[video] un: eleven

[savingthrows]

[ 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.

Comments

[savingthrows]

I don't know.

[ At this she looks briefly chargrined, worrying her lower lap. ]

I don't know many things. Or places.

[ But she moves on from that quickly, on to the question of him having a small and sweet dad.

Because clearly, they're totally talking about the same thing here. ]

Is yours loud, too? Hopper is. Very loud sometimes. But he doesn't mean it. Loud, but. He cares.

[possessum]

That's okay. I don't know a lot of stuff, either.

[ He offers an easier smile, and doesn't question her more about it. He saw that shift in expression, the way she'd bit down on her lower lip. When Peter first arrived here, talking about certain parts of home was..... It was impossible, for him. Too much of a wound, too hard.

He'll focus on the parts she seems to be okay talking about. Like her "dog". ]

Yeah, he can be kinda loud. Especially when strangers come over. For such a little guy, he's pretty protective.

[ The older teen gives a soft laugh. ]

But there's nothing like, when you come home from school or something and they're there waiting for you, right? It's the best.

[savingthrows]

[ Eleven still looks a little lost at that, but not in a bad way. She just lacks a frame of reference. ]

I haven't bee. To school, I mean. Back home, I was not allowed to go. Too dangerous. Too many people.

[ Tugging a strand of hair behind her ear is a novelty. Being able to grow it out... is a freedom she hadn't thought she'd be able to keep long. ]

Hopper... protects me. From the bad men.

[possessum]

[ Wasn't allowed to go to school? Too dangerous? Too... many people? By now, Peter's met other kids in this place who have come from all manner of messed up situations back home. Scary things beyond anything he could have dreamed of. Apocalypses and monsters and impossible worlds. So he can... accept the notion, a little bit more easily. That doesn't mean it doesn't still startle him, making his frown softly return. ]

That sounds.... really scary. I'm sorry.

[ Peter hesitates, before asking carefully. ]

Did you have..... parents? Or someone to look out for you? An adult, I mean.

[savingthrows]

It's okay. I'm used to it. If something is scary here - I can protect you from it, too.

[ She nods at that, as if a decision has been reached, before tilting her head in confusion. He's lost her. Does he ask about more adults? ]

I only need Hopper. Mama is... not well. Far away. Papa hurt me, but Papa is dead. Joyce sometimes helps Hop.

[possessum]

[ It should be the other way around, he thinks. Older ones should protect younger ones — except by now, Peter well knows that "protecting" isn't his strong suit. He tries. But he's so weak. So... wrong and weak.

He sits there a little bit stunned by her words, the certainty of them. 'I'm used to it.' Used to scary things. Just what.... has the girl seen, experienced? But he's gently wounded by what she says next, what weight is in those few simple words. She doesn't have parents. One dead, one... far away. There's another frown; just how long has she been on her own? ]

Were you just.... staying with him? With your dog? Just the two of you?

[ Peter..... Hopper is not a dog. ]

[savingthrows]

[ Now she looks even more puzzled, trying to grasp at what went wrong in the conversation, but not quite puzzling it together. ]

I don't have. A dog.

[ And then slowly, it clicks. She stares at first in disbelief, and then she has to clap a hand in front of her face as an honest giggle bubbles first. ]

Did you. Did you think. Hopper is a dog?

[possessum]

[ Wait........ what.

Now it's Peter's turn to look at the screen in disbelief, stunned into silence for a long moment. ]

.....Wait. So he's... not a dog?

...Is he a person?

[ He's.... a bit slow on the uptake, El. Forgive him.... ]