[ Eleven. Because El is for friends, and she does not know him, and because she tried on Jane, and it never ended up feeling like it fits. Just another costume, like Nancy's pink dress and Hopper's flannel shirts, and Kali's clothes.
These thoughts skitter across her mind like spiders.
She does not like that he is here. ]
This is mine. I didn't invite you.
[ It frightens her, that he reached in. Charles didn't, not without permission. She took Charles into the void, and he could have barged in. The last thing that slipped into the darkness of her mind unbidden was a thing of growling, wet flesh and a head that opened like a flower and was full of teeth.
He can tell, perhaps, that she is not really here, and neither is he. He's still where he was before, and she is somewhere else entirely in the fae realm as well. And yet here they are, sharing space in the void. ]
[ Eleven. El is for friends. It's probably a good thing that she doesn't consider someone in her mind a potential friend - He can't blame her. Going by "Billy," would be a personal closeness he hasn't quite reached with most people yet. He's barely come to terms with it himself. ]
[ He doesn't move - at least - and save for what is clearly an initial invasion he tries not to go further. He's his own still vacuum, but the younger teenager's worries and thoughts come in trembling waves. He can feel the fear in the statement. Does not ask who Charles is. ]
I didn't mean to visit - Not exactly?
[ He starts and amends the truth, slightly apologetic. ]
I hear thoughts - people - all the time. It doesn't turn off and you were particularly -
[ A beat as he tries to think about how to express it. Loud isn't the word, he knows it's not the word. Empty sounds cruel. And so he settles on the word he said first and foremost. ]
Intensely quiet. The more intense people are the louder it is for me. So whatever you're doing - [ He shrugs. ] Spoke to me? I can try to leave.
[ Her mouth opens in a little "oh". Understanding blossoms in her mind, rippling deeper. Her mind is a strange thing - malnourished and hungry, it wants to understand and learn, but it can also make her skittish and wary like a starving animal. ]
You're.. like Charles.
[ The image flits through her mind then, of Charles Xavier in his wheelchair, in his room here in the castle. And a memory, too - an image of how Charles sees the world, the way he showed her:
The castle and the town beyond and the forest beyond that, a map shaped not by the locations themselves but by the overlay of every mind within them. An ocean of flickering fireflies, and each of those fireflies humming with their own life and feelings and memories. There is an enormous noise only barely held at bay, a thousand voices speaking at once.
It flickers through her thoughts briefly, and she watches the older boy with wary curiosity, seeing if like Charles, he could see that, feel that. ]
William.
[ She doesn't pronounce it quite right. More like Wil-Liam. The emphasis not quite where it should be. And for a moment she thinks of Will, too, of the small boy who was swallowed up by the gate she opened. She wonders if this boy is a Will, too.
She looks around, briefly, as if looking at the darkness for the first time. Eleven believes she could push him out, if she wanted to - this is a thought that might be entirely untrue, but she believes it, at least. ]
[Charles, she says again and he tilts his head a touch in question. She seems to categorize things into what she knows - He can't blame her. He must have done something similar in the early days of the amnesia. He'd made so many neat little boxes in his head of who William was and in what ways, important interested and dislikes.
It's different, but similar. ]
[ This close the thought bridges over like it's nothing. He doesn't have to seek out a memory she actively gives and he takes a shaky breath. Closes his eyes a moment. ]
... It's a lot like that, yeah. I think the differences are in the intensities and where.
[ But he can't know from an image shared with another. ]
[ It's strange yet to think there might be someone else in this castle who has such a similar experience. The thought alone makes his stomach scrunch up like a spring pressed together. Wanda was always an almost certainly but - ]
[ She says his name. Not quite correctly, but he nods anyway. It's close enough it doesn't matter, even if the name doesn't quite fit right anymore. Has never quite fit right, but same as her it's become a name that's much like dress-up clothes than anything else. ]
[Do you like the quiet? His own eyes glance over the void as if he might see something. It remains still. There is no noise. In truth, perhaps this particular part unsettles him a little, if only because of that distant memory. Of feeling like he's in a space where he doesn't exist again. ]
[ He swallows it back, because that's a different part - neither here nor there. And, more importantly, he thinks that a rejection of it is a rejection of her. He gets the feeling he doesn't need more of that. ]
... I do.
[ After a moment and quietly said. His smile is a little more easy, if a touch more shy. ]
Weird too, in a way? Because I never really get quiet. Ever. So it feels strange -
but it's nice.
[ A beat. ]
Do you like the quiet? ... or were you just looking?
[ He's not sure what that means for her. Maybe, she too, can seek out minds and it's how she does it if their speaking now is anything to show for it. ]
[ She shrugs a little. Eleven has no concept of how or why that might not be okay - she has a power, and she uses it to watch over her friends, make sure they're okay, make sure they're accounted for.
She also keeps an eye on something in the basement, but she tries not to think about it too much.
The boy though... William.
Eleven remembers making her first friend, less than a year ago. Being offered shelter. Being treated like a person for the first time in her small, isolated little life. ]
Do you want to come here? When it's too loud. Or when you're sad.
[ She took Clint here, when he cried about Natasha. A sad man on the verge of panic in a crowd, and she'd made everything quiet for him for a while. She let Charles in because he asked to see how she sees things in the void. It's her space, and she has no defenses here - but she can make room in the darkness of her mind for others, even just a little bit. ]
[ He's not going to question what that might mean. Maybe some people take comfort in using their own power to see what they can't. If he had a way to find Tommy he would - or maybe his parents. He doesn't vocalize that. ]
[ The girl goes quiet and his attention turns back to her, brows furrowing a little over gray-blue eyes. After a moment, she asks a question, and he has to swallow something back. He can feel the tender, tentativeness. The vulnerability in the air, but the desire to help. ]
[ This time he shakes his head. ]
Thank you, but no.
[ He says it sincerely. ]
It's not that I don't appreciate it, but this is your space. I wasn't meant to find it.
[ The light part is an attempt at some light-heartedness. ] The loud is just something I have to get used to.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'm Eleven.
[ Eleven. Because El is for friends, and she does not know him, and because she tried on Jane, and it never ended up feeling like it fits. Just another costume, like Nancy's pink dress and Hopper's flannel shirts, and Kali's clothes.
These thoughts skitter across her mind like spiders.
She does not like that he is here. ]
This is mine. I didn't invite you.
[ It frightens her, that he reached in. Charles didn't, not without permission. She took Charles into the void, and he could have barged in. The last thing that slipped into the darkness of her mind unbidden was a thing of growling, wet flesh and a head that opened like a flower and was full of teeth.
He can tell, perhaps, that she is not really here, and neither is he. He's still where he was before, and she is somewhere else entirely in the fae realm as well. And yet here they are, sharing space in the void. ]
no subject
[ He doesn't move - at least - and save for what is clearly an initial invasion he tries not to go further. He's his own still vacuum, but the younger teenager's worries and thoughts come in trembling waves. He can feel the fear in the statement. Does not ask who Charles is. ]
I didn't mean to visit - Not exactly?
[ He starts and amends the truth, slightly apologetic. ]
I hear thoughts - people - all the time. It doesn't turn off and you were particularly -
[ A beat as he tries to think about how to express it. Loud isn't the word, he knows it's not the word. Empty sounds cruel. And so he settles on the word he said first and foremost. ]
Intensely quiet. The more intense people are the louder it is for me. So whatever you're doing - [ He shrugs. ] Spoke to me? I can try to leave.
[ He cannot promise he can. ]
no subject
You're.. like Charles.
[ The image flits through her mind then, of Charles Xavier in his wheelchair, in his room here in the castle. And a memory, too - an image of how Charles sees the world, the way he showed her:
The castle and the town beyond and the forest beyond that, a map shaped not by the locations themselves but by the overlay of every mind within them. An ocean of flickering fireflies, and each of those fireflies humming with their own life and feelings and memories. There is an enormous noise only barely held at bay, a thousand voices speaking at once.
It flickers through her thoughts briefly, and she watches the older boy with wary curiosity, seeing if like Charles, he could see that, feel that. ]
William.
[ She doesn't pronounce it quite right. More like Wil-Liam. The emphasis not quite where it should be. And for a moment she thinks of Will, too, of the small boy who was swallowed up by the gate she opened. She wonders if this boy is a Will, too.
She looks around, briefly, as if looking at the darkness for the first time. Eleven believes she could push him out, if she wanted to - this is a thought that might be entirely untrue, but she believes it, at least. ]
Do you like the quiet?
no subject
It's different, but similar. ]
[ This close the thought bridges over like it's nothing. He doesn't have to seek out a memory she actively gives and he takes a shaky breath. Closes his eyes a moment. ]
... It's a lot like that, yeah. I think the differences are in the intensities and where.
[ But he can't know from an image shared with another. ]
[ It's strange yet to think there might be someone else in this castle who has such a similar experience. The thought alone makes his stomach scrunch up like a spring pressed together. Wanda was always an almost certainly but - ]
[ She says his name. Not quite correctly, but he nods anyway. It's close enough it doesn't matter, even if the name doesn't quite fit right anymore. Has never quite fit right, but same as her it's become a name that's much like dress-up clothes than anything else. ]
[ Do you like the quiet? His own eyes glance over the void as if he might see something. It remains still. There is no noise. In truth, perhaps this particular part unsettles him a little, if only because of that distant memory. Of feeling like he's in a space where he doesn't exist again. ]
[ He swallows it back, because that's a different part - neither here nor there. And, more importantly, he thinks that a rejection of it is a rejection of her. He gets the feeling he doesn't need more of that. ]
... I do.
[ After a moment and quietly said. His smile is a little more easy, if a touch more shy. ]
Weird too, in a way? Because I never really get quiet. Ever. So it feels strange -
but it's nice.
[ A beat. ]
Do you like the quiet? ... or were you just looking?
[ He's not sure what that means for her. Maybe, she too, can seek out minds and it's how she does it if their speaking now is anything to show for it. ]
no subject
I was watching my friends.
[ She shrugs a little. Eleven has no concept of how or why that might not be okay - she has a power, and she uses it to watch over her friends, make sure they're okay, make sure they're accounted for.
She also keeps an eye on something in the basement, but she tries not to think about it too much.
The boy though... William.
Eleven remembers making her first friend, less than a year ago. Being offered shelter. Being treated like a person for the first time in her small, isolated little life. ]
Do you want to come here? When it's too loud. Or when you're sad.
[ She took Clint here, when he cried about Natasha. A sad man on the verge of panic in a crowd, and she'd made everything quiet for him for a while. She let Charles in because he asked to see how she sees things in the void. It's her space, and she has no defenses here - but she can make room in the darkness of her mind for others, even just a little bit. ]
no subject
[ He's not going to question what that might mean. Maybe some people take comfort in using their own power to see what they can't. If he had a way to find Tommy he would - or maybe his parents. He doesn't vocalize that. ]
[ The girl goes quiet and his attention turns back to her, brows furrowing a little over gray-blue eyes. After a moment, she asks a question, and he has to swallow something back. He can feel the tender, tentativeness. The vulnerability in the air, but the desire to help. ]
[ This time he shakes his head. ]
Thank you, but no.
[ He says it sincerely. ]
It's not that I don't appreciate it, but this is your space. I wasn't meant to find it.
[ The light part is an attempt at some light-heartedness. ] The loud is just something I have to get used to.