[ Ah, the moral quandary. Not that Nancy would know, but Eleven is so easily enabled, so easily led astray. The moment she even remotely trusts someone, she can be swayed into doing things so very easily. Her like of self-sustained moral compass makes her tragically malleable. ]
Stories sound fun, too. [ She's quiet, for a moment, then admits: ] I never did the Halloween things. I wanted to. But it's not allowed. Too dangerous. The bad men could find me.
[ The mention is casual, almost off-hand. Like it doesn't matter. ]
Kali is... Eight. Like I'm Eleven. [ She hesitates a moment, then she holds out her free arm for Nancy to see - there, on the inside of her wrist, a tattoo. Stark, black ink on her pale skin. 011. Eleven. ] Papa stole us. For the lab.
Well, you're safe here now, ain't you? This Halloween, we'll be sure to do the trick-or-treating. I'm sure there's others here who'd like to join in, too. [She has no idea, but she likes the sound of it.] No one'll let the bad men get close to you, I promise.
[She doesn't like that, though, and it stirs that maternal instinct in her that ran so strong. She would not let anything happen to Eleven.]
So you're... [This was so strange. Babies stolen from cribs, brought to a lab and marked. Kali was the eighth child, Eleven was the... Eleventh.] My god. Eleven is that- [The tattoo reminds her of Erik's. She takes a moment, collects her thoughts.]
For a time, I almost hoped my father had done that, stolen me away from my mother, raised me the way he did with the other boys. But he didn't have to steal me, when I was his the whole time. [She puts a hand on Eleven's elbow in comfort.] Is there another name you'd like to be called? [she asks softly] Other than just a number?
[ The idea has Eleven visibly excited, but she tries to look nonchalant. The definition of a teenager attempting to play something cool that they are very much not remotely chill about. ]
It's okay. If the bad men come. I can kill them.
[ She sounds matter-of-fact about that. The kind of nonchalance that comes not from boasting but from knowing.
Nancy's story makes Eleven listen intently, though. Papa is not her father, but took that position over Eleven and over Kali and over... her mind draws a blank here. She knows there were more children. She's seen the closed doors with the numbers on them. But something happened, a few years before she escaped the lab and she can't... remember. It doesn't matter now. What matters is that Nancy is kind, and asks. And Eleven thinks of 'Jane', the name Mama wanted to give her, before Eleven was stolen. The name Kali used for her, that felt like a costume. Jane is like a fake identity, the remnant of a life she never got to live, the idea of her that Kali wanted to shape. So after a moment: ]
My friends call me El.
[ And she shares it in invitation for Nancy to do the same. After a moment of quiet hesitation: ]
Absolutely. If I'm here, I'm going to try to make it happen. [It'd give her something to do, something to look forward to. Especially if it would make this young girl, and likely others, smile.]
It's wonderful to meet you, El.
[She is taking that invitation and running with it.] My friends call me Nance, sometimes.
[El's words hit, and Nancy gives her elbow a gentle squeeze.] Yes. A very bad man. He did good things, too, he kept me and others alive, taught us how to survive, but that doesn't outweigh the bad he did, too. [She has a feeling that El will understand what it is to both love and hate someone at the same time.]
And if he ever comes here, I won't let him do it again [There's conviction in her voice, she's sure of this. She owes Fagin nothing, now.]
[ A soft nod. And a quiet acceptance - they're friends now, by virtue of what name they allow each other to go by. And Eleven takes her friendships very seriously. That shows in her face when she listens to Nancy talk about her father - the way her features harden, her eyes seem far away for a moment. Yes, she understands that. Papa, from what she knows, cared for her, like one cares for a useful tool or weapon, and he taught Eleven how to use her powers.
Papa is a bad man and he did bad things - but for years, he was the sole source of what little affection Eleven sometimes experienced, as much as he was the source of pain.
So when it comes to Nancy and her father... well. ]
[Friends. Nancy beams. She knew the girl would come around eventually, and to have it happen so fast? She's practically on cloud 9.]
Thank you. But I would never want to ask that of someone. [Certainly not someone that Nancy considers so vulnerable.]
And you tell me if yours shows up. I'll give him a round of fisticuffs'll have him thinking twice about stealing you away. [She puts up her fists to demonstrate.]
[ She can be fickle like that - but not in the sense that she walks her loyalty backwards. Eleven is quick to anger, quick to make jealous, quick to have her temper poked - but not at all quick to turn away from the people she considers hers. Nancy now belongs to that.
Turns out it's very easy to get into Eleven's favour with some decency and mildly shared experiences.
She doesn't say out loud that Nancy doesn't have to ask. Eleven will just act. If that means she has to kill for Nancy, she will do so with little to no hesitation.
For now, her grim expression changes into a soft chuckle. ]
Fisticuffs.
[ She imitates the gesture too, the raised fists. ]
Yeah, fisticuffs. [She reaches over and adjusts El's placement of her fists.] You keep one up to block your face at all times, if you can, but that ain't bad.
[She's seen enough boxing matches, been taught to punch, to protect herself in a pub. When that didn't work, the name of her husband usually did the job. But here, she had no such protection.]
I'm- no, not really. I can throw my weight behind a hit, but that's it. I'm just a regular human, otherwise.
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Stories sound fun, too. [ She's quiet, for a moment, then admits: ] I never did the Halloween things. I wanted to. But it's not allowed. Too dangerous. The bad men could find me.
[ The mention is casual, almost off-hand. Like it doesn't matter. ]
Kali is... Eight. Like I'm Eleven. [ She hesitates a moment, then she holds out her free arm for Nancy to see - there, on the inside of her wrist, a tattoo. Stark, black ink on her pale skin. 011. Eleven. ] Papa stole us. For the lab.
no subject
[She doesn't like that, though, and it stirs that maternal instinct in her that ran so strong. She would not let anything happen to Eleven.]
So you're... [This was so strange. Babies stolen from cribs, brought to a lab and marked. Kali was the eighth child, Eleven was the... Eleventh.] My god. Eleven is that- [The tattoo reminds her of Erik's. She takes a moment, collects her thoughts.]
For a time, I almost hoped my father had done that, stolen me away from my mother, raised me the way he did with the other boys. But he didn't have to steal me, when I was his the whole time. [She puts a hand on Eleven's elbow in comfort.] Is there another name you'd like to be called? [she asks softly] Other than just a number?
no subject
[ The idea has Eleven visibly excited, but she tries to look nonchalant. The definition of a teenager attempting to play something cool that they are very much not remotely chill about. ]
It's okay. If the bad men come. I can kill them.
[ She sounds matter-of-fact about that. The kind of nonchalance that comes not from boasting but from knowing.
Nancy's story makes Eleven listen intently, though. Papa is not her father, but took that position over Eleven and over Kali and over... her mind draws a blank here. She knows there were more children. She's seen the closed doors with the numbers on them. But something happened, a few years before she escaped the lab and she can't... remember. It doesn't matter now. What matters is that Nancy is kind, and asks. And Eleven thinks of 'Jane', the name Mama wanted to give her, before Eleven was stolen. The name Kali used for her, that felt like a costume. Jane is like a fake identity, the remnant of a life she never got to live, the idea of her that Kali wanted to shape. So after a moment: ]
My friends call me El.
[ And she shares it in invitation for Nancy to do the same. After a moment of quiet hesitation: ]
Is... your father like Papa? A bad man?
no subject
It's wonderful to meet you, El.
[She is taking that invitation and running with it.] My friends call me Nance, sometimes.
[El's words hit, and Nancy gives her elbow a gentle squeeze.] Yes. A very bad man. He did good things, too, he kept me and others alive, taught us how to survive, but that doesn't outweigh the bad he did, too. [She has a feeling that El will understand what it is to both love and hate someone at the same time.]
And if he ever comes here, I won't let him do it again [There's conviction in her voice, she's sure of this. She owes Fagin nothing, now.]
no subject
[ A soft nod. And a quiet acceptance - they're friends now, by virtue of what name they allow each other to go by. And Eleven takes her friendships very seriously. That shows in her face when she listens to Nancy talk about her father - the way her features harden, her eyes seem far away for a moment. Yes, she understands that. Papa, from what she knows, cared for her, like one cares for a useful tool or weapon, and he taught Eleven how to use her powers.
Papa is a bad man and he did bad things - but for years, he was the sole source of what little affection Eleven sometimes experienced, as much as he was the source of pain.
So when it comes to Nancy and her father... well. ]
If he ever comes here. I will help you, too.
no subject
Thank you. But I would never want to ask that of someone. [Certainly not someone that Nancy considers so vulnerable.]
And you tell me if yours shows up. I'll give him a round of fisticuffs'll have him thinking twice about stealing you away. [She puts up her fists to demonstrate.]
no subject
Turns out it's very easy to get into Eleven's favour with some decency and mildly shared experiences.
She doesn't say out loud that Nancy doesn't have to ask. Eleven will just act. If that means she has to kill for Nancy, she will do so with little to no hesitation.
For now, her grim expression changes into a soft chuckle. ]
Fisticuffs.
[ She imitates the gesture too, the raised fists. ]
Are you strong?
no subject
[She's seen enough boxing matches, been taught to punch, to protect herself in a pub. When that didn't work, the name of her husband usually did the job. But here, she had no such protection.]
I'm- no, not really. I can throw my weight behind a hit, but that's it. I'm just a regular human, otherwise.