She knows that tone, and her whole body goes tense when she hears it. The stack of books - small, really, given how big this fucking house is - gets dropped into their box with a little more force than Vanya intended. Her jaw clenches, and she glances over as he waltzes in, sits down on her bed.

For a second she just stares at him, then turns in a half circle to gesture at her room. It should be obvious, shouldn't it? But then, he's probably already messed up; she can't remember the last time she saw him really sober.

(Vanya bites the side of her tongue, thinking of Dad's harsh words for her yesterday, is it so hard for you to keep track of your possessions, Number Seven, must you be utterly useless, and tastes blood.)

"What's it look like?" She goes to her music stand, pulling various concert pieces off and stuffing them into a folder to be packed away.