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(no subject)

Who: Max Mayfield + You??
When: Sunday
Where: Here there and everywhere.
What: Arriving at the station and trying to figure out what's going on.
Warnings: Mentions of fighting and domestic violence. Spoilers for most of season two of Stranger Things!

[Her skateboard is clutched tightly in her arms as she makes her way down the various halls of the station. She has approximately 110 million questions burning in her mind, but she also doesn't know who to corner and demand answers from. As far as she understood, literally everyone got here the same way, which means no one's here because they chose to be.

She's still shaken up from the way Billy had charged into the Byers' house, first grabbing Lucas and then proceeding to beat the hell out of Steve as she'd stood by, paralyzed with fear. Way to go, Max, she thinks. It isn't the first time she's seen Billy in a rage like that, and it's never any less terrifying. He's so full of hate, of anger.

Her mind alternates between Hawkins and this new, foreign place as she wanders somewhat aimlessly, taking in the new scenery and thinking to herself that she's going to have to draw a map to figure out where everything is.

Because apparently there's no way back, and she's not sure how she feels about that.]

[Open to Roommates]

[In her wandering, she actually manages to find an empty room. With a bed. She sets her skateboard down carefully and then falls back onto it, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. She's seconds away from passing out when she hears a weird noise. Opening one eye she turns her head in the direction the noise had come from. Definitely the wall.

Max sits up a little, eyebrows furrowing until she sees something bigger than a mouse scurry across the floor. Not a rat - it's - actually she's not sure what it is, but she quickly gets out of bed anyway. She hears another noise, this time from the adjoining common room, and she tenses, then makes her way out of the room, freezing when she sees another person standing there, looking back at her.]

Uh, hey.

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Goodie. Something else we can have in common. There's quite the surplus here.

[Not really, but plenty of children here have already been deceased, or will be deceased, or have fates set in stone. Plenty will die here, and plenty will leave Avagi eventually, only to inevitably perish.]

[She's not entirely sure she won't be one of them in the near future, considering what was happening back home. It's not something she's dwelling on because she's not really worried about it. She just accepts that it's a real possibility.

Max decides to change tactics.]

All right, so any tips for a newbie around this place?

Learn to fight. Get used to change. Adapt quickly.

[Rattled off in quick succession. Someone get them a self-help book deal. Clearly they’re cut out for it.]

And take care in regards to who you trust.

[She's got those last three things down already thanks to her family. Learning to fight though...probably not a bad idea. She can throw a punch with the best of them, but beyond that...]

Okay. Thank you for your help.

Are you armed, by any chance?

[She has a skateboard, but that’s not much in the way of a weapon. She would benefit from something more.]

[Max eyes them warily.]

Not yet.

[A quiet hum of acknowledgment. Then - ]

[They slip something from their pocket and hold it out, handle first. It's not pretty; it's roughly made, fashioned with a chunk of discarded rebar, sharpened at its edges, with something silvery that looks an awful lot like duct tape swathed around its handle to soften the grip.]

[As far as weapons go, she could probably do better than a homemade shiv.]

[But it's hers, if she wants it.]

As I've said: it pays to adapt.

[Her face registers surprise as they hold the weapon out to her. She has no idea what this place has in store. Maybe having a weapon wouldn't be a bad idea. She reaches out and takes it after a second, examining it intently and then smiling.]

Thank you.

[A beat.]

I'm Max.

[Sarcasic rebuttals and a sensibility when it comes to weaponry. Don’t tell anyone lest it damage their aloof reputation, but they like her already.]

I am Chara. [And look at that. A straight answer. Amazing.] When in close quarters, people will inevitably draw near you. When they do, it is best to allow for it only on your own terms.

[So always carry copious sharp and pointy objects, essentially. This is sound logic.]

[It's kind of new for someone to like her when they first meet her, so maybe this is progress.]

So there are a lot of dangerous people here?

[People who can't be trusted.]

Edited 2018-02-09 02:28 (UTC)

Given the ratio of adults to children?

Yes. Assuredly.

[And there you go. Chara's worldview in a nutshell.]

[That, she thinks, is probably a fair assessment. It's not like she's known the most trustworthy adults. Frankly, Steve may be the closest person to an adult she trusts and that - well. She's not going to think about that too long.]

Okay, good to know.

[She grimaces a little, carefully tucking the shiv into her pocket.]

So there aren't a lot of kids then? You're one of the first people I've seen here.

The ratio has been increasing, in some ways. And -

[Their throat spasms oddly.]

[They almost said it. They almost mentioned him, offhand, him, earnest and white-furred and long-eared and gentle, even throughout everything, because the hole buckling in their SOUL has not yet swollen to fill the gap he left in his absence.]

[With difficulty, they advance. Notable difficulty.]

Decreasing. In others.

[She watches Chara, finding herself holding her breath at what they say. At what they don't say.

She knows what it means. Loss.]

I'm sorry.

[Her voice grows quiet and she purses her lips together.]

...it is immaterial.

[Pull yourself together Chara, ha ha. What are you even doing? You gonna spill your guts onto some stranger? Who are you, Frisk?]

People come and go here. Familiarizing yourself with others does not always yield, when they might dissipate at any moment.

[She doesn't think that's really true, because that's now it works, but she's not going to contradict Chara over it, either.]

So people come and go here a lot.

[Don't get attached to anyone, then. As if life hasn't taught her that already, back home.]

Some people stay for weeks. Others for years. If there is a precise pattern to this traffic, I cannot say.

[Sometimes they share worlds. More likely, they don't. There are simply crossfades and odd similarities interleaving between dimensions, but nothing concrete.]

[She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.]

How long have you been here?

Well over a year, by my count. But then, linear time is a difficult thing to parse.

[Particularly when you've died a considerable amount of times. That tends to heck up your understanding of time's progression, slightly.]

[Jesus. A year. She leans against the wall, troubled. Not that she's going to miss a many from home, but...there's a handful she's going to miss.]

Is anyone from your home here? Or just you?

[Ha ha.]

[They were braced for this, they should think. They would like to think. Braced for it, but it still comes like punch to the stomach, wreathed in iron and clad in flames. It crooks up the corners of their lips, stretches their mouth into a grotesque parody of a genuine smile.]

Me. And one other.

Not very many, truth be told.

[Anymore.]

[Max watches Chara closely and comes to the conclusion that there's a lot more to this than she'd anticipated when she'd asked the question. So she decides to go for a subject change, looking at the plants.]

Do you take care of them? [She motions to them.]

[It might be a trick of the light, but there may also be a subtle softening to the other child's features when they turn to regard the flowers instead.]

[To whatever extent is possible, it seems Max has made the wisest possible conversational decision.]

...yes.

I am not their sole caretaker, but I do step in, from time to time.

They're nice.

[She smiles faintly, tucking some hair behind her ear.]

My mom used to garden when I was younger.

Did she?

[They kneel once more, digging fingertips into the loose soil to extricate a tangle of roots, picking them gently free. There are an awful lot of weeds here. If allowed to flourish unchecked, they would doubtless choke out all the flowers worth keeping.]

The flora here is somewhat atypical, compared to what you may be used to, but I suppose they're charming in their own way.