Eleven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
savingthrows) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deerfeed2020-11-09 04:46 pm
savingthrows) wrote in deerfeed2020-11-09 04:46 pm
[video] un: eleven
[ The video clicks on to a young girl, perhaps 14 years. Her round eyes look a little unsure, brows drawn together in concentration as she figures out how to work this new tablet machine with the stupid name - it's not liquid. She's learned how to operate the application tools back in Beacon, so it's a transition rather than a completely new skill.
Eleven sits cross legged on her bed, half cast in the light of the strange lantern sitting right next to her. She sets the Fluid down on the nightstand, then briefly leans out of frame and picks something up that looks like a beak shaped, half plague doctor mask, distractedly scratching at her neck, where healed scars looks as though something once grabbed her by the neck. Finally, she stops fidgeting and looks at the camera. ]
Hi.
[ She speaks with a pattern that might strike as odd. Sometimes halting in odd places, or saying words slowly, as if she has to place them on her tongue very deliberately. ]
Is there an angel? Here? I need a... miracle. Or maybe. Someone old, with magic?
[ She glances down at the mask, worries her lower lip between her teeth, then adds: ]
There's something in here. It smells like... where I'm from. Home. It's fading. I lost my friend who did the... miracle. So it's fading. But it's important. [ She swallows, lips pursed. ] To me.
[ The things unsaid sit deep in her chest and ache - the home she lost months ago. The friends she lost along the way. A short, deep breath, she gathers herself, serious face relaxing into something softer, but still somber. ]
I can pay. With glitter pens. Or birds, if you have paper.
[Another small pause. She's about to reach out and shut the video off, when she remembers lessons learned. Right - manners. Or the attempt at them. ]
Thanks.
Eleven sits cross legged on her bed, half cast in the light of the strange lantern sitting right next to her. She sets the Fluid down on the nightstand, then briefly leans out of frame and picks something up that looks like a beak shaped, half plague doctor mask, distractedly scratching at her neck, where healed scars looks as though something once grabbed her by the neck. Finally, she stops fidgeting and looks at the camera. ]
Hi.
[ She speaks with a pattern that might strike as odd. Sometimes halting in odd places, or saying words slowly, as if she has to place them on her tongue very deliberately. ]
Is there an angel? Here? I need a... miracle. Or maybe. Someone old, with magic?
[ She glances down at the mask, worries her lower lip between her teeth, then adds: ]
There's something in here. It smells like... where I'm from. Home. It's fading. I lost my friend who did the... miracle. So it's fading. But it's important. [ She swallows, lips pursed. ] To me.
[ The things unsaid sit deep in her chest and ache - the home she lost months ago. The friends she lost along the way. A short, deep breath, she gathers herself, serious face relaxing into something softer, but still somber. ]
I can pay. With glitter pens. Or birds, if you have paper.
[Another small pause. She's about to reach out and shut the video off, when she remembers lessons learned. Right - manners. Or the attempt at them. ]
Thanks.
no subject
(Slow clap. It's okay, Eleven. The demon looked down on literally everyone.
Still, he claps his hands solidly together and keeps them together, looking thoughtfully at the - thing.)
So you need to keep the scent around? And magic does that. Okay. So, what, can you sacrifice something? Or does it have to be actual magic?
no subject
I'm not. Like a dog.
[ She doesn't understand the subtleties of direct comparisons versus thinly veiled, alluded connections or metaphors, and has fought too hard for a sense of being a person to have it shaken.
Her sense of self doesn't hold up to a lot of scrutiny - but she has to fight for it regardless. ]
no subject
(The real Eddie would completely agree with all of this. He's spent too long fighting for his own sense of self too and would be just as pissed as she was - if not probably more because Eddie was just Emotional like that.
But. Like. Demons.)
no subject
[ This is where she shifts from defensive to looking genuinely angry.
Time will tell if it's a blessing or a curse that she doesn't know the real Eddie yet - for now she is less than impressed with this guy - nothing but a rude grownup.]