[ Immediately, her mind opens up to a torrent of memories--
And oh, god, it's awful.
Charles is there, the tile floor cold against his bare feet, his ears ringing with the shouts of angry adults, his eyes stinging with the reflection of sterile white lighting. He is hollow inside, and yet, full of anger and fear and desperation, the clawing hope of a child that's been treated like a monster but just wants to be loved and protected. He knows what's inside those numbered doors; he knows exactly where those hallways lead.
And there's a void beyond it all, a massive, yawning void that threatens to swallow up everything in its way. A thing with teeth and flower petals, a thing of darkness utterly complete.
He carefully picks his way out of the memories, untangling himself, and for a moment-- something black and terrible and heavy hovers over the party. A violinist's bow screeches out of tune. Dancers stumble to a stop. And then Charles takes a deep breath, and that weight vanishes like a popped balloon, and the party resumes. ]
It's a pleasure to meet you, Eleven. [ His voice is so very gentle, and so very sad. His gaze is on those tattooed numbers-- a branding, like she's a thing, a weapon, a dangerous animal. The same as the numbers inked onto the inside of Erik's arm, yet another crass dehumanization. ] I'm afraid you won't find a similar number on my wrist; I was born with my abilities. Nobody forced them on me.
[ His mind flicks back to Laura; another child given abilities by experimentation. God, how common is it? ]
How long have you been free of that place? [ He can only assume she is, given her eyeliner and hair gel, things not exactly common in experimental labs. ]
no subject
And oh, god, it's awful.
Charles is there, the tile floor cold against his bare feet, his ears ringing with the shouts of angry adults, his eyes stinging with the reflection of sterile white lighting. He is hollow inside, and yet, full of anger and fear and desperation, the clawing hope of a child that's been treated like a monster but just wants to be loved and protected. He knows what's inside those numbered doors; he knows exactly where those hallways lead.
And there's a void beyond it all, a massive, yawning void that threatens to swallow up everything in its way. A thing with teeth and flower petals, a thing of darkness utterly complete.
He carefully picks his way out of the memories, untangling himself, and for a moment-- something black and terrible and heavy hovers over the party. A violinist's bow screeches out of tune. Dancers stumble to a stop. And then Charles takes a deep breath, and that weight vanishes like a popped balloon, and the party resumes. ]
It's a pleasure to meet you, Eleven. [ His voice is so very gentle, and so very sad. His gaze is on those tattooed numbers-- a branding, like she's a thing, a weapon, a dangerous animal. The same as the numbers inked onto the inside of Erik's arm, yet another crass dehumanization. ] I'm afraid you won't find a similar number on my wrist; I was born with my abilities. Nobody forced them on me.
[ His mind flicks back to Laura; another child given abilities by experimentation. God, how common is it? ]
How long have you been free of that place? [ He can only assume she is, given her eyeliner and hair gel, things not exactly common in experimental labs. ]