toxic | | | frank iero au

.2.

The cold water runs over her back, as she rubs the soap through her hair. Cold water and clothes. Those are the only things that ever really make contact with her body anymore.

Her green-verging on brown-eyes search over her arms. Patches of pink skin and white skin, like patchwork quilt of abstract design, pulled over her skeleton.

Her face was the only thing left.

Lips and cheeks devoid of color, eyes as dull as the life she lives.

She shuts off the shower and pats herself dry with the sheet-like towel. They refuse to let her have regular towels, on the account of what happened the first week she was there.

She quickly gets dressed, afraid of who may see, and walks out, with still dripping hair.

The nurse holds a regular towel, firmly. Anastasia allows her to rub the water from her hair, and twist it into a tight bun.

Laughter echos through the hall from the Eastern side.

No one goes over on that side, not unless they absolutely have to. They're all too scared.

Anastasia walks, calmly toward the laughter, and to her room.

Two bed's, a small window, a sink, a toliet, and extra blankets.

That's all she has.

That stuff, and the too-big leather bracelet she stole before she came here.

Something that's her's and only her's.
______________

Frank has nothing as he's tossed into a room.

Humming comes from the one next door, as the guards walk away. The head of the Institute, a man named Andy Hurley, instructs him in a sharp voice, that this is his permanent home for the time being.

A little window sits high on the wall, only bars, and leading to the next room. It's about the size of a large shoe-box.

The humming continues from it.

"Long ago, just like the hearse you died to get in.."

The guards leave and the door is left open.

Frank wanders around the corner to next room.

Slight cliffhanger thingy. Woo.