except-- except this isn’t her imagination for once. no, oh no. this is REAL. as real as the way her limbs feel as if they’re filled with static from a television, the sensation of her nails biting into the skin of her ( cold, clammy ) palms just barely grounding her.
‘ there’s been an incident-- we’re certain you’re aware of the recent villain attack. ‘ ah. of course. the commission would break it to her, and of COURSE, they’d have suits do it. the one who was seemingly apathetic to everything. to everyone.
a cop would be better at this. or maybe even a different handler.
fuck the commission fuck the commission fuck the commission fuck the c--
calm down. take a deep breath. in. out. in. out. repeat. lather, rinse, repeat, like you’re doing the dishes at home.
the heroine’s limbs are already tired enough from the aforementioned event, overuse of her quirk bringing forth the familiar sensation of her body refusing to listen to commands. bend your left arm, but instead of an immediate action, it happens in slow-motion. that, and there’s stinging scrapes with debris still sitting within them.
‘ tough fluff-- give me a verbal answer. ’
huh ? verbal answer to what ? the flashing lights of the nearby emergency vehicles are so DISTRACTING...
‘ anzu matsukawa. you’re the next of kin. the commission is willing to aid with the paperwork to streamline the process, perhaps.. skip a few legalities. ‘
ah. right.
mom. her quilt shop. anzu.
❝ j-just, can you give me a damn minute ?! ❞
an uncharacteristic lash-out, the stress finally seeming to crush her beneath its weight. another loss. a fresh wound that will likely fester for some time, infecting etsu with more sour moods and other behaviors that’re unlike her. people will notice. maybe she should just tell suits to stuff it and quit ?
no, no, you’re being irrational.
❝ yes, just-- dammit, dammit !
i know you can spare someone to pick her up. you people know every little thing about me, so send someone to get her and i’ll be there once i’ve finished this paperwork and given a statement. ❞
for someone falling into the pit of despair, her voice is surprisingly strong, held even as if the news of her mother and step-father’s deaths meant nothing.
far from the truth.
she gets an affirmation and the line goes dead, the hand clutching her phone immediately going limp, fingers nearly dropping the device to the concrete.
‘ heroes don’t cry. heroes don’t cry. heroes don’t cry. ‘
oh, but they DO, because despite the constant mantra of ‘ don’t do it ‘ playing over and over, there’s wetness streaking through the dirt and dust caked to her cheeks. the dam has broken. to make matters worse, an officer finally approaches for her statement and to collect the paperwork that’s been messily filled out.
there’s awkward silence for several long seconds, a tired-sounding sigh shattering it.
‘ ... come to the station tomorrow morning, we’ll finish things then. ‘
that can only mean she looks as bad as she feels. how fun. how fan-fucking-tastic.
a murmured thanks is offered, the paperwork is handed over, and then she’s tucked in the back of a squad car and being delivered to the commission. the ride is silent, but not in a comforting way. tough fluff uses it as a way to inventory her injuries, a throbbing above her eyebrow along with a quick touch of her fingers confirming there’s a deeper cut there. there’s the obvious signs of quirk overuse, hunger pangs starting to settle in while her joints ache due to being robbed of nutrients. stolen away for the sake of others. she’s lucky that they weren’t any worse, though the dull ache within her chest along with the discomfort twisting her gut...
those wounds will be the worst.