The trip feels much shorter than it is, probably because Vanya is still too trapped in her head to acknowledge the discomfort that might otherwise come from being so carefully led through the streets by her siblings. In another life, that might bother her - some world where she didn't let a psychopath manipulate her, where she didn't try to kill her sister or the - or - when--
No, no, please, she doesn't want to remember that, don't make her remember it!
She stumbles once or twice, when she has to close her eyes hard against that particular agony. But she's never been graceful, and the only perk to being mostly graceless your whole life is that you get accomplished at catching yourself. There's a metaphor here full of irony, but Vanya has no hope of fishing it out of the confusion, the desperate effort to not hear or think or feel or remember anything until it feels like she can breathe easily.
It's almost as if she blinked and went from the crowd to the house, and really, if anyone asked her to describe the trip or name any streets, she'd be unable to answer. It's a blank space, and in the house, jerked back to proper consciousness by Diego's question, she shrugs Allison's arm off and crosses her own. Her shoulders hunch automatically, defensive and fearful. She doesn't want to answer his question, can't even really look at him - there's another face lurking beneath his, god she doesn't want to see that - and shakes her head as if from a daze. It's not entirely fabricated, but it's definitely manipulated.
no subject
No, no, please, she doesn't want to remember that, don't make her remember it!
She stumbles once or twice, when she has to close her eyes hard against that particular agony. But she's never been graceful, and the only perk to being mostly graceless your whole life is that you get accomplished at catching yourself. There's a metaphor here full of irony, but Vanya has no hope of fishing it out of the confusion, the desperate effort to not hear or think or feel or remember anything until it feels like she can breathe easily.
It's almost as if she blinked and went from the crowd to the house, and really, if anyone asked her to describe the trip or name any streets, she'd be unable to answer. It's a blank space, and in the house, jerked back to proper consciousness by Diego's question, she shrugs Allison's arm off and crosses her own. Her shoulders hunch automatically, defensive and fearful. She doesn't want to answer his question, can't even really look at him - there's another face lurking beneath his, god she doesn't want to see that - and shakes her head as if from a daze. It's not entirely fabricated, but it's definitely manipulated.
"What?"