pixieledmemes | Test Drive Meme #2

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Test Drive Meme #2

TDM #2 - March/April 2025

🦋 Introduction

Welcome to the Pixie Led Test Drive Meme!

The prompts will always be game canon, provided both characters who participate in a thread are either already in the game, or get accepted in the next application round.

You do not need an invitation to join the Test Drive Meme, it's open for anyone!

Please indicate character name and canon in the subject line of your top-level. For current characters, you may also indicate your character's court.

For prospective players, Invites open on the 18th, Reserves on the 20th, and Applications on the 22nd. Thanks for checking us out and we hope you'll join us!

🦋 The Party

You wake up at a party.

You're not sure how, exactly, you got here. You may have just been walking in the woods or at a meeting for work or doing any other normal activity for you. But you know you weren't supposed to be at this party, you're fairly certain.

Anyone you ask about it will say the party is for you. You and the others also waking up and looking confused. Further questions will lead to the partygoers insisting you have something to eat. You're starving and others are eating the food without repercussion, so you figure there's no harm in a bite. You finish your portion.

It's a garden party at the crack of dawn, with the sun still in its early stages of climbing through the yonder, casting a good mix of pastel hues of blue, pink, and beige on everything. Heralding the first day of spring, the Ruler of the Spring Court has found it fitting to arrange this gathering where guests can feel the blades of grass touching their ankles, as well as the rich soil beneath their feet. Flowers of all kinds surround the party as if they were carefully curated. With spring as the "dawn of seasons," which marks a transition from winter's latency to the resurgence of life everywhere, the Ruler of the Dawn Court has also seen it fit to host aspects of this party during the one time of the year that dawn occurs the whole day. Tall candles and torches grace the outskirts of the garden party, providing warmth and an orange glow everywhere. Not one flame goes out even with the occasional wind, the Duchess always makes sure of this.

There are also freshly picked blossoms and branches with leaves on every table accenting the festive spread of food and drinks. This time, a lot of the food prepared for the Adopted guests are familiar to them with a little bit of a twist. Burgers might come in small packages and in toothpicks, while hotdogs in buns are also diminutive. Cookies look delectable but they have a flowery flavor to them, as if eating freshly picked daisies or daffodils. Fruits that may have been present in an Adopted's home, such as pineapples and watermelons, have seeds in odd places. Picking this selection of food is an attempt to be more welcoming and to appease the lovely guests the fae have invited.

As the party winds down and everyone's eaten, a tall, stately woman stands up and speaks. You feel her voice more than hear it.

I am the Lawspeaker of the Fae, elected by Seelie and Unseelie alike, and you are all, now, subjects of Faerie. You cannot leave this realm once you have eaten our food, and even if you could, there is no saying how much time has passed back where you're from. Your loved ones are likely dead, your problems have likely played out. We require assistance in various matters, and each of you has been chosen for your talent and skill. You will be adopted by one of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts based on your strengths and personality. Your Court will decide what to do with you from there.

As suddenly as she stood, she sits back down.

🦋 Chance at a Dance

A party is not complete without dancing, of course, and while during the last gathering held for the Adopted, different fae danced to music exclusively for them around a glowing tree, this time they are insisting their guests to join in.

This is a party for you, after all.

If the prodding of the different fae hosts won't convince you, perhaps the music will. They play easily recognizable tunes that their wonderful guests must have heard before. These melodies have certain unique effects to their mortal attendees, which are as follows:

Upbeat Music: You will believe that you and your dance partner have been friends forever and have known each other a long time.
Romantic Music: You will become amorous and flirtatious towards your dance partner.
Slow Music: You will develop some tension with your dance partner. It may be negative or sexual; completely up to you.
Quiet Music: You will assume your dance partner is a threat and try to fight them.

🦋 Flower Power

At the Spring King's behest, every Adopted should wear a flower corsage or boutonnière to the gathering. After all, this is to celebrate the coming of spring and what better way to do that than to honor everything in bloom.

The thing is, though, the King of Spring, while amorous and friendly, also has a penchant for playing with mortals' memories, if not also affect their desires and despairs.

So, mischievous as he is, he made sure to enchant the different flowers present in every corsage and boutonnière for the party with the effects below:

Rose: You will recall a horrific trauma
Carnation: You will see a vision of your future, whether it's good or bad
Orchid: You will remember a time you lost someone
Chrysanthemum: You will believe someone among the Adopted is your soulmate
Dahlia: You will believe you betrayed someone important to you, whether you actually did or not

It is perhaps a good thing that no one but the Adopted are allowed to see these visions and memories, but everyone who wears a corsage or boutonnière will be able to see each other's memories and visions when in close enough physical proximity to the vision-haver, for better or for worse.

🦋 GEIS

You feel a vibration in your pocket sometime after the Lawspeaker addresses everyone. When you search for the source, you will pull out your Leaf, the device the Fae use to stay in touch with each other. Anyone who's used a smart phone will easily recognize how it works.

Greetings, Adopted. This is your Lawspeaker.

Tell us all of a time you gave someone a gift. Perhaps a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates. Was it appreciated or not? A reward might await the most meaningful gift given.

🦋 Link to Overflow Post

ｎａｖｉｇａｔｉｏｎ

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The tension in Eleven's narrow shoulders bleeds out a little, when the person stepping into her line of sight is a girl, roughly her age. Eleven does not step back, as a result. She just stares right back.

There's an undercurrent of something here she has no way of putting into words. Her instincts are not like Laura's, not sharp and animalistic. Still, there's something in the ways their eyes meet that gives Eleven pause.

It reminds her of...

Eleven swallows around her food, gulping down too much. For a moment she holds herself like she's bracing for judgment, but it does not come. So she relaxes out of that defensiveness as well. It leaves her at a loss, for a moment.

So much that she ends up breaking eye contact to look around, to look over her shoulder, and then back at the other girl. Just to check that the attention is meant for her. Just to check that she's being seen, rather than overlooked.

She thought, for just a moment, that the girl reminded her of Mike. Being regarded by someone who also feels at least half a step removed from everyone. But no. That's not it.

Kali perhaps. The comparison lands closer, but it does not fit. Kali was eager for Eleven, but she was looking for a knife to wield, not a sister.

No. It's not Mike, it's not Kali.

It's like looking in a mirror.

Eleven looks at the girl, and she feels herself staring right back. ]

... Hi.

[ Quiet, hesitant, slow.

Are you looking into a mirror, too? ]

( Eleven looks over her shoulder; Laura's gaze tracks her sight line by sheer instinct, and flits back the moment Eleven returns eye contact again. Nope, that keen attention is definitely only intended for the other girl. The one dressed in ill-fitting clothes that don't smell enough like the person wearing them, wearing makeup that makes her look darker in the eyes, but these things aside...

These things aside, yes. It does feel like a mirror. Never moreso than when Eleven opens her mouth only to say a single word.

They communicate as sparsely as one another, it seems, because Laura returns it with a careful: )

Hola.

( Two or three more tense seconds pass, until she takes a step, and then another step, and then finally she's at the other side of the table. Hesitating for a second, as though waiting for Eleven to protest. To tell her to leave. Asking for permission without asking at all — and when nothing comes, she finally lowers herself down to sit across from the other girl.

Brown eyes flicker over brown eyes. )

...They tricked you. The food. It was a trick.

( They tricked her, too. She'd been feral about it, shoveled it into her face with the ferocity of someone who spent their entire lives on strictly portion controlled bland food and cardboard-flavored nutrition bars. Maybe even if she'd caught Eleven in time to warn her, it would not have mattered — food is very tempting when you're hungry for life. John had judged her for it a little; she thiks this girl probably would not. )

[ The approach is observed carefully, eyes locked onto the other girl. She says a word Eleven does not know. This is not unusual - this is most of what other people do. There's a yawning chasm in Eleven's mind, and she has precious few words that have filled it yet. More, because of Hopper. But not enough yet.

She wants more. Her lips move. She does not speak, but Laura will see Eleven mouth 'Hola', parrotting silently. She does not know what it means. But she has the word now, and hangs on to it like a keepsake, like a physical thing.

Eleven does not tell her to leave, though there is a small moment where she blinks like she wants to flinch. It passes.

And when Laura explains, when Laura mentions the trick, Eleven's posture deflates further. She is tired, so tapped out. The gate is closed, but she is not home, and she does not know if she saved the others, if she did the one thing she knows to do, the one thing in her own control.

And now...

Hopper had explained many rules, and Eleven learned them. She memorized them, and she broke them on purpose. But she did not see the trick, and she ate the food, starved for something to fill herself with when she's running on empty and has been for a while. ]

I was...

[ The hand that still has crushed food in it opens, fingers lax. Her free hand curls into the threadbare fabric of her ill-fitting jeans. ]

Stupid.

[ She sounds tired, but there is venom in the word still. ]

( She doesn't wince on Eleven's behalf, her expression doesn't change nearly enough for that — but she's tempted. She understands; she felt stupid, too. But since she's been here watching the parties, she's learned that it doesn't matter how smart someone is. She's met very smart people. Doctors, like Bruce. People who should be the smartest, who still wind up tricked.

She shakes her head. )

They don't play fair.

( She means it's not your fault. They would have gotten her eventually anyway. They mess with minds, or they trap you places until you have to eat. Until you have no choice. Until you feel compelled. No matter how many people she has tried to catch and warn, she has always failed, and she thinks it must be because they intercept her, too.

This is a losing game. She wants to kill them for it, but they're too powerful. Even more powerful than Erik. Powerful enough to bring all these strong, smart, gifted people here and keep them. If there is a fight to be had, it won't happen with her claws.

Speaking of which.

She points to her own lip, between mouth and nose. )

You have blood.

( Not that Laura minds; she has been covered in the stuff more than she can remember. But sometimes it bothers other people. )

[ Eleven frowns, hangs on to it as if she needs to, for a while at least. Like the lick of anger curling in her gut is a comfort. It remains... mostly unanswered. The void in her mind gapes like a maw, vast and hungry. It thrums back only faintly.

Battery empty.

She has to rest before she can try to break things apartment.

She wonders if she was taken, or if she went.

Because when she fought the Demogorgon, she went to the Upside Down. And now she's closed the Gate she's... here. Wherever here is. She barely knows where home was. She barely knows anything at all.

Still. The other girl puts words into the air that area balm to Eleven's bruises. They don't play fair. Adults rarely do, and that is somethng Eleven understands, at the core of it all. So she nods, accepts the truth and lets it make her feel better, like Hopper putting a bandaid on her scraped knee. ]

They don't play fair.

[ At the mention of blood, Eleven reaches up, touches under her nose. She wipes her face on the sleeve of the blazer, which gets rid of most of the crusted blood for now. ]

They tricked you. Too?

[ The cadence of her sentence is off. Emphasis in the wrong places, odd little gaps and pauses, a little too slow. There's effort in it. ]

( She doesn't mind the speech. Understands, in a way, she thinks — because English is not her first language, either. She doubts this girl's first language is Spanish. It may be some other thing entirely, something that isn't words, but that still makes English the second one. Laura's speech is still a lilting, accented affair that heavily belies the fact that she isn't a native speaker. It's just a different version of that, she thinks. A different kind of accent.

What matters is that they understand each other, and she's beginning to think maybe it wouldn't take very many words at all for that.

She nods, slowly. Once. )

Si.

( Hopefully the affirmative nod provides enough context to make it clear that means yes. If it doesn't, though, this next bit will.

Her eyes flicker to Eleven's hand, the one that had been grabbing at food only moments ago. )

I was like you.

( Exactly the same, with an added bonus of whipping her claws out and snarling at anyone who dared get too close, or who reached for a dish at the same time as she did. She does not know how this girl got blood under her nose, but if it was through violence, then it was exactly the same energy. )

[ Once more, the parroting. Out loud this time, a quietly mumbled Si, and a nod. She understands, and she appreciates. Eleven has no concept of other languages, she just assumes there is Language, but she understands that different words exist that mean the same thing. Like mouth breather and bully. Like cool and bitchin'. Like friend and promise. Like yes and si.

Eleven follows the other girl's eyes to her hand, to the sticky residue of food.

She's been tricked, and she frowns about it still. But... she's already been tricked. So...

She pushes herself up from the seat, reaches across the table and starts pulling plates towards the two of them. The other girl has not warned her to stop eating, so she simply pulls a variety of things into arms reach for both of them, and grabs the next handful.

Around a mouthful of food she hesitates.

There are things she's not supposed to tell, things that are dangerous for other people to find out. But Eleven is alone, and the girl understands. ]

Like me? You mean. Hungry?

[ It's a careful prompt, with searching eyes. wary, but not suspicious. Eleven's features are not schooled carefully. It's easy to read her, if one just looks. ]

Edited 2025-03-16 02:18 (UTC)

( This, too, had been what Laura had done after she found out. She'd carried on eating, because the damage was already done, and there was no point in not enjoying good food at that point. She shows no hesitance now, either. Like Eleven, she eats with her fingers — though perhaps just a touch more delicately; she's been having meals with other people. Cassian and Peggy and Erik and John. She's learning to modify her behavior to better match them, and that includes being slightly less messy while eating.

Her table manners are still nothing to write home about.

Hungry.

Laura meets her eye. Brings a cube of pineapple to her mouth, and sucks it out of her fingers loudly, while nodding solemnly.

Yes. Hungry. Hungry for everything. Urgent about it, and feral, and territorial and wary. Hungry in the ways that are deep. In some ways she is still very hungry, starved, but slightly less so now than she'd been months ago. )

[ Eleven is not mindless, reaching for things to try for herself. There's plenty here she does not know, plenty here she barely grasps. Plenty that is marked through their absence, too - soda cans, plastic utensils, cardboard boxes and crinkling bags of pre-packaged things. Still, in her exploration, she will clearly regularly look to Laura.

Anything and everything Laura tries, Eleven eventually grabs for, too. It's less of Eleven waiting and only mimicking, but rather a guideline she deviates from at her own leisure and yet returns to willingly.

They share another look. Quiet girls with big brown eyes and a yawning hunger for many things within them. Their wounds are not the same, but their scars are not that different at all.

Laura has offered many gifts. After a long stretch of silence filled with a bare minimum of table manners, Eleven requests one more: ]

Do you have. A name?

[ Do you have one, she asks. Like having one is not the norm. ]

( There's a funny companionship found in this quiet space where they eat. She notices Eleven trying the things she tries, and she adapts to it — tries something, decides if it is good. Pushes it closer to Eleven if it is. Wrinkles her nose if it is not, but nudges it reluctantly forward just the same as if to say try it, but don't expect to like it. Most things are good. It's much rarer that they are not — and usually they're strange adult foods, like pickled things and weird vegetables.

Soon, at least one hunger is satiated, and the eating slows. She brings her feet up into the chair and wraps her arms around her knees, comfortable, perched, watching the new girl experience things the way Laura experiences things. Is this what she looks like from the outside, she wonders? Do they look the same that way? She wouldn't not mind so much if that were the case, she thinks. It would be nice to not be the only one like this around.

A name. This is a complicated topic, a conversation she's had with John and with Erik. Mutant names versus chosen names versus given names. She has two of the three. She doesn't always elaborate like this, but she wonders if the other girl will understand what she means when she says: )

I picked one. ( Rather, Gabriela chose it for her, and Laura loved Gabriela, so she kept it. It's still the one she chose, rather than the one she was given at birth. ) Laura. Do you?

[ Laura's way of sharing, offering, ellicits a quiet but palpable delight from Eleven. It is one thing to quietly copy, it is another to be encouraged to share, and she makes sure that everything offered gets a reaction.

More often than not, the verdict falls very similar. Eleven isn't picky, though there are textures she finds strange. She definitely has a sweet tooth, easily identified in the things she seems to be enjoying most.

Names though... She asked, so she is not upset that the question is given back to her likewise. But something sticks there, lodges in her chest in a way she was not prepared for.

I picked one.

Jane was put on a piece of paper for a girl that was stolen and erased. Kali decided it was right, but Kali's sense of self and identity do not align with what Eleven thinks and feels of herself, not really, not truly.

Project 011 has been branded on her wrist, decreed. Decided for her by Papa.

Eleven is what naturally follows that, and how she thinks of herself. But it's the number all the same.

El has been decided for her by Mike. She holds that one most dear.

They were, none of them, her choice. And yet between them, she has chosen... has she not?

She opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks away from Laura, scuffs at the ground with the Converse that only just about fit her. ]

I am. Eleven.

[ It's not her name, not really. But it's who she is. She places her arm on the table between them. Points to the tattoo on her wrist. Stark black lines on thin, pale skin. 0 1 1. ]

My... friends. [ She swallows, hard. ] Call me El.

[ And then, after another long pause, tentatively: ]

You... picked?

( If Eleven had her attention before, she has laser focus now, after hearing that name. This is important. She knows this is something important, it must be — and that instinct in the back of Laura's mind is proven doubly correct when the other girl lifts her arm onto the table and reveals a number.

It's like Erik's. Similar, not the same, but close. Laura's hand curls around her wrist, holding it gently in place so that she can stare at it for a long, long second.

She's still holding it when she finally drags those eyes up again to meet Eleven's. )

Before I was Laura, I was Twenty-Three.

( This girl has to meet Erik. She decides it immediately. All three of them were numbers once. Erik has been very good for Laura and to Laura. Maybe he'll be good for this girl, too. Eleven. El. Because this girl's friends call her that, the way Gabriela called her Laura. If that's what she picks, then that is her name. )

[ Eleven watches, too, with bated breath. As Laura holds her wrist, Eleven almost pulls back - just almost. She stays still, lets Laura touch and look. Fear nips at her heels.

Freak. Crazy. Weirdo.

Monster.

To them, you will always be a monster, Jane.

It's difficult to show, now more so than ever. Now that she knows more, understands more.

But then Laura looks at her. And before she was Laura, she was Twenty-Three.

Eleven's breath hitches, and a tear rolls down her cheek, tracking black smudged make up with it. ]

Laura... [ She says the name almost right. With a pause between Lau and Ra that almost makes it sound like two words instead of syllables. And she cannot quite roll the R how it is meant. But it's close. She tries. She tries, because the name is important. ] You're... like me?

[ Has she abandoned Kali, only to find someone else, someone who understands better? Someone else who got to choose a name over a number, but who will not push hurt into her brain like a game, and want her to become a butterfly knife in their pocket? ]

( El tries to say her name right; not so many people do. She doesn't mind very much, she knows things are different in English, and most people who speak it pronounce her name the American way. Erik says it right, but Erik speaks spanish. John calls her a bunch of different names like honeybadger, and she doesn't mind those as much as she pretends.

But she appreciates El's effort here. That she's trying. Names are important.

When she lets go of the wrist she'd been holding, she does it slowly, one careful digit at a time. A tentative measure, like she knows she's not supposed to keep holding on, but reaching for someone's wrist or hand has become her primary touch-based form of communication. It expresses the comfort and sympathy she doesn't wear on her face, that she doesn't really know how to say out loud sometimes.

But some people don't like it when you hang onto them. Logan didn't. John didn't. It's better to be safe and let go than to linger for too long.

She's tempted to reach out and wipe that tear away from the other girl's face, too. But she doesn't. She curls her fingers instead, and tucks her hands between her still-raised knees. )

I think maybe. ( They are alike, but how alike exactly? ) They made me in a facility. Soy mutante. Are you a mutant?

[ Touch has not been kind to Eleven very much, and there is a lot of touch she shies away from. More than that, though, there is a lot of touch she craves and does not know how to ask for.

Laura's hand pulls back, and Eleven's eyes follow, like a magnet on a string. She thinks of Mike reaching out. She thinks of Hopper, on his good days. She thinks of Joyce Byers.

Laura's hand curls between her knees, and Eleven's hand follows, like a magnet on a string. Tentative. Fingertips on fabric. Then curling, too, not around Laura's wrist, but into the fabric of her sleeve.

Only then does she look back at Laura's eyes. ]

Mute. Ant?

[ A face devoid of recognition on the word. It means nothing to her. But... ]

They stole me. Papa raised me at. Hawkins Lab. Indiana.

( Laura reaches for people often. For a while, she was used to the gesture being rejected — Logan; then she started getting used to it being reciprocated — Erik; but she's not used to other people bothering to initiate it yet. That feels like the next level, and it feels like slightly more than just acceptance. She twists her hand under the grip on her sleeve, rearranges it so that it's fingers wrapped around fingers instead. They can hold hands while they talk about this; it's not an easy conversation. Not a very nice one.

She's almost disappointed El doesn't know mutant, but it also seems like El doesn't know many words. That doesn't necessarily mean she isn't one, just that she doesn't talk in English very much, maybe.

Stole is different, but similar. Papa, she did not have one of those where she came from. But the rest- )

Transigen Lab. Mexico City. ( Two places. Maybe she is from the same world, it's just that her lab had been in America instead. Maybe they are the same. ) Did they make you do bad things?

[ Bad things.

Eleven's hand twitches a little. Not flinching, not pulling away. After a moment, her grip on Laura's hand tightens, just a little. Eleven is not a very strong girl, nor does she really understand how to use physical parts of herself to be harsh. Not yet, anyway. Not on purpose. ]

Yes.

[ She's not supposed to tell people. Hopper was very clear.

But...

Hawkins Lab. Transigen Lab. Mexico City. Indiana. 011. 23.

It's me. I'm the monster. ]

I spy. I break.

[ Papa was proud. So was Kali. ]

I kill.

( So yes. They are the same. Laura nods solemnly, squeezes that hand in hers, and says: )

I kill people, too.

( Less spying, possibly more breaking. Almost certainly more killing, since she wasn't trained to explore dark corners with her mind. She was trained to be a weapon exclusively, and nothing more. Point her in a direction, watch her go. Unlike El, she has no other purpose, no other use.

She's not supposed to say I'm a weapon anymore, not out loud, or else she would tell El this part as well. )

But I try not to, anymore.

( Not unless they threaten her first; Laura, don't be what they made you. She's trying. Dragons don't count. )

[ Eleven nods. She understands, though her eyes skitter away from Laura.

The truth is, of course, that she has killed more since running away than she ever did at the orders of someone else. She spied for Papa. And she learned to break things for him. When she killed for him, it was not on purpose, and it was people instead of the cat. She failed, and yet she made him proud. But opening the gate changed things. The Demogorgon changed things.

Mike changed things. So did Hopper, later. So did Kali, briefly.

She did not kill when Kali wanted her to. She did not need to. She chose mercy, because she could. And Eleven does not know what that means. Does not think it makes her less of a monster. But it's important. She kills to protect her friends, and kills to stay free. She kills bad men.

She does not feel remorse. She does not think that needs to change.

They are the same. But it's okay if they are different, too. And perhaps Eleven can be a monster and help Laura not need to be one.

Perhaps she can protect Laura, too. ]

You can choose.

[ Eleven nods, looking back up finally. She tries for a small smile. If she'd stayed with Kali, she would have had to spy, just like Papa wanted. For better reasons, but not by choice. If she'd stayed with Kali, she would have had to kill who Kali wanted dead, not who was threatening her, not who deserved it in the moment.

She will not be Kali to Laura. She will be Eleven, and she will always save her friends, whether they can save her or not. ]

I can protect you. If bad men come.

( I can protect you. It's a wonderful thought. Still a novelty, still one she isn't used to — though she's adapting now to the concept that people seem to think she needs it, or they want to do it for her even if they know she doesn't. Logan had protected her, albeit begrudgingly, disdainfully. Erik had protected her from the dragon, and so had John — and she'd been furious at them for putting themselves at risk on her behalf. Stupid, stupid, stupid of them when they don't heal the way she does.

It's nice that El is offering, but perhaps unfair to her, because she doesn't understand yet what Laura is. So she slips her hand away from El's while sayng, )

You don't have to. Watch.

( She holds her forearm up. From the opposite hand, two razor-sharp claws emerge in a flash. When she drags them over her arm deep enough to cut, to bleed, the skin knits closed again right behind them instantly. You see? )

I heal. I don't die.

( Nobody needs to protect her, especially not the ones who do die. She is getting so, so tired of losing everyone she meets and learns to care about. She would hate what happened to Nate to happen to El. )

[ Eleven startles - it's not a big flinch, she doesn't even pull back. She just jumps a little bit, eyes going wide, the beginnings of a shocked 'no' on her mouth when Laura cuts herself. But then...

She knits herself back together again, just like that. Like the wound was never even there.

Eleven sucks in a quick breath, then she reaches for Laura's arm. Touches it, drags her fingertips over where the cuts were and are no longer. Through the blood. Then her fingers reach for the hand with the claws - careful if they are still out, more eager if they're retracted by now. She wants to inspect, wants to see. ]

You heal. You don't die.

[ She looks back up at Laura. This is different. Different from Kali putting images into her mind, different from Eleven spying and breaking things.

Eleven is a gun. Laura is a knife.
Eleven is a gaping wound. Laura is a cut that closes. ]

Do you hurt?

( The claws are still out — and very sharp, so when Eleven goes reaching for her hand, they slowly begin to retract, inch by inch, careful so as to make sure El's fingers are nowhere nearby as they move. She'll be able to see every bit of the blade's movement through the ligaments and tendons beneath her skin, a place that was meant to house rounded and smooth bone, not rigid and unyielding sharp metal.

Logan had been asked this once — does it hurt? He'd said every time, and the answer is true for Laura, too. She nods, just once. Yes, she hurts.

But it doesn't matter, because she heals, and she can't die. Who cares if she hurts?

Which is another thing Erik wouldn't like for her to say, so she swallows it down and says nothing instead, offering over her arm compliantly for El's thorough inspection. Aside from the blood, not a single trace remains. Not on her arm, not at her knuckles where the blades disappeared. Nothing. )

[ Eleven watches the claws retract. She has no formal understanding of anatomy - but there are things she knows, understands. Like where to break. Where to squeeze. How to kill versus how to hurt.

Eleven's fingers track of Laura's hand. The back of it, the knuckles, the palm. Not as much pressure here as there was on the arm. Her touches are light and careful. Because Eleven has craved care, she tries to give it.

Her powers hurt sometimes, too, but it's different. It's not metal in her body going in and out. It's a hurt in her chest and in her mind, not a wound opening and closing, making it look like nothing is there, like the hurt was never real, even when it was. Even when it is.

Laura says Eleven doesn't have to protect her, because she does not die. Eleven decides she must try to protect Laura, because Laura hurts.

She scoots her chair a bit closer. Mirrors Laura's pose with her legs drawn up, her own hand loosely cradled between bony knees in ill-fitting jeans. She still holds on to Laura's, of course.

Eleven makes an offer that's just as much a solemn vow: ]

I want to be. Your friend.

[ A friend is someone you'd do anything for. ]

( On this, too, they are the same. Charles said it once: In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver. Despite the way she was raised, despite the fact that they tried their hardest to engineer her into feeling nothing but rage, Laura's empathy has proven to be irrepressible. It's her instinct to reach out, to take a hand or a wrist, even without having been taught that gesture in her own life. She gives care, she craves care — and she submits to this painstaking gentleness with utter compliance as a result.

The good news is, while she may not know how to be a child, or a daughter, she does know how to be a friend. The other children only had each other in Transigen, and their fierce dedication to one another was instrumental to their survival.

She misses them, but she would never wish them to be here in this place. This doesn't mean she can't make new friends; after all, she began with John, didn't she?

Her smile is small, but sincere. )

Si. We're friends.

( Said with a squeeze to El's hand, just to cement it. )

There are other people here that are good. I'll show you them.

Si.

[ It's sealed.

Eleven has friends back home she wishes to return to, still thinking she might be able to rip this world apart at the seams. She's done it at home on accident. Surely, she can do it here on purpose, eventually. But she has saved her friends, yet again, and while missing them sits in her chest like an empty ache, she can be content knowing that she did what she wanted to do.

They cannot save you, Jane

No. But I can save them.

She hopes she won't have to decide, again, between the friends who need her and the family that have need of her. It hurt to walk away from Kali, in spite of everything. But for now, she doesn't have to wonder if she will ever have to leave Laura to save Mike - or vice versa.

For now, Laura is here, and Laura is her friend. ]

People. Like us? [ She chews her bottom lip for a moment, in thought. Her eyes are hesitant. She does not trust easily, but... ] They are good? You promise?

Test Drive Meme #2

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🎀 !