Words of reassurance, words of confidence, back to Anne's element- work.

The little that Pippi could genuinely help with was quickly delegated to her and everything else was back on her human's shoulders. Not many must haves left anymore thankfully- first aid, a few more outdoorsy articles of clothing, maybe whatever useful she could scrounge from the kitchen, give all that a second go. Maybe even grab lunch? She wasn't sure whether she'd even finished eating the nominally breakfast portion in the end. Barely even noon, and it's all been already such a blur.

Time to venture out again.

One set of Father-locating noises was out, but another was in, thank goodness. More sounds of battling, compressed and muffled, echoing differently enough to narrow down their origin to someplace else. Living room with its massive TV set, the attached speakers only ever booming with sounds of these low quality recordings anymore. His upcoming opponent's training session, stealthily recorded. Could get good money for this kind of material if you knew who to sell it to.

Could get shot.

There he sat, playing the tape at half speed. Inch forward a few seconds, stop, back up, replay. How did that Blaziken dodge? In which direction? How far? Counterattack immediate or once it was on the offensive? Took risky openings or not? Where was it looking at when Flare Blitzing? Predicting or not, and how far ahead if so? Every single possible detail it was possible to glean out of the low resolution mess, diligently recorded.

If not for the actual subject of his study, she might have even found his dedication impressive.

Alas, had to pass by to get anywhere else in the house. Slow, deliberate steps. Constant focus on the back of his bald head. The tattoo he kept hidden underneath his officer's cap. The bigotry it signified and which he never denied. His every motion and reaction tracked. Eighteen steps, nineteen, finally out of sight. Finally an exhale.

Onward.

First aid was easy, storage room next to the doorway to Father's training court. Dozens of commercial kits in there, most of them long expired. Better than nothing. Have to rearrange the visible ones to how they were before or he'd notice. Something outdoorsy was similarly straightforward. Up a flight of stairs, up another, plenty of storage closets.

Muffled sounds all around, each a different instrument in this building's haunted melody.

Dylan bitching on the phone. Complaining about how weak the stuff he got sold was, much too weak nowadays. That he almost 'got' a chick but she bowed out at the last moment. The usual epithets for those that wouldn't spread their legs for him- slut, whore. Asking offhandedly about anything that would help him 'get' more. Some of Anne wanted to barge in and strangle him with her bare hands, there and then, grasp his neck and clench and scream and shake and choke and crush and-

The rest wanted to run and hide, and that's what it was going to do.

Marie studying with another tutor. Could make out questions, couldn't make out words. Some answers in there. But even more stress, his voice raising and her lowering after she got yet another thing wrong. So many sessions, so many hours poured, why won't she ever learn? There she goes, panicking again, obvious hysteria, just like her mother. Maybe this one was just too profoundly stunted to ever learn, to ever amount to anything.

Unending lies, unending scorn, and Anne couldn't do anything to stop it.

At last the right closet, winter clothing squandered away in this nook of the house after whichever manyth maternal reshuffling. Thin, rainproof jacket, all she'd ever need near the city center. Sturdy boots, if the hiking drive ever struck her again. Maybe something else, maybe something more. So many contingencies to think of, each less likely than the last. An aspiration or two. They've been wanting to take one of her older jackets and turn it into something for Pip-

Bang, another, mess of rattling cookware in the kitchen. Furious shout for distracting him from his preparation.

Impenetrable silence.

So many walls between Anne and the source of the noises, but they didn't amount to anything. Second, a dozen, a full minute, her body finally beginning to unclench, to resume its task. Grabbing stuff from the kitchen will have to wait. Had everything else, everything she needed, more than she needed. She could probably head to Castelia with just the clothes on her back and her wallet and they would be fine in the end. 'Probably' wasn't enough, could never be enough.

Not if there was a risk, any risk, of her having to go back here again.

Every single decision she'd made in the past eight years has been for the purpose of spending as little time at home as physically possible. What school clubs were there to pick up? Theater, fencing, couple other sports. Theatre was fun. Playing pretend all the same, but at least she got to choose her roles. Pippi was excellent at clapping in a way only someone incapable of hearing their own cacophony could be. Marie was there every time, mom only ever showed up once or twice.

Ideal arrangement as far as she was concerned.

Many different roles for many different occasions. Disgruntled passerby, detached scientist. Nothing deeply happy or uplifting, but her teacher knew how to harness the thinly veiled grime in her heart. She could do an absolutely mean Captain Ahab, favourite role she'd ever done. Really let her just disconnect her mind from its restraints, speak from the soul, only changing a couple words as necessary. Hatred of Father transmuted into hatred of one particular Wailord.

Including the desire to do the same to both.

She sucked at fencing, and that was perfectly okay. Her heart never really lied in it, there were no aspirations at play, no deep seated dreams of poking the reigning world champion in the dick with a very pointy sword. Nothing deep seated could really stand getting stabbed a couple times between the ribs, and that was the point. It hurt just enough to snap her back to reality, back to the exercise or practice at hand, back to the moment.

Very difficult to brood while having to actively dodge a thin, floppy piece of metal.

Always been a bookworm, always gonna remain one. Admittedly it was hard to enjoy the library to the same extent as she used to do back in the day. The difference between choosing to go there or feeling forced to do so, even if by her own mind, was massive. It's always been well stocked and that didn't change as she grew up, but her tastes most definitely did. With each day of knowing Pippi, each small, lovely interaction, that bit more of the seemingly unending collection of books was cut off from her, by her own volition. It was hard to read books which deliberately chose to portray mons as mindless beasts.

It was impossible to read books which took that mindlessness as an axiom.

Once she felt that the house had sufficiently calmed back down following her Father's outburst, her return journey could begin. Just that bit faster, just that bit sloppier, mind focusing on all the different textures her hands touched while suppressing the input from the ears. Slow steps through the living room, father still in the middle of his analysis, sixteen steps, seventeen, out of there. One more turn, one more dash, home safe.

"Yep, was gonna suggest you grab this jacket but forgot to bring it up, ha! Got everything?"

The spoils were carried over and triumphantly dropped next to what Pippi had prepared. Toothbrushes, towels, painkillers, shampoo, all in neat, hygienic baggies where appropriate, all ready to be packed. Grab this, stuff that, leave just enough room for a favorite mug or two.

12:21 PM. 

They were doing great.

The alarm goes off at six.

Let's get this done-

"Maybe let's hold back on shampoo and towels, you could use getting freshened up a bit~"

Oh come on.