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(no subject)
Apr. 25th, 2025 06:26 amThe boardwalk is El's favorite place in the city. It has games and rides and delicious food, and shops with fun things to look at or buy. It often reminds her of Max, in its way: the way they'd spent so much time that day in the mall, the way they'd been surrounded by so much color and light. The boardwalk is a lot like that.
Usually.
Right now, in The Void, the boardwalk is mostly black and water, with only a small radius of booths visible. She can't hear the ocean, but she knows exactly where it is from here. She can't see her favorite games booth, because her focus is on the plushie claw machine in front of her.
She'd felt something.
Working with Armand has been enlightening. That's the kindest word Eleven knows for it. She still doesn't trust him, but she wants to, and she can't tell if that's because he feels so familiar — he reminds her so much of Papa — or if it's because she's that naive. But she can't deny that her mind powers are growing. She hasn't needed eye contact or The Void to check in with Beverly or anyone else. She can simply think about them, and she becomes aware of them. It's like using The Void without using it at all.
It never lasts very long, but it lasts long enough to know they're okay, and that's all she needs most days.
Today, though, El realizes that it isn't just her friends. She's felt something else. It had been fleeting and ugly, but she'd felt it: an Upside Down thing. She's certain of it, but when she'd tried to feel it again, it had been gone. So she'd done what she knows, instead of what Armand has taught her. She'd sat down on her bed, blindfold on, phone playing white noise, and she'd gone into The Void.
She'd walked through this version of the boardwalk, watching colors rise and fall as buildings came into and faded out of view, until she'd found this claw machine. At first, she doesn't know why she's so drawn to it. It looks normal. It feels normal.
And then she realizes there's a shape behind it. The faintly mirrored glass of the back wall doesn't hide it fully but it makes it easy to overlook. It's a shimmering sort of shape, unmoving but out of place. She frowns and rounds the claw machine to see it better.
It isn't a Gate. She's nearly certain of it. But it is, at the same time. It isn't the fiery, burning gash in reality that she recognizes from Hawkins, but it does the same thing.
“No,” she whispers to herself, voice soft where she sits on her bed and softer still in The Void where she stands. She lifts a hand and tries to feel it, tries to grab onto it. Her powers are stronger than they've ever been. Training in Darrow and remembering Project NINA had combined, and she knows that she can close it.
Or she could, if Darrow let her.
It doesn't let her. She struggles and strains, but the shimmer doesn't stop. Her nose dribbles blood, drips it, her head aching faintly, but the shimmer doesn't so much as flicker. It doesn't shrink or knit together. It simply stays, unmoving, and El knows it's a Darrow thing.
She backs away from the rift and sighs softly.
“I won't let you hurt my friends,” she tells it. It doesn't react. “I will kill anything you send to us,” she adds, like she wants to goad it. It still doesn't respond.
That's okay. It doesn't have to.
El pulls her blindfold off and leaves The Void, the boardwalk, and the rift behind. Her upper lip is streaked in drying blood, but she lays back on her bed and sighs.
This is worse than she'd thought. She needs to warn her friends.
Usually.
Right now, in The Void, the boardwalk is mostly black and water, with only a small radius of booths visible. She can't hear the ocean, but she knows exactly where it is from here. She can't see her favorite games booth, because her focus is on the plushie claw machine in front of her.
She'd felt something.
Working with Armand has been enlightening. That's the kindest word Eleven knows for it. She still doesn't trust him, but she wants to, and she can't tell if that's because he feels so familiar — he reminds her so much of Papa — or if it's because she's that naive. But she can't deny that her mind powers are growing. She hasn't needed eye contact or The Void to check in with Beverly or anyone else. She can simply think about them, and she becomes aware of them. It's like using The Void without using it at all.
It never lasts very long, but it lasts long enough to know they're okay, and that's all she needs most days.
Today, though, El realizes that it isn't just her friends. She's felt something else. It had been fleeting and ugly, but she'd felt it: an Upside Down thing. She's certain of it, but when she'd tried to feel it again, it had been gone. So she'd done what she knows, instead of what Armand has taught her. She'd sat down on her bed, blindfold on, phone playing white noise, and she'd gone into The Void.
She'd walked through this version of the boardwalk, watching colors rise and fall as buildings came into and faded out of view, until she'd found this claw machine. At first, she doesn't know why she's so drawn to it. It looks normal. It feels normal.
And then she realizes there's a shape behind it. The faintly mirrored glass of the back wall doesn't hide it fully but it makes it easy to overlook. It's a shimmering sort of shape, unmoving but out of place. She frowns and rounds the claw machine to see it better.
It isn't a Gate. She's nearly certain of it. But it is, at the same time. It isn't the fiery, burning gash in reality that she recognizes from Hawkins, but it does the same thing.
“No,” she whispers to herself, voice soft where she sits on her bed and softer still in The Void where she stands. She lifts a hand and tries to feel it, tries to grab onto it. Her powers are stronger than they've ever been. Training in Darrow and remembering Project NINA had combined, and she knows that she can close it.
Or she could, if Darrow let her.
It doesn't let her. She struggles and strains, but the shimmer doesn't stop. Her nose dribbles blood, drips it, her head aching faintly, but the shimmer doesn't so much as flicker. It doesn't shrink or knit together. It simply stays, unmoving, and El knows it's a Darrow thing.
She backs away from the rift and sighs softly.
“I won't let you hurt my friends,” she tells it. It doesn't react. “I will kill anything you send to us,” she adds, like she wants to goad it. It still doesn't respond.
That's okay. It doesn't have to.
El pulls her blindfold off and leaves The Void, the boardwalk, and the rift behind. Her upper lip is streaked in drying blood, but she lays back on her bed and sighs.
This is worse than she'd thought. She needs to warn her friends.
(no subject)
Aug. 15th, 2024 08:48 amIt has only been a short time since meeting the strange man with the strange eyes. The man who says he was once human and now only pretends to be. Armand. He had promised his mind would always be open, which is a strange thing to promise. But perhaps it will make him easier to find.
She wants to know more about him. She wants to understand why he reacted the way he did when she'd told him her powers didn't always work. She wants to know if he can teach her to be more powerful than Darrow. Not powerful enough to leave: just powerful enough to protect her friends.
Finding him would be easier if she had a picture of him, but with a scarf over her eyes and her phone hissing white noise into her ear, she sits on her bed, Dustin the cat curled up against her crossed shins, and she recalls his face. His strange eyes. His strange nails. The copper-brown of his skin. Pretty, she thinks, a thought she hadn't allowed herself to have then, her suspicion too high. Now, it comes freely, in part because it's true.
The Void fills in with fits and starts. His leg. His arm. A shoulder. His hair. It would be easier with a picture, but it gets easier every time she does it this way. And then there he is. El watches him, the black of The Void echoing around them as she does.
She wants to know more about him. She wants to understand why he reacted the way he did when she'd told him her powers didn't always work. She wants to know if he can teach her to be more powerful than Darrow. Not powerful enough to leave: just powerful enough to protect her friends.
Finding him would be easier if she had a picture of him, but with a scarf over her eyes and her phone hissing white noise into her ear, she sits on her bed, Dustin the cat curled up against her crossed shins, and she recalls his face. His strange eyes. His strange nails. The copper-brown of his skin. Pretty, she thinks, a thought she hadn't allowed herself to have then, her suspicion too high. Now, it comes freely, in part because it's true.
The Void fills in with fits and starts. His leg. His arm. A shoulder. His hair. It would be easier with a picture, but it gets easier every time she does it this way. And then there he is. El watches him, the black of The Void echoing around them as she does.
(no subject)
Jul. 24th, 2024 06:21 pmTalking to Ellie about how and why El had been hurt by her actions at the train crash had helped a lot. Ellie had been cagey — a word that El has found she both hates and likes — about her reasons, but she'd had reasons, and Eleven can't fault her for them. It's made it a little easier to understand her, and that had made it easier to be her friend.
And they are friends, she realizes. Like the others, she checks in on Ellie often, making sure she isn't getting hurt or into trouble, using The Void and, more and more, her phone to text her or call her. Sometimes, it's a short and simple conversation to coordinate a meet-up, but sometimes Eleven can coax Ellie into longer talks, and that's nice, too, although Ellie has proved that she's even worse about using her phone to text than Eleven ever has been.
On Saturday, Eleven texts her to ask if she wants some cotton candy and a prize from one of the boardwalk games. She's gotten very good at using her powers to win, and Beverly has told her that it isn't cheating when the games are already rigged anyway. If she can bring a little silly delight to her friend's day, then why not do it?
It takes Ellie three days to answer, which might offend some of the more modern teenagers, but El understands completely. The novelty of phones isn't something either of them particularly grew up with. It's easy to forget that they're there.
Besides, she knows Ellie hasn't gone from Darrow because she can see her in The Void.
When they agree to meet, El heads out of the townhouse and to the boardwalk. It's easy enough to find Ellie, at least, and she smiles once she sees her.
“Ellie!” she calls, waving to get her attention. Her hair is up in a ponytail to keep it off her neck in the summer warmth, and she's wearing high waisted shorts with her bright graphic tee shirt tucked into them, and crew socks shoved down against the tops of her sneakers. Her bracelets jangle together over her left wrist as she waves, with only her blue hair tie keeping them all together.
And they are friends, she realizes. Like the others, she checks in on Ellie often, making sure she isn't getting hurt or into trouble, using The Void and, more and more, her phone to text her or call her. Sometimes, it's a short and simple conversation to coordinate a meet-up, but sometimes Eleven can coax Ellie into longer talks, and that's nice, too, although Ellie has proved that she's even worse about using her phone to text than Eleven ever has been.
On Saturday, Eleven texts her to ask if she wants some cotton candy and a prize from one of the boardwalk games. She's gotten very good at using her powers to win, and Beverly has told her that it isn't cheating when the games are already rigged anyway. If she can bring a little silly delight to her friend's day, then why not do it?
It takes Ellie three days to answer, which might offend some of the more modern teenagers, but El understands completely. The novelty of phones isn't something either of them particularly grew up with. It's easy to forget that they're there.
Besides, she knows Ellie hasn't gone from Darrow because she can see her in The Void.
When they agree to meet, El heads out of the townhouse and to the boardwalk. It's easy enough to find Ellie, at least, and she smiles once she sees her.
“Ellie!” she calls, waving to get her attention. Her hair is up in a ponytail to keep it off her neck in the summer warmth, and she's wearing high waisted shorts with her bright graphic tee shirt tucked into them, and crew socks shoved down against the tops of her sneakers. Her bracelets jangle together over her left wrist as she waves, with only her blue hair tie keeping them all together.
(no subject)
Oct. 20th, 2023 04:06 pmThere are newspapers spread out over the Will’s table, protecting the surface from the impending carnage above. There are carving tools — funny spoons with sharp, serrated edges, and little knives with different shapes on them, as well as the kitchen knives they’re allowed to use to open the pumpkins. They’d bought ones specific for carving, alongside the one Will had bought because he’d liked it, and El had bought some smaller ones to paint, as well, in case carving had ended up being something neither of them enjoyed.
All of their supplies were in easy reach, and Eleven grimaces in disgust as she uses one of the funny spoons to scoop out the innards, seeds and slimy string flopping grossly onto the newspaper beside her pumpkin.
“Do people like this part?” she asks, hoping the answer is ‘no.’
El is glad they’re doing this, even if this part is gross. It’s been a strange month — a strange few months, if she’s honest — and she wants to feel settled and normal as often as she can manage it. Being with Will like this, it helps. And she hopes it helps him, too.
All of their supplies were in easy reach, and Eleven grimaces in disgust as she uses one of the funny spoons to scoop out the innards, seeds and slimy string flopping grossly onto the newspaper beside her pumpkin.
“Do people like this part?” she asks, hoping the answer is ‘no.’
El is glad they’re doing this, even if this part is gross. It’s been a strange month — a strange few months, if she’s honest — and she wants to feel settled and normal as often as she can manage it. Being with Will like this, it helps. And she hopes it helps him, too.
(no subject)
Sep. 14th, 2023 05:03 pmSchool has started back up, and Eleven feels strange, with all of her new memories bumping into the old ones in her mind. Angela is a bruise in her thoughts, and every girl with blonde hair and bangs is her until El sees their faces or hears their voices. She's grumpy for her first week, frowning down at the floors as she walks and only speaking when spoken to directly. It isn't normal for her, but it's what she does.
She feels off balance. She feels angry. She feels afraid. She wants to find her way back to Hawkins and kill Henry for what he did to Max and her home. But she knows as well as anyone that she can't leave this place, so she has to just live with knowing that Hawkins is burning and the rest of her friends are in danger.
How have Will and Hop and Joyce managed this? Will has known the entire time. Joyce, she thinks, has too, and Hop remembered it the same way El has. How have they been able to know these things, and not try to break down Darrow's invisible barriers? How is she supposed to? She has to. She has no choice. But how is she supposed to?
She sighs, unable to focus on the homework laid out in front of her. She needs a break, and to get out of her own head. Which means no Looking, no Void, and no Hawkins. It stings to think about ignoring everything like that, but maybe just taking a break from thinking about it will help her be able to do the things she’s still supposed to be doing. She isn’t sure what else to do. So she takes a deep breath and grabs a light jacket, her phone, and her house key, pats Dustin the cat on the way out, and heads out to look for somewhere to get ice cream.
She finds a place called Cone of Truth a few blocks from her house. It definitely wasn’t in that building before; she knows that with certainty only because she’s walked by this place several times in the two years she’s been in Darrow. She stands outside, right in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up at the sign and the window, frowning with equal parts concern and curiosity when she reads ‘the ice cream chooses you!’ under the name.
She feels off balance. She feels angry. She feels afraid. She wants to find her way back to Hawkins and kill Henry for what he did to Max and her home. But she knows as well as anyone that she can't leave this place, so she has to just live with knowing that Hawkins is burning and the rest of her friends are in danger.
How have Will and Hop and Joyce managed this? Will has known the entire time. Joyce, she thinks, has too, and Hop remembered it the same way El has. How have they been able to know these things, and not try to break down Darrow's invisible barriers? How is she supposed to? She has to. She has no choice. But how is she supposed to?
She sighs, unable to focus on the homework laid out in front of her. She needs a break, and to get out of her own head. Which means no Looking, no Void, and no Hawkins. It stings to think about ignoring everything like that, but maybe just taking a break from thinking about it will help her be able to do the things she’s still supposed to be doing. She isn’t sure what else to do. So she takes a deep breath and grabs a light jacket, her phone, and her house key, pats Dustin the cat on the way out, and heads out to look for somewhere to get ice cream.
She finds a place called Cone of Truth a few blocks from her house. It definitely wasn’t in that building before; she knows that with certainty only because she’s walked by this place several times in the two years she’s been in Darrow. She stands outside, right in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up at the sign and the window, frowning with equal parts concern and curiosity when she reads ‘the ice cream chooses you!’ under the name.
(no subject)
Sep. 12th, 2023 05:40 pmEl has been a little out of sorts since her memories dropped into her mind. It’s hard, remembering so much, when so much of it is so sad and makes her so angry. Shopping with Max had been one of her favorite things in Hawkins, before everything had gone bad again. It won’t be the same without her here, but maybe she can pretend, for a little while. So she goes out now. She assures Hop and Beverly that she’ll be okay — she’s just going to get a few things for Dustin the Cat — and heads out to Darrow’s mall.
It isn’t like Starcourt at all, but it’s becoming familiar and comforting in its own right. She heads to a clothing store first, to get herself a new shirt. She pretends it doesn’t hurt to see a small photo studio between two shops, and frowns at a clothing rack, quiet and introspective.
She’s still browsing the clothes half an hour later, no closer to buying anything as she combs through her memories of shopping with one of her best friends, when she sees Chrissy. It feels sudden and impossible, but of course it isn’t either of those things. Chrissy would naturally be out at the mall, along with the hundreds of other people wandering through the corridors. Just as natural would be to see her in a clothing store for young women. But for some reason, it feels like a surprise to see her now.
There she is, smiling, expectant, open. Pretty. El’s always thought Chrissy is so pretty. But now, a new face flashes in front of her.
This one is not pretty.
This one is contorted into permanent terror. Her empty eye sockets drip blood like tears, and she is slack-jawed in the most literal and horrific sense of the word. For a heartstopping moment, Eleven sees Chrissy as she looked in the photograph that she didn’t remember the first time they met, and a sob wrenches from her throat.
“Chrissy,” she whimpers, and lunges for her, clutching her in a tight hug.
Does she know? Does she remember, too? Like everyone else from Hawkins, has she been three steps ahead of Eleven the entire time? Or is this going to be a nightmarish shock to her, just like it was to El? She isn’t sure how to ask. So she just holds her, and cries for this friend she’d never had the chance to save.
It isn’t like Starcourt at all, but it’s becoming familiar and comforting in its own right. She heads to a clothing store first, to get herself a new shirt. She pretends it doesn’t hurt to see a small photo studio between two shops, and frowns at a clothing rack, quiet and introspective.
She’s still browsing the clothes half an hour later, no closer to buying anything as she combs through her memories of shopping with one of her best friends, when she sees Chrissy. It feels sudden and impossible, but of course it isn’t either of those things. Chrissy would naturally be out at the mall, along with the hundreds of other people wandering through the corridors. Just as natural would be to see her in a clothing store for young women. But for some reason, it feels like a surprise to see her now.
There she is, smiling, expectant, open. Pretty. El’s always thought Chrissy is so pretty. But now, a new face flashes in front of her.
This one is not pretty.
This one is contorted into permanent terror. Her empty eye sockets drip blood like tears, and she is slack-jawed in the most literal and horrific sense of the word. For a heartstopping moment, Eleven sees Chrissy as she looked in the photograph that she didn’t remember the first time they met, and a sob wrenches from her throat.
“Chrissy,” she whimpers, and lunges for her, clutching her in a tight hug.
Does she know? Does she remember, too? Like everyone else from Hawkins, has she been three steps ahead of Eleven the entire time? Or is this going to be a nightmarish shock to her, just like it was to El? She isn’t sure how to ask. So she just holds her, and cries for this friend she’d never had the chance to save.
(no subject)
Feb. 16th, 2022 05:13 pmYour dad's letting me come over. I'm so tragic, I think he feels sorry for me.
Eleven gets the text while she's out in the back yard, clearing through the snow so the dog has somewhere to roam when she does her business. It's too fluffy still to use her powers to push it around, so she's got a shovel in her hands, lifting it and throwing it into awkward drifts. Her phone chimes, and she drops the shovel to dig it out of her pocket.
Right now? she sends back, mitten dangling from her teeth as she types. Can we make snow people?
There's still plenty of yard space to make a few snowmen, and they could watch a movie afterwards, with some hot chocolate, maybe.
Eleven gets the text while she's out in the back yard, clearing through the snow so the dog has somewhere to roam when she does her business. It's too fluffy still to use her powers to push it around, so she's got a shovel in her hands, lifting it and throwing it into awkward drifts. Her phone chimes, and she drops the shovel to dig it out of her pocket.
Right now? she sends back, mitten dangling from her teeth as she types. Can we make snow people?
There's still plenty of yard space to make a few snowmen, and they could watch a movie afterwards, with some hot chocolate, maybe.
(no subject)
Jan. 28th, 2022 04:13 pmHopper kept his promise, just like he always does: he'd found somewhere private, somewhere that didn't belong to anyone, to let El practice her powers. The trick is that there aren't a large amount of heavy objects here, and that's what she'd wanted the junkyard for: there were plenty of heavy things to test and exercise the limits of what she can do.
Here, there's just rocks.
There are a lot of them, though, scattered all around the area and extending into a sort of natural pier into the water. Further towards the dunes, two or three trees are half buried in the sand, like they'd drifted up on the surf decades ago. She bites her lip, then looks at Hop.
"I can move the rocks?" she asks. She'd been learning in science class about ecosystems and where and how creatures make homes in specific places. Does he know about them? Had he looked into it already?
Here, there's just rocks.
There are a lot of them, though, scattered all around the area and extending into a sort of natural pier into the water. Further towards the dunes, two or three trees are half buried in the sand, like they'd drifted up on the surf decades ago. She bites her lip, then looks at Hop.
"I can move the rocks?" she asks. She'd been learning in science class about ecosystems and where and how creatures make homes in specific places. Does he know about them? Had he looked into it already?
(no subject)
Aug. 30th, 2021 05:33 pmEleven likes the library. She likes learning, and she likes knowing and understanding things. She's not a stupid person. She learns 'remarkably quickly,' according to her teachers, which she thinks is a good thing, even if they always seem surprised when they say it. Right now, she has a stack of books about a variety of different topics, and she's sitting in a corner by herself, leafing through them. It's not homework. It's just... studying. For fun.
She's learning about cats, right now. She has one at home that she needs to take care of, and she wants to learn everything she can about them so she knows she's doing the best she can for him. The book she's reading keeps referencing another book, though. A different book, one not in her stack. She sighs and sets it aside, then stands and starts looking through the shelves for the right title.
There it is. She reaches for it, then frowns. It's just out of reach, not more than six inches. She glances around for a stool or a ladder, but there isn't one immediately in range. She waits a few seconds, to see if any library staff walks by. Nothing. She sighs.
Looking back up at the book she needs, Eleven frowns at it. She debates for a second or two on if she should even use her powers. A step onto the shelf would do the trick, probably. But she doesn't know if it'll support her weight. She's not large, but she's not a book, either. Finally, she reaches up for it again.
It flies into her outstretched hand and she grips it, then opens it right there and starts flipping through the pages, without even bothering to look around to see if anyone had noticed.
She's learning about cats, right now. She has one at home that she needs to take care of, and she wants to learn everything she can about them so she knows she's doing the best she can for him. The book she's reading keeps referencing another book, though. A different book, one not in her stack. She sighs and sets it aside, then stands and starts looking through the shelves for the right title.
There it is. She reaches for it, then frowns. It's just out of reach, not more than six inches. She glances around for a stool or a ladder, but there isn't one immediately in range. She waits a few seconds, to see if any library staff walks by. Nothing. She sighs.
Looking back up at the book she needs, Eleven frowns at it. She debates for a second or two on if she should even use her powers. A step onto the shelf would do the trick, probably. But she doesn't know if it'll support her weight. She's not large, but she's not a book, either. Finally, she reaches up for it again.
It flies into her outstretched hand and she grips it, then opens it right there and starts flipping through the pages, without even bothering to look around to see if anyone had noticed.
(no subject)
Apr. 13th, 2021 01:15 pmThe cat is tense and still in El's arms, wrapped in her light jacket. It growls steadily, but doesn't struggle, and doesn't bite. She isn't sure if it's because it knows she's trying to help it, or if it's because all the fight has left it. She wouldn't be surprised to find it's the second, though.
She'd come across it while the children were still trying to kick at it. Their commotion had caught her attention and she'd gone to see what they were doing.
El has hurt animals, before. She'd lifted a squirrel and thrown it against a tree, hard enough to kill it. But she'd eaten that squirrel; she hadn't done it out of cruelty, or to see what would happen. She'd done it to survive. That isn't what these children were doing. Two of them had sticks, and they were blocking the cat's escape as it tried to hide under and behind a dumpster. Two more children were kicking rocks and dirt and other things at it. And when the cat had made a mad dash away, one of the children had kicked the cat, so hard it hit the dumpster and sagged to the ground, dazed.
Eleven shouted — maybe a word, maybe not. She swung her arm and sent three of the kids flying into a heap a few feet away. The other cowered, staring at her in fear as she glared at him. The cat had laid there, unmoving but panting fast. The kid had reached for it, and Eleven had broken his wrist without moving. He screamed and ran, hugging his arm to himself. The others, still stumbling from being thrown, chase after him.
Then she'd run forward and gently touched the cat.
It's a shabby thing, with a ragged ear and a crooked tail. Its fur is messy, dirty, and patchy. One of its legs lays at a wrong angle, and it's as she begins wrapping her jacket around it that it begins to growl.
She doesn't know where to take it. She knows who to take it to, but she doesn't know where she is. She can find out, though. She sits, cradling the cat in her lap, and pulls her phone out to start up the white noise. She places it on her shoulder, then squeezes her eyes shut. It isn't as perfect as wearing a blindfold, but it works well enough. Slowly, haltingly, Daine appears in the Void. The room she's in comes next, flickering into perception around the flashes of color dancing across her eyelids. Slower than she'd like, she finds out where Daine is. She snaps her eyes open and pockets her phone, then carefully stands, still holding the cat.
It struggles now, just a little, and she gently shushes it before going towards Daine. She can help. She helped Cranberry. She can help this cat.
She'd come across it while the children were still trying to kick at it. Their commotion had caught her attention and she'd gone to see what they were doing.
El has hurt animals, before. She'd lifted a squirrel and thrown it against a tree, hard enough to kill it. But she'd eaten that squirrel; she hadn't done it out of cruelty, or to see what would happen. She'd done it to survive. That isn't what these children were doing. Two of them had sticks, and they were blocking the cat's escape as it tried to hide under and behind a dumpster. Two more children were kicking rocks and dirt and other things at it. And when the cat had made a mad dash away, one of the children had kicked the cat, so hard it hit the dumpster and sagged to the ground, dazed.
Eleven shouted — maybe a word, maybe not. She swung her arm and sent three of the kids flying into a heap a few feet away. The other cowered, staring at her in fear as she glared at him. The cat had laid there, unmoving but panting fast. The kid had reached for it, and Eleven had broken his wrist without moving. He screamed and ran, hugging his arm to himself. The others, still stumbling from being thrown, chase after him.
Then she'd run forward and gently touched the cat.
It's a shabby thing, with a ragged ear and a crooked tail. Its fur is messy, dirty, and patchy. One of its legs lays at a wrong angle, and it's as she begins wrapping her jacket around it that it begins to growl.
She doesn't know where to take it. She knows who to take it to, but she doesn't know where she is. She can find out, though. She sits, cradling the cat in her lap, and pulls her phone out to start up the white noise. She places it on her shoulder, then squeezes her eyes shut. It isn't as perfect as wearing a blindfold, but it works well enough. Slowly, haltingly, Daine appears in the Void. The room she's in comes next, flickering into perception around the flashes of color dancing across her eyelids. Slower than she'd like, she finds out where Daine is. She snaps her eyes open and pockets her phone, then carefully stands, still holding the cat.
It struggles now, just a little, and she gently shushes it before going towards Daine. She can help. She helped Cranberry. She can help this cat.
(no subject)
Feb. 9th, 2021 01:31 pmEleven isn't sure how she feels about school. Monday had been largely a blur, as she'd been shown around and learned how to find her classes. She'd had to stand up at the beginning of class and introduce herself, and that had been uncomfortable. A few kids had snickered at her. She hadn't liked that.
Lunch had been alright, at least, and she'd had fun in gym, too, because it'd mostly just been running and doing some stretches.
The classes themselves are either very hard, or very easy. El isn't stupid, and Hopper had done his best to teach her at home, but there are some things she just hasn't had the chance to learn yet, and that leaves her slightly behind her peers. She knows she should pay closer attention, but sometimes, she finds herself looking out the window, or watching the other students in the room.
Which is obviously also a mistake, because on Tuesday, the teacher notices, and calls on her to answer his question.
Only El doesn't know what the question is.
She looks at him, her eyes wide but her expression otherwise schooled.
"What?" she asks.
That raises a wave of giggles from the other students, and El frowns slightly. It's not funny.
"Elle, you should really be paying attention, so you can learn this stuff," the teacher says, in a tone very much like the one Papa used on her. Eleven grips the edge of her desk tightly and the lights flicker once, twice before settling.
"I will," she says, but she doesn't apologize.
"We just went over this yesterday, people!" the teacher says, addressing the rest of the class, now. "I know at least one or two of you were listening. Now who can tell me a little bit about the Prohibition?"
Lunch had been alright, at least, and she'd had fun in gym, too, because it'd mostly just been running and doing some stretches.
The classes themselves are either very hard, or very easy. El isn't stupid, and Hopper had done his best to teach her at home, but there are some things she just hasn't had the chance to learn yet, and that leaves her slightly behind her peers. She knows she should pay closer attention, but sometimes, she finds herself looking out the window, or watching the other students in the room.
Which is obviously also a mistake, because on Tuesday, the teacher notices, and calls on her to answer his question.
Only El doesn't know what the question is.
She looks at him, her eyes wide but her expression otherwise schooled.
"What?" she asks.
That raises a wave of giggles from the other students, and El frowns slightly. It's not funny.
"Elle, you should really be paying attention, so you can learn this stuff," the teacher says, in a tone very much like the one Papa used on her. Eleven grips the edge of her desk tightly and the lights flicker once, twice before settling.
"I will," she says, but she doesn't apologize.
"We just went over this yesterday, people!" the teacher says, addressing the rest of the class, now. "I know at least one or two of you were listening. Now who can tell me a little bit about the Prohibition?"
(no subject)
Feb. 8th, 2021 01:23 pmMonday, Feb 8, 2021
tw for allusions to anxiety, claustrophobia, bullying, and jealousy
It's Monday, which means she has to go to school. She almost doesn't want to. When her alarm goes off, two hours early, she lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling. It's Hopper's ceiling. She'd stayed the night here, after finding him yesterday. It'd been... strange, to meet Beverly. To see this other girl who was in Hopper's life. But she hadn't had much chance to dwell on it last night, and now it's the morning, and all Eleven wants to do is stay home with Hopper and do his lessons.
Like normal.
But school is important. It has opportunities for her. That's what they'd said at the Home, anyway.
So she eats breakfast, and she gets dressed in her own clothes, that she picked out, and she grabs the things that the Home and Stan had helped her get together. And she reassures Hopper, again, that she'll be okay.
It's less okay than she'd expected. The hallways are crowded, nearly to the point of cramped. For a moment, she feels like she can't move, and she feels her joints lock up. She breathes, slowly. She's okay. Just like she told Hopper, she's alright.
She's shown to first period, and listening to the morning announcements has her frowning up at the speaker. The voice on the other end... It could almost be Mike. But she knows it's not him, because she'd looked for him. And because of how he sounds. The voice is right, but the words he's saying, the way he's saying them, they're all wrong. It makes it difficult to concentrate on the rest of first period.
And then the rest of the day continues. It's a busy, overwhelming blur. Gym class feels easiest, because she gets to run out some of the nervous energy. She's used to running, at least.
At the end of the day, while the rest of the students pile out of the school and onto the bus, Eleven sits down on the steps. Her backpack is beside her, and her elbows are on her knees, head in her hands and fingers curled into her hair and gripping tightly.
She's not crying, but she feels like she wants to. It'd been so busy, so intense. Everything had been going on, and she's supposed to remember it all, and how do other kids do this? How?
Eventually, the cold stone of the steps seeps into her pants enough to be bothersome. She has to check in with the Home, too, so they know she went to school and that she's okay. She has Hopper, now, but there are rules, laws, that he has to follow, too. So for now, she has to check in with the Home.
She pulls her phone out as she walks, but she can't remember the number, and she can't remember how to find it again. How is anyone supposed to remember so much? With an annoyed scream that she bites down into a growl, she drops the phone onto a bench along the sidewalk and sits heavily next to it.
The phone jolts down between the slots of the bench and clatters against the concrete underneath.
[ Come one, come all! Residents of the Home, students of Darrow High, Stranger Things and Stranger Things Adjacent pups! No matter who you know or how you know El, feel free to find/feel/hear/See this overwhelmed psionic baby at any point during her day! Towards the end of the post she gets a little crankier, but she'll behave all the same. Open until this says otherwise! ]
tw for allusions to anxiety, claustrophobia, bullying, and jealousy
It's Monday, which means she has to go to school. She almost doesn't want to. When her alarm goes off, two hours early, she lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling. It's Hopper's ceiling. She'd stayed the night here, after finding him yesterday. It'd been... strange, to meet Beverly. To see this other girl who was in Hopper's life. But she hadn't had much chance to dwell on it last night, and now it's the morning, and all Eleven wants to do is stay home with Hopper and do his lessons.
Like normal.
But school is important. It has opportunities for her. That's what they'd said at the Home, anyway.
So she eats breakfast, and she gets dressed in her own clothes, that she picked out, and she grabs the things that the Home and Stan had helped her get together. And she reassures Hopper, again, that she'll be okay.
It's less okay than she'd expected. The hallways are crowded, nearly to the point of cramped. For a moment, she feels like she can't move, and she feels her joints lock up. She breathes, slowly. She's okay. Just like she told Hopper, she's alright.
She's shown to first period, and listening to the morning announcements has her frowning up at the speaker. The voice on the other end... It could almost be Mike. But she knows it's not him, because she'd looked for him. And because of how he sounds. The voice is right, but the words he's saying, the way he's saying them, they're all wrong. It makes it difficult to concentrate on the rest of first period.
And then the rest of the day continues. It's a busy, overwhelming blur. Gym class feels easiest, because she gets to run out some of the nervous energy. She's used to running, at least.
At the end of the day, while the rest of the students pile out of the school and onto the bus, Eleven sits down on the steps. Her backpack is beside her, and her elbows are on her knees, head in her hands and fingers curled into her hair and gripping tightly.
She's not crying, but she feels like she wants to. It'd been so busy, so intense. Everything had been going on, and she's supposed to remember it all, and how do other kids do this? How?
Eventually, the cold stone of the steps seeps into her pants enough to be bothersome. She has to check in with the Home, too, so they know she went to school and that she's okay. She has Hopper, now, but there are rules, laws, that he has to follow, too. So for now, she has to check in with the Home.
She pulls her phone out as she walks, but she can't remember the number, and she can't remember how to find it again. How is anyone supposed to remember so much? With an annoyed scream that she bites down into a growl, she drops the phone onto a bench along the sidewalk and sits heavily next to it.
The phone jolts down between the slots of the bench and clatters against the concrete underneath.
[ Come one, come all! Residents of the Home, students of Darrow High, Stranger Things and Stranger Things Adjacent pups! No matter who you know or how you know El, feel free to find/feel/hear/See this overwhelmed psionic baby at any point during her day! Towards the end of the post she gets a little crankier, but she'll behave all the same. Open until this says otherwise! ]
(no subject)
Feb. 7th, 2021 07:57 pmHopper had warned her, before they'd come here. There's another girl. Not like her in the way that she had powers, but like her in the way she'd needed a family. Eleven tries to keep that in mind when she meets her.
She'd needed a family, too. Just like Eleven.
She doesn't expect the red hair, or the freckles. She doesn't expect her to look like she could be Max's sister. Not like Max, not exactly. But like her the way that Nancy looks like Mike.
And just like Max, it's hard not to feel jealous when she sees her. This girl she doesn't know has crept into the hole of El's absence, and it stings to see her. No matter how much she knows the words Hopper has said, it stings, and she frowns at the girl when they're finally face to face.
"...Hi," she says.
She'd needed a family, too. Just like Eleven.
She doesn't expect the red hair, or the freckles. She doesn't expect her to look like she could be Max's sister. Not like Max, not exactly. But like her the way that Nancy looks like Mike.
And just like Max, it's hard not to feel jealous when she sees her. This girl she doesn't know has crept into the hole of El's absence, and it stings to see her. No matter how much she knows the words Hopper has said, it stings, and she frowns at the girl when they're finally face to face.
"...Hi," she says.
(no subject)
Feb. 7th, 2021 12:23 pmFraser, Stan, and others had told El the universal truths about Darrow: you come alone, and you can't leave. Eleven is no stranger to being places alone: The lab. The Upside Down. The woods. Hopper's cabin, when he's working. (She doesn't hold that against him, but it's something she recognizes as true.) Darrow's Home for Children is not very different. She's in a room of strangers, but she's still alone. She's strange enough to them that they leave her alone.
Which is how she finds herself now, alone on the floor, her back against her bed. She's got her clothes back, and she's wearing the black-and-yellow top and black jeans now, as she pulls a pillowcase over her eyes to block out the light. There aren't any radios here, not like she's used to, but one of the staff showed her how to use her small, strange phone to make white noise, so she can listen to that, instead. Then she relaxes her shoulders and reaches out.
She tries for Mike, first. She pictures him in her mind's eye, and she focuses, and...
Nothing.
Eleven swallows and tries again. And still nothing. She tries again, until her nose starts to drip sluggishly from the effort, and she sighs and pulls the blindfold off. This isn't working. Which means he's not here, but even if he weren't, shouldn't she have been able to find him anyway? She'd found Kali states away. Why is Darrow any different?
With a breath, she reaches up to wipe her nose. This isn't working, and she's getting frustrated trying. Eleven sighs and tosses the pillowcase back onto the bed as she stands. She'll go for a walk, clear her head. She'll try again later.
The coat she's wearing is too big, still. She has money, but she hasn't gone to buy a new one. Most of the last week has been learning the rules of the Home, and reading up on the things the school will expect from her when she starts going. She's not nervous, except for a little part of her that doesn't know what to expect. She'd only been into the school a few times, in Hawkins, and it hadn't been to learn anything. Stan has been helpful. He's made lists that are easy to read, and if he thinks she's a weirdo, he doesn't say so, or act like it.
She likes Stan. He's a lot like Mike, in the ways that he's nice to her, and calm and patient. There's a tension in him that she's not familiar with, though. He seems always ready — not afraid, not exactly, but not prepared, either. She wants to ask him about it. Maybe she will.
She gets lost in her thoughts like this, frowning to herself and moving from topic to topic as she walks.
Which is how she finds herself now, alone on the floor, her back against her bed. She's got her clothes back, and she's wearing the black-and-yellow top and black jeans now, as she pulls a pillowcase over her eyes to block out the light. There aren't any radios here, not like she's used to, but one of the staff showed her how to use her small, strange phone to make white noise, so she can listen to that, instead. Then she relaxes her shoulders and reaches out.
She tries for Mike, first. She pictures him in her mind's eye, and she focuses, and...
Nothing.
Eleven swallows and tries again. And still nothing. She tries again, until her nose starts to drip sluggishly from the effort, and she sighs and pulls the blindfold off. This isn't working. Which means he's not here, but even if he weren't, shouldn't she have been able to find him anyway? She'd found Kali states away. Why is Darrow any different?
With a breath, she reaches up to wipe her nose. This isn't working, and she's getting frustrated trying. Eleven sighs and tosses the pillowcase back onto the bed as she stands. She'll go for a walk, clear her head. She'll try again later.
The coat she's wearing is too big, still. She has money, but she hasn't gone to buy a new one. Most of the last week has been learning the rules of the Home, and reading up on the things the school will expect from her when she starts going. She's not nervous, except for a little part of her that doesn't know what to expect. She'd only been into the school a few times, in Hawkins, and it hadn't been to learn anything. Stan has been helpful. He's made lists that are easy to read, and if he thinks she's a weirdo, he doesn't say so, or act like it.
She likes Stan. He's a lot like Mike, in the ways that he's nice to her, and calm and patient. There's a tension in him that she's not familiar with, though. He seems always ready — not afraid, not exactly, but not prepared, either. She wants to ask him about it. Maybe she will.
She gets lost in her thoughts like this, frowning to herself and moving from topic to topic as she walks.
(no subject)
Jan. 16th, 2021 01:46 amThe bus rolls up to the stop outside of Starcourt, and Eleven turns from her conversation with Mike to look at it. It's time to go; she knows there's only a short window of time before they're not allowed on it anymore, and then they'll have to wait for the next one. She looks at Max, then at Mike again.
He lied. He's still lying. Nana isn't sick. Eleven squares her jaw and remembers what Max had said.
"If he doesn't fix this, if he doesn't explain himself? Dump his ass."
Eleven steps closer, her eyes trained on Mike's. He looks wary, and for a fleeting moment, she's glad. He should be wary. He treated her like garbage. He lied.
"I dump your ass," she declares.
Then she turns and walks towards the bus. Max follow, and when they collapse into the seats, they start laughing. It's a strange relief, she thinks as she claps her hand against Max's in a high five. She should be upset — maybe later, she will be. But right now, Mike is getting the medicine. Now he knows what it's like to feel like garbage.
For most of the ride, they talk and laugh some more. It's good.
Until something happens: the bus takes a turn too sharply, or the ice cream is bad. Eleven feels dizzy and she thinks she hears tires squeal. The bus stops abruptly, and she catches herself with her free hand against the seat ahead of her.
"What—" She stops, looking at the empty seat beside her. The seat Max had been in just a second ago. "Max?"
Eleven looks around, but the rest of the bus is just the same unfamiliar faces. No, not the same. Their clothes are different. Some of them are looking at her like she's the weird one.
She's always the weird one.
The bus doors hiss open, indicating they've reached a stop.
"Max?" she calls again. But she's still not there. She stands; does she feel unsteady because of the bus? Or because she's afraid?
It feels like a forever walk to the bus doors, and the driver is giving her a bored, impatient look by the time she reaches them.
"Sorry," she whispers.
She steps off the bus, and onto a cold, snow-trimmed sidewalk. It's winter again. She's not dressed for this, but for the moment, she doesn't notice the cold. All she notices is that this isn't Hawkins.
"Max?" she asks again, first a whisper, and then a scream. "Max!"
She doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know where Max is. This isn't the Void. This isn't Hawkins. Eleven turns around, breath starting to come quicker.
"Max! Mike! Mike!"
He lied. He's still lying. Nana isn't sick. Eleven squares her jaw and remembers what Max had said.
"If he doesn't fix this, if he doesn't explain himself? Dump his ass."
Eleven steps closer, her eyes trained on Mike's. He looks wary, and for a fleeting moment, she's glad. He should be wary. He treated her like garbage. He lied.
"I dump your ass," she declares.
Then she turns and walks towards the bus. Max follow, and when they collapse into the seats, they start laughing. It's a strange relief, she thinks as she claps her hand against Max's in a high five. She should be upset — maybe later, she will be. But right now, Mike is getting the medicine. Now he knows what it's like to feel like garbage.
For most of the ride, they talk and laugh some more. It's good.
Until something happens: the bus takes a turn too sharply, or the ice cream is bad. Eleven feels dizzy and she thinks she hears tires squeal. The bus stops abruptly, and she catches herself with her free hand against the seat ahead of her.
"What—" She stops, looking at the empty seat beside her. The seat Max had been in just a second ago. "Max?"
Eleven looks around, but the rest of the bus is just the same unfamiliar faces. No, not the same. Their clothes are different. Some of them are looking at her like she's the weird one.
She's always the weird one.
The bus doors hiss open, indicating they've reached a stop.
"Max?" she calls again. But she's still not there. She stands; does she feel unsteady because of the bus? Or because she's afraid?
It feels like a forever walk to the bus doors, and the driver is giving her a bored, impatient look by the time she reaches them.
"Sorry," she whispers.
She steps off the bus, and onto a cold, snow-trimmed sidewalk. It's winter again. She's not dressed for this, but for the moment, she doesn't notice the cold. All she notices is that this isn't Hawkins.
"Max?" she asks again, first a whisper, and then a scream. "Max!"
She doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know where Max is. This isn't the Void. This isn't Hawkins. Eleven turns around, breath starting to come quicker.
"Max! Mike! Mike!"
