❖ // PART I. All That Glitters

[ Eleven is young still, and obviously so. Her face has started losing the roundness of childhood, but still has that telltale softness of a young teen. For anyone with an eye for such things, guessing her within the realm of 14 years isn't hard. She wakes quietly, wide brown eyes panicked, but hardening with a wariness about her surroundings all too quick. She glares after the robot with a face that looks like it teeters towards a poor life choice - and is saved from that only when she notices another person nearby, caution immediately making her tense as she faces them.

For anyone versed in more or less modern Earth fashion, her shirt is a hideous yellow and black travesty ripped straight from the 80s, the pants are baggy and inoffensive, and her feet are curiously bare. She wears a blue hair tie around her left wrist. Perhaps those things stand out. Perhaps it's the fact that her clothes are slightly damp, and she looks on the verge of shivering. Perhaps it's the day old bruising on her neck - like large hands closed around it and squeezed, hard. Perhaps it's the fact that blood is running from her nose, slowly darkening and drying on her upper lip. Eleven doesn't appear to be concerned about either.

If the other person is on the ground, she will cautiously approach, crouching down and putting a small hand on their shoulder, quietly asking with a slightly stilted pause between the words: ]

Are you. Dead?

[ If the other person however is already awake and just happens uppon Eleven in the hallways, she will shift her weight from one foot to the other, fingers stretching by her side and then relaxing, eyes locked onto the person with obvious distrust. Her greeting is to the point, voice soft: ]

Hi...

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❖ // PART II. The New Staycation

[ Sunlight Room.
Eleven's tentative exploration has led her here, a quiet and curious presence as she takes her new surroundings in. She's wiped the blood from her nose by now, but there's little hiding the bruising around her thin neck. She shivers occasionally. The station isn't cool, but her clothes and hair are slightly damp, and her feet are bare. Perhaps it's that chill settling into her that leads her quiet steps into the sunlight room eventually. She enters - and immediately backs out again.

Then, tentatively, she steps inside once more, eyes scanning up towards the sky with some curiousity. Here, her face slowly relaxes into something much more childlike, wonder settling into her eyes, nose crinkling and lips curling with soft delight at the delicate petals of the flower garden, at the winding paths and babbling waters. It's all so very pretty, and when someone else happens upon her, she glances at them, not why, and wariness for the time being replaced by curiosity. ]

Are we outside?

[ Mess Hall/Kitchen.
By the time Eleven finds the kitchen, her clothes are mostly dry, and her hair has settled into a poorly cut mop upon her head. Uncertainty is gnawing at her, a feeling she's learned to identify as homesickness that settles deep in her belly like an ache.

There's very little that food can't cure, though - at least for the time being. And when Eleven finds the leftover feast in the kitchen, her eyes go wide.

Still, she shows some restraint - and ventures towards the fridge first, frowning at the contents within. There's a disappointing lack of eggos. Lips pressed together in momentary judgmental dissatisfaction, Eleven turns back towards the leftovers, and it doesn't take long until someone might find her, cheeks full - a half-eaten brownie in one hand, and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other.

She looks sheepish for a moment, and around her bite of food manages a stilted and defensive: ]

It's good.

[ It's also entirely possible she's currently chewing on a mixture of brownie and pizza. ]

[ Common Room.
She's there when Viveca's announcement comes through the network. The truth is that Eleven didn't immediately realize what the earpiece was, thought the small, mean robot was talking to her. But here, with no such robot in sight, the voice comes right in her head, and Eleven is unable to hold it together, breath coming in a sharp gasp. She ducks, shakes her head as if trying to dispell the voice, muttering a broken 'get out of my head, get out of my head'. Eventually, she cowers, fear of the Mindflayer gripping her and making her small as she sinks to the floor. Anyone passing by the area might hear the distinct sound of an earpiece clattering across the ground once Eleven finally identifies the source of the disembodied voice in her head, followed by the soft, wrecked sound of a child crying.

Eleven can be found under one of the tables, legs drawn to her chest, hands covering her ears, and eyes squeezed firmly shut. The table trembles, sometimes - perhaps because Eleven's tucked under it. Certainly it's not trembling on its own - right? ]

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❖ // PART III. Bright Young Things

[ Now who exactly failed to teach a 14 year old child not to accept strange drinks from strangers? Though really, Eleven makes her own rules, and even though she very visibly does not belong in an environment like this, she's here.

Her skin changes, reflecting the hues of her surroundings like a chameleon. It's not a perfect blend - she doesn't become near invisibile. But for a while her skin shows the distinct black and yellow pattern of her painfully 80's shirt, and sometimes it shifts to the distinct colors and patterns of the walls, the carpet, the tablecloth. Mostly it helps her move through the room without drawing too much attention.

That is, until someone has the bright idea to lift the child up onto the stage. Does she bite the well-meaning, jovial patron's arm to free herself? Yes. Does she still end up standing in the spotlight, eyes wide as saucers and staring into the crowd while the poor man slinks off to nurse his - literal - wound? Also yes. Does she sing, as some audience members are calling for her to do?

Absolutely not. Not even the chameleon-esque change to her skin can hide the way her face flushes red, wide eyes settling on the nearest person she may have seen on the station earlier, mouthing a very insistent 'HELP'.

You're not going to leave a child hanging - right? ]

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❖ // WILDCARD

[ If you'd rather do a different prompt, feel free to hit me up. I'm available for plotting via PM, on inkcharm or Discord inkcharm#4573. ]

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