psl: for Steve (on_ur_left)

[abyssum_invocat]

Her father had never scared her with stories about the dark, or monsters, or anything like that. He hadn't had to.

For an eight-year-old girl, he newfound ability to murder had been frighteningly easy, and just plain frightening. And though she'd since gone through much worse, those early queasy feelings still stuck with her and at times they hit Sinthia again when she was least prepared to deal with it. She had horrible nightmares, and as a result didn't sleep well or for very extended periods. It wasn't a secret, really. Not after the first few times she'd woken up screaming like someone was trying to skin her alive, kicking and flailing and wide eyes unseeing.

It had led to a soundproofed room in the tower, and her hating to fall asleep. And, months after that, to a sort of routine when it inevitably still happened; she'd get out of bed and make her way to the kitchen, not bothering to wake anyone else up or turn on the lights. She hardly even alerted the household AI--and that was a neat trick for anyone given what Jarvis was like. This time in particular it had led to her half-crouched on a kitchen stool in her pajamas, while with her eyes she followed the handle of a spoon making circles in a coffee mug--filled with hot chocolate and water heated on the stove, because she still didn't trust the coffee machine.

Comments

[on_ur_left]

Steve's what everyone calls an 'early riser.' Up sometimes before the sun, and certainly the rest of the time with it. What most of them don't understand is that he doesn't need a lot of sleep anymore; but even more than that, unless there's been a battle or it's an active warzone where he needs to catch any sleep whenever he can, he has a hard time finding it. And what's the point of laying in bed for hours, when you know, down to your bones, that you're not going to get any rest?

So instead, he draws or wanders the tower, grabs something to eat at dawn before going for a run.

Today is really just an extension of 'last night'; no real sleep was had, possibly some fitful dozing, where he wouldn't think he'd gotten any sleep at all, except for the strange time-jump from one hour to the next between when he closed his eyes and opened them again.

It's not a good start, so he's startled when the light in the kitchen is already on. It's far too early for any normal person to be awake. Although, applying normal sleeping habits to most of the tower's inhabitants is rather laughable. (He thinks only Bruce actually follows a sleep schedule at all.)

Seeing their newest member shouldn't surprise him; he knows Sinthia has nightmares - they're all extremely aware, after the first few times everyone was awoken by her screaming - but this is the first time he's run into her during the strange too-late-at-night-but-too-early-for-morning hours that he occasionally gets up.

"Uh... Good--morning?" It turns into a question at the end, because is it good? Is it morning even? He doesn't know.

He scrubs a hand up and down over the back of his head, suddenly aware that his hair is probably still sticking up from bed. He goes over to the fridge and starts pulling out food for a quick breakfast.

[abyssum_invocat]

She looks up at the question, hand stilling before clapping down on the rim of the mug, stopping the spoon handle quickly. Sinthia is still cautious around the other inhabitants of the place, and she eyes Steve warily before replying, voice soft.

"Morning."

She watches him carefully as he rubs his neck, brows creasing just a bit. "I don't think any of us sleep normally, no. You and I probably least of all."

At least Steve was an adult when he entered the war. Sinthia had--has--much less to cling to for sanity.