Vanilla sponge, with strawberry frosting. [ beat. ] I kept eating it while the cake was in the oven. [ a soft huff of breath that sounds like it could be the precursor to a laugh, and it’s evident from his tone just how fond he is of his aunt. ] She threatened to put pepper in it the next time, to stop me eating it all before she’d had chance to ice the cake.
—He did, but I haven’t met anyone who dislikes my aunt’s cooking.
I see your Eggos and I raise you homemade wheatcakes.
[ WHAT he wouldn't give for some of may's wheatcakes—.
(even if apparently no-one else knows what they are??) ]
But even if Eggos aren't quite on the same level as wheatcakes, I hope you didn't waste any. Cream, sprinkles and fried batter are the holy grail of breakfasts and I hear there's a special circle of— uh. How many boxes of Eggos did you use?
[ The stack was impressive. Held up only by her power, not by any law of pysics known to mankind, certainly. ]
Well... didn't use all of them. Ruined Hop's shirt.
[ They had celebrated. Hopper had come home with the boxes, slipped the hair tie onto her thin wrist, and they'd built a tower, just because. After, still sticky from the tower falling on him, Hopper had shown her the new birth certificate.
Jane Hopper.
She'd hugged him and gotten crumbs and whipped cream and sprinkles all over herself, too. ]
[ there's a noise — a contemplative hum, and— ] —Nah, you've got me. That story would definitely have been ending with way more than a wrecked shirt if I attempted to eat anything near eleven Eggos and whipped cream all in one go.
The best I've ever managed is a pint of ice cream with a mug of hot cocoa the size of my face.
It's even better when it's raining outside and you don't need to go anywhere.
[ but those are always the days and nights when something happens, when he ends up having to dash out and leave mj earlier than he'd said; or when he ends up being out longer than he'd thought and their date gets cancelled or postponed.
(but he's pointedly not thinking about mj now.
or trying to.) ]
You thought about what flavour you're getting next time?
Silly? [ mostly, he's just going to repeat and sound slightly incredulous. he's been called worse things, he's been called more insulting things but honestly?
he can't really argue with silly. ] What'd I do to earn that moniker? [ beat. ] The strawberry and pistachio's pretty good if you're taking recommendations.
Hey, that might be true, but I'm going to have to hear some examples before I start accepting such slander against my good name, missy.
[ mockingly stern: it's very obvious he's not actually offended. ]
It's scientific theory: you start with an observation, in this case — Peter Parker is silly, then you ask a question (how is Peter Parker silly?), then you form a hypothesis which — I could give an example, but I feel like I'd be supporting my own character assassination, but for an unrelated example, maybe your hypothesis is Peter Parker holds very strong opinions about what counts as a schmear of cream cheese on a bagel.
Then you come up with a prediction - a testable theory, which in this case might be: if I give Peter a bagel which has more or less than a schmear, he's going to be mildly offended; if I give him a bagel which has an exact schmear, he's going to be happy and say nothing. Testing this would be providing Peter Parker with a variety of bagels with different amounts of cream cheese, some of which definitely do count as schmears, and some of which are definitely not and subsequently offensive to the name of bagels everywhere.
If Peter says nothing about any of the bagels, your hypothesis is unsupported and incorrect. If Peter does complain about the non-schmeared bagels, your hypothesis is supported and therefore likely correct.
Then you iterate, which is when you reflect on your results and use them to inform your next steps. It tends to lead to more theories and scientific investigations.
But I'm going to admit that right now, I feel a bit weird about talking about myself in third-person so much and also admit that schmear has stopped sounding like a word.
[ he loses her almost immediately under a barrage of things Eleven does not know or understand - hypothesis, schmear, prediction, subsequently, iterate...
she gets stuck on two things she does understand. ]
Are you... hungry?
[ She steels herself a little for the next question. ]
Are you... a scientist? Do you... do you experiment?
[ Three guesses as to what put that edge of tension in her voice, Peter. Three guesses as to why Eleven sounds like she doesn't actually want an answer. Thre guesses as to her trauma. ]
I— [ it clicks. the lingering questions he'd had after their first meeting have been answered by her second question, and he winces (way to go, parker). whilst the expression itself isn't visible, it's there in the pause, in the silence before he answers. ]
Friends don't lie, right? [ he repeats, any levity all but gone; an audible inhale, then: ] Yeah. It was my passion at school, and I studied biochemistry at college. The plan was to go into STEM, but things didn't quite work out like that — for a long time, the closest I got was teaching at my old high school. I had a company for a while, but we were more tech focused — on making things to help people.
[ a beat. ] I can't say we — I — don't do experiments, but they're not what you think. I know you've only got my word, but I would never do anything that would hurt anyone. [ he can't say there isn't a human element, because of anything, human trials are always one of the last steps where relevant; he's not even sure if saying 'but consent is always required' would even make it better. ] Anyone that does is a bad scientist, okay?
[ There were many men and women at the lab. They did their jobs. Some, she knows, didn't like what was done at the lab. She insisted on showing mercy to one. She remembers his face, remembers the red rage, remember flinging the gun away with a twitch of her head.
Not all bad men want to be bad men.
But some still are.
They follow orders.
Papa was a bad man.
Papa gave the orders.
Peter wasn't there.
Peter is not a bad man.
Papa was was a bad man.
Papa was bad.
Peter is not.
Papa was.
Papa.
She feels the hands in her hair, short cropped so they can place things on her head. She feels the hands on her arms, so tight they bruise, dragging her through sterile, white dark corridors. She feels the hands on her back, pressing on the knobs of her spine, and the sound of pens scribbling, and Papa deeming Experiment 011 healthy enough.
It feels hands on its shoulder and pricks of needles and hands on its cheeks.
Experiment 011 huddles in the corner of its cell, knees up and face hidden and knows better than to struggle against their hold and their pull and their push.
[ peter waits for a bit before realising that a response isn't coming. he doesn't want to make any assumptions about her response or how she's feeling, other than whoops, maybe that was the wrong response? it's a little while later then that he sends a message, switching back to text: ]
Hey, El. If you want to talk at some point, I'll be around. If not, I get it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
savingthrows) wrote2019-07-31 01:14 am
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It's nice to hear Peter's voice, hear something normal that isn't tainted by what she can see.
The story is nice, too. ]
Did he like... the cake? Harry. What kind was it?
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—He did, but I haven’t met anyone who dislikes my aunt’s cooking.
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Still. There's a fond smile evident in her voice. ]
Hop makes good breakfast, but... can not cook other things well. He brings Eggos with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
[ Small pause. A soft sound, like a quiet giggle. ]
We made a tower once. With Eggos. I held it in place with... my powers. When I let go... splattered all over Hop.
no subject
[ WHAT he wouldn't give for some of may's wheatcakes—.
(even if apparently no-one else knows what they are??) ]
But even if Eggos aren't quite on the same level as wheatcakes, I hope you didn't waste any. Cream, sprinkles and fried batter are the holy grail of breakfasts and I hear there's a special circle of— uh. How many boxes of Eggos did you use?
no subject
[ The stack was impressive. Held up only by her power, not by any law of pysics known to mankind, certainly. ]
Well... didn't use all of them. Ruined Hop's shirt.
[ They had celebrated. Hopper had come home with the boxes, slipped the hair tie onto her thin wrist, and they'd built a tower, just because. After, still sticky from the tower falling on him, Hopper had shown her the new birth certificate.
Jane Hopper.
She'd hugged him and gotten crumbs and whipped cream and sprinkles all over herself, too. ]
no subject
no subject
[ There's a tease in her voice. Oh, he's just the type to have done worse, isn't there. ]
no subject
no subject
[Part denial, part question. Surely he couldn't have.]
Better than... Eleven Eggo Tower? No.
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The best I've ever managed is a pint of ice cream with a mug of hot cocoa the size of my face.
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I like ice cream.
[ Definitely a fond reference to their after-study visits to the ice cream parlor, despite its strange flavours. ]
I'm glad we get it... here. Even weird. I only got... it in a cone, once. At the mall.
no subject
[ but those are always the days and nights when something happens, when he ends up having to dash out and leave mj earlier than he'd said; or when he ends up being out longer than he'd thought and their date gets cancelled or postponed.
(but he's pointedly not thinking about mj now.
or trying to.) ]
You thought about what flavour you're getting next time?
no subject
[ Yes, she just called you silly, Petter.
What are you going to do about that? ]
Maybe.... the just Vanilla one. Not so strange, like the others.
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he can't really argue with silly. ] What'd I do to earn that moniker? [ beat. ] The strawberry and pistachio's pretty good if you're taking recommendations.
no subject
[ Duh. Probably easy to hear the amusement in her voice, though.
Peter has a tendency to bring that out. Eleven's a bit brighter around him. ]
Pis-tash...-ee-oh. I will try.
1/2 i'm sorry
[ mockingly stern: it's very obvious he's not actually offended. ]
It's scientific theory: you start with an observation, in this case — Peter Parker is silly, then you ask a question (how is Peter Parker silly?), then you form a hypothesis which — I could give an example, but I feel like I'd be supporting my own character assassination, but for an unrelated example, maybe your hypothesis is Peter Parker holds very strong opinions about what counts as a schmear of cream cheese on a bagel.
Then you come up with a prediction - a testable theory, which in this case might be: if I give Peter a bagel which has more or less than a schmear, he's going to be mildly offended; if I give him a bagel which has an exact schmear, he's going to be happy and say nothing. Testing this would be providing Peter Parker with a variety of bagels with different amounts of cream cheese, some of which definitely do count as schmears, and some of which are definitely not and subsequently offensive to the name of bagels everywhere.
If Peter says nothing about any of the bagels, your hypothesis is unsupported and incorrect. If Peter does complain about the non-schmeared bagels, your hypothesis is supported and therefore likely correct.
no subject
But I'm going to admit that right now, I feel a bit weird about talking about myself in third-person so much and also admit that schmear has stopped sounding like a word.
no subject
she gets stuck on two things she does understand. ]
Are you... hungry?
[ She steels herself a little for the next question. ]
Are you... a scientist? Do you... do you experiment?
[ Three guesses as to what put that edge of tension in her voice, Peter. Three guesses as to why Eleven sounds like she doesn't actually want an answer. Thre guesses as to her trauma. ]
no subject
Friends don't lie, right? [ he repeats, any levity all but gone; an audible inhale, then: ] Yeah. It was my passion at school, and I studied biochemistry at college. The plan was to go into STEM, but things didn't quite work out like that — for a long time, the closest I got was teaching at my old high school. I had a company for a while, but we were more tech focused — on making things to help people.
[ a beat. ] I can't say we — I — don't do experiments, but they're not what you think. I know you've only got my word, but I would never do anything that would hurt anyone. [ he can't say there isn't a human element, because of anything, human trials are always one of the last steps where relevant; he's not even sure if saying 'but consent is always required' would even make it better. ] Anyone that does is a bad scientist, okay?
I'm sorry, El.
CW for PTSD, human experiments, flashback
Not all bad men want to be bad men.
But some still are.
They follow orders.
Papa was a bad man.
Papa gave the orders.
Peter wasn't there.
Peter is not a bad man.
Papa was was a bad man.
Papa was bad.
Peter is not.
Papa was.
Papa.
She feels the hands in her hair, short cropped so they can place things on her head. She feels the hands on her arms, so tight they bruise, dragging her through sterile, white dark corridors. She feels the hands on her back, pressing on the knobs of her spine, and the sound of pens scribbling, and Papa deeming Experiment 011 healthy enough.
It feels hands on its shoulder and pricks of needles and hands on its cheeks.
Experiment 011 huddles in the corner of its cell, knees up and face hidden and knows better than to struggle against their hold and their pull and their push.
To Peter's message, there is no response. ]
no subject
Hey, El. If you want to talk at some point, I'll be around. If not, I get it.
Just take care of yourself, okay?
- Peter