ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ғᴏʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀs ( ᴏᴘᴇɴ )

[bellator]

Who: Eleven + you, yes you
Broadcast: n/a
Action: upon the different ships. yes all of them + planet
When: until 8/23

( a; your ship, yes, YOUR ship )

[ it doesn't really matter where she finds herself at. a ship might get a happy tune and some pudding or cake but the girl slips away before she can be noticed by too many people.

she doesn't seem to understand the basic concepts of being assigned anywhere. eleven hides in a little alley and she cries for the better part of an hour, rocking herself back and forth, calming down a storm she feels brewing at the back of her mind.

she knows this. she knows the panic that comes with being alone but she also knows what to do.

so for the first part of her stay, she knows little to nothing about being assigned anywhere. she simply treats the entire fleet as a survival area of a sort. and so, if you hear an odd noise at night coming from your ship's cargo bay? it's not a ghost.

she's a sight, to be sure. shaved hair, a once-pretty pink dress that is now muddied and dirty. her nose is bleeding and - she's eating your food. whatever it is you have, it's on the floor. vegetables, fruit, space cereal covered in protein goo.

judging by the demin jacket resting on the floor, she's been sleeping there. upon seeing anyone, she'd startle and do whatever it is a lost twelve year old would do upon being caught stealing.

she runs. you better be quick if you want to catch up with her. ]

( b; planetside )

[ there are too many people and far too much noise.

eleven can be seen sitting on her own at different corners of the streets, eyeing things with a mix of fascination and suspicion. the amusement park, the shops, the weirdos.

she's used to being one, herself. she seems to look at the aliens as if they have something in common.

one might mistake her for a street-child with the way she looks and the way she acts, keeping to the shadows, observing everyone and everything.

approaching her would result in an attempt to slink away.

one thing is certain, the girl is scared.

she's not exactly friendly, either. ]

Comments

[bellator]

Space.

[ she repeats, nodding. she looks at the handkerchief for a long moment. utterly puzzled, she takes it, sniffing at it.

it smells rather nice. clean. she looks at it, she looks at him.

she doesn't know what to do with it. ]

Nose?

[ she lifts a few fingers, touches her nose. a drop of blood stains the handkerchief. eleven nearly drops it. the damage is done, however. she looks up at him, a fresh wave of panic seizing her at the ruined fabric. ]

I'm sorry.

[ and she does seem terribly sorry, close to tears. far too sorry than a child ought to be, really. ]

[edwinjarvis]

[Oh, no no. He holds up his hands, surrendering the small cloth.]

It's alright, I assure you! There's no need to apologize; you're using it correctly.

It's for wiping your nose.

[Goodness, this is just awful. She must have had a neglectful and terrible upbringing; this place has a habit of drawing in the types. He can only remember with sadness the cruelty Natasha had endured in her youth as well.]

... You're very much safe here. I will never hurt you, miss. And should anyone threaten you or hurt you, let me know and I will have them promptly thrown off any premises.

[... Look I'm a butler, that's how it goes.]

[bellator]

[ she looks down at the stained cloth. she usually uses the back of her sleeve for that purpose. she touches it to her nose, wipes the bloody away. it serves as a reminder, Mike is okay, he's okay.

she shakes her head. ]

not safe.

[ if she's not careful - she looks over her shoulder before echoing her last words. ]

not safe.

[edwinjarvis]

[He cocks his head to the side slightly, frowning.]

Not safe... I suppose it must always feel that way.

But we have heroes here. Superheroes, too. Do you know what heroes are?

[bellator]

super - heroes?

[ it's a word she remembers. the boys said something - she frowns, tries to remember.]

Someone special.

[ Dustin thought she was one because of what she could do. ]

Powers. People with powers? here?

[ that would mean they're not safe as well. ]

[edwinjarvis]

Some with powers, perhaps. But also some without powers.

[He nods, and doesn't seem particularly worried about the 'powers' angle.]

They're special, because they want to do their best to protect people. Even if the situation is frightening, they do their best to make sure the people around them are cared for. That's a lovely thing to do, isn't it?

[bellator]

[ people like her. in all her short life, Eleven has never met anyone with powers at all. for all she knew, there was only her. the thought of people like her is new. it's a bit comforting, however.

maybe she's not the only one in the world. and if she's not, maybe she's not alone. ]

Protect people.

[ she nods, seemingly touched by the idea. ]

Good.

[edwinjarvis]

[He gives another nod and a little pleasant smile, to boot.]

Precisely. They save a lot of lives and they're there for each other when things are hard.

Now — I like to protect people from something very particular. Do you know what that is, miss?

[bellator]

Miss.

[ she repeats, frowning. it seems so odd to her that anyone would offer her this manner of respect. mike and the others were friends, the men from before - she cringes. they barely named her anything.

she thinks of his question before shaking her head. no clue, it would seem! ]

[edwinjarvis]

[He pats his stomach once, mildly amused.]

Hunger, of course!

I see you've already started without me — but would you like me to make you something a little more satisfactory? I hate to sound arrogant, but I'm very good at making the people around me a decent meal.

[bellator]

[ she looks at the floor, at the little mess of boxes and opened bags she had made. biting her lip, she bends down and starts collecting them, as if she had finally realized they don't quite belong there.

she places the little pile on the counter. ]

Yours.

[ she understands the concept of taking things that aren't hers. it's much harder when one takes them from someone who's being nice. ]

[edwinjarvis]

Not quite, my dear. Yours as well — everyone's, in my kitchen.

[He reaches for his apron, to tie it on.

He's entirely pleased by her realization and clean-up. But it's unneeded!]

Now! What would you like to eat? Do you have a favorite food?