[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.
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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.