place. It isn't hard to fill in the gaps, not when he knows who Gwen is. Of course she took her place. He can't even be angry with her for it but—]

It matters to me. You're not allowed to die, Gwen. You have to make it out so we can end this. We're going to make them pay for what they've done here, so you can't die.

[construing]

〈 there is the sound of a laugh in her voice. 〉 Didn't I tell you? Dying is what I do best. Last trick to stun the crowd.

〈 she breathes a gentle sigh. 〉

Though, I doubt the first round would kill me.

〈 the second or third—or an extended dip, however… 〉

[singlelogbridge]

Second best. [There's a huff of air that might be a morbid laugh on his end.]

I meant what I said before. Get their names.

[construing]

〈 first best, and not even close. 😌 〉

Stop trying to make me an accomplice to battery. I did a year in prison. It was enough.