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[indent][indent][indent][color=#808080]Emerging from the arena’s periphery, Anissa was immediately struck by the drop in sound, as though a thick velvet curtain had fallen, severing her from the cacophony inside. The chill afternoon air washed over her like a salve and a shock, followed by a deep, delayed ache that bloomed from muscles which had held their own only until they were safely out of view. An insistent growl from her stomach underscored the interminable stretch since her last real meal. Too long, in truth. But then, forgetting her own needs had become a bit of a ritual since long ago, a necessary sacrifice when navigating social landscapes that refused to cohere into anything resembling comfort.

She drifted toward the main hall, her body moving on autopilot while the course reassembled in her memory as a palette of sensations. From this review, a slow-dawning realization emerged: it hadn’t felt unjust. Gruelling, certainly. Ill-timed, perhaps. Even questionable in its design. But not cruel. River had established a standard and maintained it with inflexible integrity, even when a more lenient path would have been easier for everyone involved. This understanding caused bifurcating feelings to settle within Anissa's chest—both grounding and uncomfortable—as it placed her at odds with the only two people she had begun to trust here. 

Her thoughts, however, circled back to River himself with inexorable pull. To his audaciousness during the rope climb, to the apology he hadn’t owed, and to the encouragement he’d offered without saccharine cushioning. The idea of speaking with him later now felt less like a well-made plan and more like standing at the edge of a crevasse that should, in theory, be a manageable step. The reality, however,  was far more daunting. She continued walking, her jaw set tight as if to pulverize the nervous energy gathering there. She recited a silent petition to herself: [i][color=#5a3e85]It’ll be fine. It’s only a conversation. You can hold your own. [/color][/i]

But how was she to express the conviction that something significant had happened, even if she couldn't remember what? Anissa had no clear answer. And, frustratingly, she sensed that any attempt to pretend otherwise would only complicate things further.[/color]

[color=#808080]Anissa drew nearer to the main building, the brisk early afternoon air continuing to be incisive against every exposed inch of her skin. As the distance closed, a faint, tantalizing waft of cooking scents drifted through the doors before her, a siren call to the ravenous beast gnawing at her insides. She paused before she entered, gathering the scattered fragments of her composure. Her purpose here was straightforward: to secure a bit of food for herself and for Blair. And perhaps, she admitted silently, for River as well. He’d left so early before she’d even stirred that she doubted, with first-day leader trepidations compounding things, he’d taken the time for anything substantial. A practical gesture, then, is what she told herself this was. And if it also happened to serve as a slight conciliatory offering before their impending, difficult conversation, so be it.

With a steadying breath, she reached out, her hand closing around the cold iron handle. A push, and the door yielded with a low, wooden groan, releasing a swell of warmth that wrapped around her like a weary embrace. Immediately, Anissa was captivated by the room’s rich, layered aroma, her mouth watering instantly. After everything she had endured, the prospect of a hot meal transcended mere sustenance; it felt like a truce her body was determined to broker, whether her proud mind was ready to acquiesce or not. Besides, for now at least, the pretense of appearances could be abandoned as the room’s long trestle tables were bare of both people and noise. Anissa felt her shoulders loosen a fraction, a subliminal tension she hadn’t fully registered beginning to seep away. Here, there were no eyes to scrutinize, no roles to uphold. No one awaited a performance of competence, or charm, or gritty resilience. She could, for all intents and purposes, simply be while she was here. 

Her gaze drifted down, catching on her own hands as they hung at her sides. The thick knit gloves she wore—a coarse facsimile of the fine barriers she typically relied upon—were a testament to the day’s ordeal with grime infused deep into the woollen seams. They looked weary and frayed, the observation quickly chased by a more pragmatic thought: she was about to handle food with them, assuming she chose to keep the soiled garments on to begin with. The incongruity gave her pause, a final, small hesitation on the threshold of respite.[/color]

[i][color=#5a3e85]You don’t have to. [/color][/i]
[color=#808080]That was the simple solution, arriving with a surprising, almost luminous clarity. She could just… not. Not brace herself. Not perform caution for an audience that wasn’t there. In this temporary solitude, she wasn’t a danger to anyone, and that distinction mattered more than most people would ever realize. Herself included, once upon a time.[/color]

[color=#808080]Her power, that capricious and unwieldy force, didn’t lash out blindly; that much Anissa had painstakingly deduced long ago. It seemed to react to a stimulus. Proximity, perhaps. Density. Life pressed too close together, a teeming and pulsating mass. Intention had never been a reliable thing either, as her desire not to harm had never been enough to keep at bay. And while fear was a potent catalyst, sure, calm didn’t guarantee another person’s safety. Nor did anger. Nor grief. It followed no single feeling that was the whole key. So, there was no rule she could test without inviting consequences.[/color]

[color=#808080]And then there were the inconsistencies. How alcohol, of all mundane things, acted as a palliative, blurring the internal alignment that usually let the power slip through her skin. None of it conformed to a logic Anissa could articulate, only to patterns she’d learned to recognize in the aftermath of her ordeals. [/color]

[color=#808080]Patterns, however, were sometimes enough.[/color]

[color=#808080]The hall was empty. Nothing living brushed against her awareness but herself. Whatever the reason, whatever the mechanism she didn't yet and might never understand, this was one of those rare, benign intervals where the world granted her room. And room, she’d come to accept, made all the difference. Still, Anissa hesitated a moment longer, studying her hands as if they might offer silent rebuttals to this idea. Then, with a sigh, she tugged the soiled gloves free, shoving them in the pocket that didn’t hold her lip balm and that small, treasured cloth. The cooler air of the hall kissed her exposed skin immediately, but, more importantly, nothing stirred beneath it.[/color]

[color=#808080]She walked to the buffet area, her footsteps the only sound in the vast space, and slowed before the long serving table. For a moment, she simply let herself look, allowing the sheer plenitude to register. The spread was generous in a way that felt less like “camp rations” and more like a sustenance meant to fortify them after the day’s exacting trials. Steam curled from beneath polished brass lids. Baskets of bread radiated a gentle, yeasty warmth. Bowls of fruit and grains were arranged with a care that suggested someone, somewhere, had applied genuine forethought.[/color]

[color=#808080]Anissa’s gaze drifted past the table itself, searching instinctively for the source, like a kitchen door or any sign of the organized effort behind this feast. There was none. It was as if it had all materialized through some kind of silent wish fulfillment, much like the furnished cabin she’d been given. [/color][i][color=#5a3e85]Weird[/color][/i][color=#808080], she mused, a dry thought threading through her weariness. The magic of this place seemed a bit frugal. It provided a hot meal, yes, but what about a nail salon? Better yet, a mall? Or was that too thoughtful, too considerate, even for whatever gods or architects had engineered this peculiar purgatory for them all?[/color]

[color=#808080]Decision made, Anissa selected three of the sturdier takeaway containers from a nearby stack, lining them up next to each other. Blair came first, Anissa deciding to choose nothing too heavy and nothing that would sit poorly after pain or exhaustion. A portion of herb-roasted chicken, tender enough to fall apart under the fork. Steamed root vegetables glazed lightly with a buttery and forgiving sauce. A soft roll torn in half so it wouldn’t feel overwhelming. She hesitated only briefly before adding a small cup of broth on the side, just in case. [/color]

[color=#808080]River, in comparison, was… far trickier. Anissa paused longer there, weighing options with a faint crease between her brows. Her gaze landed briefly on a platter of grilled fish, the skin crisped and flecked with lemon and herbs, and she snorted quietly to herself. Absolutely not. That felt like flirting with some kind of cosmic faux pas. What if fish were, like, a weird distant cousin? Or a friend? [/color][i][color=#5a3e85]Fish are friends, not food, [/color][/i][color=#808080]Anissa concluded in her mind with an inner smile before redirecting her attention to other options. [/color]

[color=#808080]She eventually decided on something safer: a generous portion of roasted lamb, savoury and filling without being sweet, paired with herbed potatoes and a slice of bread thick enough to tear into properly. No sauces that leaned sugary. No hint of fruit glaze. She remembered the grenadine well enough for that.[/color]

[color=#808080]Only after she had closed both containers did Anissa allow herself to think about her own meal. Not as an afterthought exactly, just… last in line, as usual. Her eyes skimmed the options again, this time with a different metric in mind: filling, portable, uncomplicated. [/color]

[color=#808080]She found the best option for her almost immediately.[/color]

[color=#808080]Poutine. Proper poutine, too. Thick-cut fries, still steaming under a ladle of rich, umami-laden gravy that pooled in voluptuous pockets, their heat coaxing the cheese curds into a state of perfect, partial surrender. The sight sparked a visceral, homesick tug deep in Anissa’s chest, a sibling to the ache she’d felt upon seeing the photo of her mother and her. Of course, this place would manifest that particular comfort. Its magic seemed proficient at conjuring the specifics of longing without ever seeking permission from the receiver (case in point, that beautiful lilac dress shoved in the bottom of her drawer). [/color]

[color=#808080]She packed it carefully, adding a second scoop of fries as a bulwark against the lingering hunger and what was sure to feel like a long walk back to the arena. Then, because today had already been a day of impulses, she reached in with her bare fingers, lifted a fry slick with gravy, and ate it.[/color]

[color=#808080]Salt. Heat. Fat. [/color][i][color=#808080]Home. [/color][/i]

[color=#808080]She sucked the excess sauce from her thumb without thought, her eyes drifting half-closed as the composite flavour settled, rich and indulgent in a way that loosened a knot of tension in her chest. For a moment, it was simply good. Just her, standing in the quiet warmth, alive and unabashed in her wanting.[/color]

[color=#808080]And then the quiet stretched, dilating until it filled the hall completely, underscored only by the conspicuous absence of any footstep or shifting shadow beyond the sunlit windows.[/color]

[color=#808080]She was still, unmistakably, the only one here. [/color]

[color=#808080]Everyone else, it seemed, had intentionally remained behind at the arena for much longer than originally assumed.  They would be clustering together now, she imagined, coalescing with that unthinking ease which had always felt, to Anissa, like a native tongue she had studied for years but could never quite speak without an accent. She was not built for such effortless communion, at least not without a foundation of careful calculation and the low-grade exhaustion that always followed. The realization seeped in slowly, attenuating the earlier warmth of solitude until the freedom of being alone metamorphosed into something heavier and much more hollow.[/color]

[color=#808080]The only two people at this camp who had not made her feel that familiar strain were not here, either. Not that Anissa honestly expected them to leave when they’d had to stay for their own specific reasons. And yet, the thought still constricted her chest with a surprising force, the loneliness rising not as a sharp sting but as something primordial and patient, an old companion that had simply been awaiting its turn. She exhaled, a slow release through her nose, and snapped the lid shut on the container in her hands. The soft, final [/color][i][color=#808080]click[/color][/i][color=#808080] was a period to the moment.[/color]

[color=#808080]She should go.[/color]

[color=#808080]Blair had waved her off earlier, insisting she didn’t need anyone to hover. And rightly so; Anissa could well imagine how cloying all that attention must have felt with all the endless questions, the concerned looks, and the weight of other people projecting their own discomfort onto someone already worn thin. Better to return bearing something tangible: sustenance for Blair, and for River, a simple, useful offering that stood apart from the fog of her own uncertain thoughts.[/color]

[color=#808080]With renewed purpose, she gathered the containers into a plastic bag, adding the necessary utensils and a clutch of napkins. She tucked the makeshift parcel against her chest, steadying its weight, and turned back toward the door.[/color]

[color=#808080]Besides, she told herself, experience suggested that both Blair and River were the sort of people who might notice, and value, quiet effort. The kind who would appreciate being remembered, not with grand gestures but in small, practical acts of foresight.[/color]

[color=#808080]Then again, who was to really say? Discernment of details, big and small, hadn’t exactly been Anissa’s strong point as of late.[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[hr][sub][color=9b9b9b][b][i]Location: Arena-> Main Hall->Arena (before anyone else gets there, as she's a loner [s]and apparently a freak [/s]for being one of the first to leave) 
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: Blair, River [/i][/b][/color][/sub]

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