likemypicture | (no subject)

Anne of Cleves is the most well-adjusted person to make it through the opera house. Arguments can be made for some of the others, but we should point out that Anne never:

-Deliberately placed herself into harms way for “the sake of others”

-Murdered any of her opera housemates

-Activated a robot in her brain to help her cope, or--

-Murdered all of her opera mates due to delusions of heroic grandeur,

In fact, the one time that she did experience delusions of any kind was the same week the rest of the opera house was suffering from delusions, and even then, her fear was based on real-world experience. Sometimes a king realizes your purpose is no longer greater than the irritation you provide him with and tries to chop off your head. And even when Anne believed that to be true, she remained calculated-- even in her less-than-cool and panic fueled desperation, she kept true to her colors, protecting others, making plans to keep moving. But aside from those few days of panicked intensity, she handled the distresses of the opera with the same well-practiced coping mechanisms she had used to get through life in, and after court. She kept her hands busy. She prayed. And she made the people around her laugh, and smile. Those are the things that kept Anne alive, and kept her herself, all the way until the very end of it.

But even Anne left the opera house changed. Even Anne bore the scars of trauma, though hers were more easily concealed than the others. In her previous life, she had spent a great deal of time alone, in whatever palace she called home at the time. There was company to be had if she requested it but for the most part, she read books on her own, focused on her needlework, and if she was feeling especially lonely, she may write a letter home. She was terribly homesick, but she was content. There was not great distress about being alone. After seven weeks with people around her, constantly, four of which she had Tad Cooper’s excellent company-- Anne could not say she felt the same way anymore. Being alone was insufferable. Her apartment felt barren and lonely, no matter how many soft blankets and pillows she filled it, or how loud she played the music. There was no one to fuss over, no one to play pranks on, no one to share a meal with. Once, she had been content with this sort of thing. Now, she just aches.

It’s nice, that the penthouse isn’t too far from The Castle. She had done that on purpose, though the intent hadn’t always been to be so close that she could head there straight after she closed up. It just oftentimes worked out that way. Tonight, she closes up, then heads upstairs to her apartment-- looks in the fridge, sits on the sofa and flips through endless channels of television with nothing to watch, looks in the fridge, takes a shower, changes something comfortable, looks in the fridge again-- eventually, her chest feels like it’s going to explode if she stays in this unit for a single moment more, so she tugs on her jacket, and after making sure everything is properly locked up, heads for the penthouse.

She feels better before she’s even there. Just passing by people on the street makes her feel less anxious, less panicked, and when she can see the familiar building, the tension she had been carrying leaves her shoulder. There stood a place where not only did she not have to be alone, but where there were people she cared about, and she was close enough that if something terrible happened, she could do something about it.

It’s ridiculously early, and Anna doesn’t expect anyone to be up when she lets herself in through the door. She leaves her shoes by the door, abandons her jacket a few rooms later, thrown over a piece of furniture, and eventually stops in the kitchen. For some odd reason, the food is always more appetizing here, even if it is the same stuff she has in her own fridge. She helps herself, making herself toast with an absurd amount of jelly on top, and when the light down the hall comes on, she’s surprised. It’s absurdly early, like 3:45 am early. “Mmfmmm fffmmmm mmmmm” She manages, through her full mouth of toast.

Sigyn raises an eyebrow. “Try again?” She asks, looking at Anna expectantly. Anna manages to get the toast down, flashing a bright smile of apology. “I didn’t expect to see you up. Midnight snack?” Anna asks, cheerfully, and Sigyn shakes her head back. “No. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I heard someone out here, so I came to see who was up.” Anna responds to her with a little wave. “Just me-- I---” She pauses, since she’s got another mouthful of toast and jelly. Sigyn waits patiently for her to finish with that. “-- Thought I might have left something here? Ja, that’s it.”

“Really? What did you leave?” Sigyn asks, barely masking her amusement, as she watches Anna flounder, then fail to come up with anything. She laughs, shaking her head. “You don’t need to make up excuses to come over, Anne. You basically live here.”

“Tell that to Mephisto?” Anna asks, her voice gaining a kind of whimsical pitch to it, and Sigyn laughs quietly, shaking her head. “You know how he is. I think even he enjoys having you around.”

“Ja, I know. He loves me.” Anna says, presenting pursed duck-lips and batting her eyelashes in a dramatic fashion, before she abandons her plate full of crumbs and jelly in the kitchen sink, to deal with later. Or for someone else to deal with later. Sigyn barely controls her temptation to mother, and send Anna back to it, but what the hell. She’s tired, and Anna’s already plopped herself on one of the more comfortable couches. She settles in next to the smaller woman, who quickly invites herself to lean against her side, so different from the more distant, stiff woman who had tried to snub Richard’s hugs during that first trial. Sigyn gives her a look, but doesn’t ask. Anna, unable to sit with silence for long, begins to fill it with her own words, confessing finally--

“It’s too lonely above The Castle. I don’t like it much.” Anna mutters, though the corner of her mouth twitches in amusement at her own reference. “I worry about everyone else. And it’s so quiet.” Sigyn gives her a little comforting pat on the arm, nodding. She knows something about too quiet-- is a little too quiet herself, right now. Anna notices, and frowns, wrapping her arm around Sigyn to give her a quick squeeze. “Loki still sleeping?”

Sigyn’s breath catches, just slightly, but she nods. Anna hadn’t just been referring to sleeping because it’s three in the morning. But neither of them says anything about it, Anna quiet for a few rare moments, which almost makes Sigyn uneasy— but then Anna begins to hum, filling the silence before it can stretch too long between them. It’s nice, to have someone around, without risking waking anyone, to have something to think about other than worry. She can just breathe, and listen to Anna’s quiet melody, until the song comes to an end. “Most of us stopped singing so much, after the opera house. Not you.” She observes, and Anna lets out a laugh. “Were you always musical?”

Anna shakes her head in response. “Not always. Music wasn’t part of a Lady’s proper education, where I’m from. Not like in England! It was a love I gained in my newly found freedom, post-Henry. Amalia though—- my younger sister. She had a lovely voice. She loved to make rhymes and her own hymns. She was the musical one.” Her voice gets quieter, and less Anne like. It’s late, and emotions have a tendency on sneaking up at this time.

“You miss her.” Sigyn observes, gently, and Anna nods her head. “Ja—- which is silly, I know. I knew I’d never see her, or any of them again, when I left home.” Now that’s a feeling that Sigyn can relate to. Missing someone, and knowing you’ll never see them again. Or— at least. Thinking you’ll never see them again. Now she wraps her arm around Anna, and they sit there, side by side, squeezing each other on the couch. “It isn’t silly.”

Anna smiles despite herself. “I guess not too much. We were so close growing up— the four of us. I miss them all very much. It’s easier here, than it was in England.” Sigyn flashes her a smile in return. “No Henry?” She asks.

“No— Well, ja— of course no Henry! But I’m thinking more about—“ Anna’s grinning now, she can’t help it. It seems ridiculously cheesy, but now seems as good a time as any. She’s not alone. Sigyn’s beside her, warm and solid and real, and always nice smelling. “I have another sister, now.”

Sigyn registers the cheesiness, but doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t really have time to, either, because Anna’s interrupting the moment with the next thought, clarifying: “And I’m the big sister, not the little one!”

Sigyn laughs. “Sure.” Her voice says it all though. Anne of Cleves is definitely the little sister here.