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February-March 2025 Test Drive Meme
February-March 2025 TDM
Introduction
Welcome to Folkmore's monthly Test Drive Meme! Please feel free to test drive any and all characters regardless of your intent to apply or whether you have an invite or not.
All TDMs are game canon and work like "mini-events". For new players and characters, you can choose to have your TDM thread be your introduction thread upon acceptance or start fresh. Current players are also allowed to have in-game characters post to the TDM so long as they mark their top levels ‘Current Character.’
TDM threads can be used for spoon spending at any time by characters accepted into the game.
Playing and interacting with the TDMs will allow characters to immediately obtain a canon item from home, especially weapons or other things they may have had on their person when they were pulled from their worlds! There will always be a prompt that provides some sort of "reward" to characters who complete certain tasks.
🦊 New Star Children meet the Fox still in their worlds, and she brings them into the new realm of Folkmore. As you follow her, your body begins to change and new characteristics emerge. These may stay for a while, or perhaps they will hide away after. And during all of this, the Fox explains to you where you will be going: to Folkmore.
and then... you fall like a shooting star, falling to the land in a burst of starlight.
🦊 Experienced Star Children are already familiar with this time of the month. There are shooting stars all across the sky, and some fall to the land, which means the Fox has brought new arrivals. These newly arrived Star Children will face some tests, but Thirteen wants the more seasoned residents to participate as well.
Perhaps you follow the falling stars on your own, or perhaps the Fox simply teleports you there, but it appears you too will be part of this.
Content Warnings: Forced Emotional Effects, Trapped in a Location, Potential Forced Sharing, Potential Violence, Potential Death-like Experience
New Star Children arrive as motes floating in light to land on a bar stool, in a booth, or in a chair at a table in a dimly lit bar. It's a lonely place of few patrons and a sole proprietor: a red fox… or a woman in a red sweater and autumnal colors. Blink and she will remain what someone first saw. There's little decor in the place, mostly plain polished simple wood, but there are more dark corners than anyone can count. Tucked into those corners, under tables, and anywhere else vaguely discreet are plain weapons: guns, daggers, swords, and the like. Empty and still as the bar may be, that 'decor' may rouse suspicions, among veterans and newcomers alike.
Those already in Folkmore will find an entrance to the bar whenever and wherever they feel lonely, perhaps missing someone in particular. A half-hidden door will appear pressed between buildings in Epiphany, built into a hill in Willow, etched into the bark of a grand tree, and so on and so forth. Once patrons have entered the bar, the exit fades away into the background. It doesn't seem to have disappeared entirely, so much as always being just out of sight, around a corner, hidden in shadows, or otherwise out of reach. Looking for it, or trying to leave already, will bring the proprietor's attention to a Star Child, and she'll ask them to place their order.
She's hardly received any requests for drinks. What's missing more than anything else in the bar are patrons. Anywhere from thirty to a hundred people might fill the bar to capacity, but there's no more than a handful of other people present at the moment. What fills the rest of the place to the brim are shades. Born of Lore and regret, these spectral spirits start off thin and wispy, but they feed on the loneliness, regret, and other negative emotions people bring with them.
The longer people stay, the more shades crowd around them and feed on those emotions; the more solid, colorful, and real they appear. Not only that, the shades take on the appearance of those tied to someone's regrets: those they miss, those they've hurt, or those they've failed in some way to help. On the other hand, Star Children dim, lose color, and fade. Their energy and their ability to care what happens to them drain away to strengthen the shades surrounding them. Tempting as it may be to drown one's sorrows with drinks, that course is a dangerous one. Fade away long enough, and Star Children risk turning into shades themselves—and losing themselves into being someone else's regrets. If a Star Child turns into a shade, their shades rapidly fade back to their original ghostly form and seek out their next source of energy.
The way to quiet these ever-hungry ghosts is simple: connection with the living. Ordering a drink or greeting someone will grant a brief reprieve. Speaking with someone at length holds the shades at bay. Speaking about one's regrets? No matter whether Star Children receive simple commiseration or an objective, grounding response that suggests a path towards personal growth on the subject, the interaction will cut the connection with the shade, and it will fade away. Should that shade be a recently-faded Star Child, they solidify in their seat, a real and solid person with the chance to connect again.
There's more than one way to form a connection, so whether it's a newcomer who'd rather fight than talk or an old hand who knows weapons lying around come with a catch, patrons who pick up a weapon (or two) and fight each other's shades together can also vanquish them. But beware: taking up arms to fight sends one's own shades into a frenzy, surrounding their patron and draining them faster. There's no requirement to aid each other, and others can ignore what terrible end comes to that person… but if they regret failing to help? That lost person becomes their new shade. Better hope someone's more helpful and generous of spirit then.
Anyone who makes a solid connection with another bar patron will find that they can see the exit. Freedom, at last. Furthermore, when settling their tab, the bartender passes one last item over—an object from home, tied somehow to one of their regrets, even just the simple regret that it hadn't come along for the Star Child's original journey to Folkmore because it'd be so useful now. This item may even be a weapon or magical item.
New Star Children arrive as motes floating in light to land on a bar stool, in a booth, or in a chair at a table in a dimly lit bar. It's a lonely place of few patrons and a sole proprietor: a red fox… or a woman in a red sweater and autumnal colors. Blink and she will remain what someone first saw. There's little decor in the place, mostly plain polished simple wood, but there are more dark corners than anyone can count. Tucked into those corners, under tables, and anywhere else vaguely discreet are plain weapons: guns, daggers, swords, and the like. Empty and still as the bar may be, that 'decor' may rouse suspicions, among veterans and newcomers alike.
Those already in Folkmore will find an entrance to the bar whenever and wherever they feel lonely, perhaps missing someone in particular. A half-hidden door will appear pressed between buildings in Epiphany, built into a hill in Willow, etched into the bark of a grand tree, and so on and so forth. Once patrons have entered the bar, the exit fades away into the background. It doesn't seem to have disappeared entirely, so much as always being just out of sight, around a corner, hidden in shadows, or otherwise out of reach. Looking for it, or trying to leave already, will bring the proprietor's attention to a Star Child, and she'll ask them to place their order.
She's hardly received any requests for drinks. What's missing more than anything else in the bar are patrons. Anywhere from thirty to a hundred people might fill the bar to capacity, but there's no more than a handful of other people present at the moment. What fills the rest of the place to the brim are shades. Born of Lore and regret, these spectral spirits start off thin and wispy, but they feed on the loneliness, regret, and other negative emotions people bring with them.
The longer people stay, the more shades crowd around them and feed on those emotions; the more solid, colorful, and real they appear. Not only that, the shades take on the appearance of those tied to someone's regrets: those they miss, those they've hurt, or those they've failed in some way to help. On the other hand, Star Children dim, lose color, and fade. Their energy and their ability to care what happens to them drain away to strengthen the shades surrounding them. Tempting as it may be to drown one's sorrows with drinks, that course is a dangerous one. Fade away long enough, and Star Children risk turning into shades themselves—and losing themselves into being someone else's regrets. If a Star Child turns into a shade, their shades rapidly fade back to their original ghostly form and seek out their next source of energy.
The way to quiet these ever-hungry ghosts is simple: connection with the living. Ordering a drink or greeting someone will grant a brief reprieve. Speaking with someone at length holds the shades at bay. Speaking about one's regrets? No matter whether Star Children receive simple commiseration or an objective, grounding response that suggests a path towards personal growth on the subject, the interaction will cut the connection with the shade, and it will fade away. Should that shade be a recently-faded Star Child, they solidify in their seat, a real and solid person with the chance to connect again.
There's more than one way to form a connection, so whether it's a newcomer who'd rather fight than talk or an old hand who knows weapons lying around come with a catch, patrons who pick up a weapon (or two) and fight each other's shades together can also vanquish them. But beware: taking up arms to fight sends one's own shades into a frenzy, surrounding their patron and draining them faster. There's no requirement to aid each other, and others can ignore what terrible end comes to that person… but if they regret failing to help? That lost person becomes their new shade. Better hope someone's more helpful and generous of spirit then.
Anyone who makes a solid connection with another bar patron will find that they can see the exit. Freedom, at last. Furthermore, when settling their tab, the bartender passes one last item over—an object from home, tied somehow to one of their regrets, even just the simple regret that it hadn't come along for the Star Child's original journey to Folkmore because it'd be so useful now. This item may even be a weapon or magical item.
- New Star Children arrive in a dim, mostly empty bar.
- Kuma Lisa is the bartender, in fox or human form.
- Shades feed on Star Children's negative emotions, draining them, and taking the appearance of people they miss.
- Connection is how Star Children ward off shades. Talking about regrets makes one safe from shades.
- Star Children can also take up weapons and fight shades. It sends your shades into a frenzy.
- Star Children can turn into shades if they are fed on long enough. When others connect, it can de-shade them to try again.
- Those who form connections can see the exit and leave. They also get an item from home related to one of their regrets.
Content Warnings: Forced Relocation, Forced Body Modification, Forced Conversation/Revelations
Not every bottle in the bar is full of alcohol, a mixer, or even a far weirder spirit. They don't contain Folkmore's spirits at all; Kuma Lisa has skipped straight to bottling Star Children. Each bottle contains a single Star Child, and the label's design reflects what they might taste like, were they alcohol. Those inside experience a soft place to sit and reflect on their lives surrounded by thick glass walls that permit light through while distorting the view into indistinct shapes. There's no way to break the glass from within, and no way to tell which bottles are for bar service and which bottles contain Star Children from without. There's no way to signal someone outside to provide a direct rescue, but never fear: there is a simple way out.
Everyone inside the bottle has their Relic, even if they usually don't have it on their person. Sitting in this round or round-esque room with no exit, messages about missing someone begin to be exchanged—the first message each Star Child sends ghost-written (rather than willingly sent) about someone they miss, and signed 'the true thoughts and feelings of one [Star Child].' As advertised, the message is true. It also resonates with the recipient, some similarity between them and the missed person. Perhaps it can be the start of a beautiful friendship (or the world's most awkward exchange, but who's counting?). At least the Star Child behind this message is predisposed to like something about the recipient, however grouchy their exterior. If a conversation goes well, a system message will pop up asking each person if they would like to talk face-to-face. Should they both agree, they are poured out of their bottles to land safely on the garnish in a drink. The drink isn't massive. The Star Children are tiny!
That's right, these tiny Star Children float on a garnish-raft in a cocktail at the lonely Bar None above. They have a nice umbrella to provide them shade, and it's all set for a cozy conversation if they so wish. As these tiny Star Children talk, the drink around them will show related memories reflected on the surface. These reflections stick around until the conversation is over or someone, preferably someone with a bigger stomach, drinks it. Spills continue to reflect memories and cannot be mopped up so much as cleanly pushed into a fresh glass. A larger patron cannot drink the tiny Star Children. Kuma Lisa will stop anyone drinking from a glass with Star Children still on it.
Star Children who decide that 'no, they shall not discuss this matter after all' may attempt to flee, but being an inch or so high has its own problems. The bar is massive, the shades may become violent, and they are but a small, small person. Even those who can normally shapeshift or alter their size find they cannot make themselves any bigger! At the end of the day, whether with their original partner or another tiny Star Child, the only way to get bigger is to be the bigger person… and talk about those feelings.
Star Children who remain tiny by closing time, whether they stay locked in their glass prison or scattered around the bar, will be tucked back into bottles (as needed) and those bottles laid gently on their sides, which reorients the space inside to a tiny bedroom. Each bottle warms to the temperature to help its resident sleep comfortably. Larger patrons join them. Kuma Lisa shrinks any larger patrons who cannot leave and deposits them safely in bottles away from the shades. No one is missed, so there is no free rein in the bar overnight. Bedtime (bar) snacks will be provided, as well. The bartender takes good care of her patrons regardless of their size, with the only damper being that one remains in a bottle to hope for better results the next day. Star Children can take as much time as they need. Kuma Lisa is patient.
Not every bottle in the bar is full of alcohol, a mixer, or even a far weirder spirit. They don't contain Folkmore's spirits at all; Kuma Lisa has skipped straight to bottling Star Children. Each bottle contains a single Star Child, and the label's design reflects what they might taste like, were they alcohol. Those inside experience a soft place to sit and reflect on their lives surrounded by thick glass walls that permit light through while distorting the view into indistinct shapes. There's no way to break the glass from within, and no way to tell which bottles are for bar service and which bottles contain Star Children from without. There's no way to signal someone outside to provide a direct rescue, but never fear: there is a simple way out.
Everyone inside the bottle has their Relic, even if they usually don't have it on their person. Sitting in this round or round-esque room with no exit, messages about missing someone begin to be exchanged—the first message each Star Child sends ghost-written (rather than willingly sent) about someone they miss, and signed 'the true thoughts and feelings of one [Star Child].' As advertised, the message is true. It also resonates with the recipient, some similarity between them and the missed person. Perhaps it can be the start of a beautiful friendship (or the world's most awkward exchange, but who's counting?). At least the Star Child behind this message is predisposed to like something about the recipient, however grouchy their exterior. If a conversation goes well, a system message will pop up asking each person if they would like to talk face-to-face. Should they both agree, they are poured out of their bottles to land safely on the garnish in a drink. The drink isn't massive. The Star Children are tiny!
That's right, these tiny Star Children float on a garnish-raft in a cocktail at the lonely Bar None above. They have a nice umbrella to provide them shade, and it's all set for a cozy conversation if they so wish. As these tiny Star Children talk, the drink around them will show related memories reflected on the surface. These reflections stick around until the conversation is over or someone, preferably someone with a bigger stomach, drinks it. Spills continue to reflect memories and cannot be mopped up so much as cleanly pushed into a fresh glass. A larger patron cannot drink the tiny Star Children. Kuma Lisa will stop anyone drinking from a glass with Star Children still on it.
Star Children who decide that 'no, they shall not discuss this matter after all' may attempt to flee, but being an inch or so high has its own problems. The bar is massive, the shades may become violent, and they are but a small, small person. Even those who can normally shapeshift or alter their size find they cannot make themselves any bigger! At the end of the day, whether with their original partner or another tiny Star Child, the only way to get bigger is to be the bigger person… and talk about those feelings.
Star Children who remain tiny by closing time, whether they stay locked in their glass prison or scattered around the bar, will be tucked back into bottles (as needed) and those bottles laid gently on their sides, which reorients the space inside to a tiny bedroom. Each bottle warms to the temperature to help its resident sleep comfortably. Larger patrons join them. Kuma Lisa shrinks any larger patrons who cannot leave and deposits them safely in bottles away from the shades. No one is missed, so there is no free rein in the bar overnight. Bedtime (bar) snacks will be provided, as well. The bartender takes good care of her patrons regardless of their size, with the only damper being that one remains in a bottle to hope for better results the next day. Star Children can take as much time as they need. Kuma Lisa is patient.
- Star Children are transported into a bottle at Bar None with their relics.
- Ghost-written messages start conversations between bottled Star Children about people they miss.
- Star Children who agree to talk about it in person get poured out safely onto a garnish in a cocktail. The cocktail reflects related memories.
- Star Children can get up to chaos when tiny but cannot grow or escape. The only way to get big is to be the bigger person (and talk).
- Star Children, large and small, who cannot leave by closing time are returned (or kept) in bottles. Bottles are turned sideways, have bedrooms, and bar snacks are provided.
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what the fuck.
I did not send that.
I did not have the opportunity.
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And honestly that makes it easier to believe it is Yelena on the other end, because somebody trying to trick her into thinking it was Yelena wouldn't outright say that. Unless that was some reverse psychology nonsense- no, no.
this is ava.
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I don't know if it is a LIE
but I did not send it.
[Actually...]
Or I do not remember sending it. I might have been drugged.
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or a drunken confession huh. considering the predicament.
but it's true that you left then?
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I disintegrated and then I came here. Close enough to leaving.
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how's that make you a hypocrite, then. you weren't in control of either of those things really.
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I have never claimed to be a logical person. Anyways that makes no difference to the effects, does it?
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no it doesn't change the outcome, but it does change how the action was perceived by those on the other end of it.
my parents died. yes, it still hurts. but it'd be far more painful if they chose to leave me.
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I'll concede that point but for me, it does not equal absolution.
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perhaps not. were you close with them then, the other widows? even after?
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Yes. Well, mostly. Some choose disappearing. And in the last year, I was more distant. But mostly yes.
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i understand vanishing. wanting to leave behind any reminders. start over. but i also admit i am somewhat envious. never had anything like that.
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I do miss them.
[It seems both ridiculous and pathetic to want a retreat from a glorified cell phone, and stupid to actually give into the urge when trapped in a tiny room, and yet she does give into it, putting what distance she can between her and it. If she turned it off, would it stay that way? Would that stop it sending out more messages on her behalf, or make it do so more? The latter feels more likely.]
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Because even when they're gone, people can stay with you. If you bother to remember them properly.
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I would not hate that, but I am not going to enter information about them into this device. If that is the purpose of locking me in this tiny room, they are just going to have to leave me here.
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She's not trying to purposefully extract information from Yelena, not for the benefit of anyone but Yelena herself. And perhaps her own curiosity, what it was like amongst others of their kind. Rather than growing up completely alone as she had, nobody to relate to at all.
But luckily a message pops up, offering the opportunity to discuss further face to face. It seems... far too easy, doesn't it? But she responds back yes. Whatever it takes to get out of here, she figures they have better chances together.
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Ugh. But that last comment would have been the easiest yet to reply to, and wanting Ava to know that Yelena believed that she wouldn't do that even before she offered the promise feels important enough to tip the scales and enable her to type yes. She's expecting some sort of facetime, not for it to feel suddenly like the room she is in is moving, and certainly not the rapid sensation of falling. This is so much less pleasant when she isn't choosing to do so herself.
There is a silver lining, it surprises her enough to close her mouth, instead of being braced to speak. She'll be grateful for that in a few minutes, when she's done struggling, because the next minute she's rolling off of something vaguely squishy and into some - well, it clearly isn't water, comes back up sputtering. What the fuck.
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Help comes instead in the form of a long plastic orange sword, used for skewering cocktail fruit and not all that sharp at the edges, stretched out for Yelena to grab hold to. "That was rather dramatic."
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With only a little bit of internal conflict (this is a lie), Yelena accepts the help and grabs onto the end of the toy sword. There is no way she does not look absolutely ridiculous right now, drenched and extremely disgruntled, but eventually she will agree it was funny. How long, though... a mystery. "Yes, thank you, it was not intentional. I did not expect to become an ingredient."
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"You got a bit of..." she thinks better of wiping away at Yelena's face where her wet hair is plastered to her cheek, instead gestures to her own face with a brushing motion.
cw child soldiers, verbal description of abuse
Ugh. Yelena drags her hand through her hair, pushing as much of it back from her face as she can. "A bit? I am covered in it." She sniffs, makes a face. "Ugh, and it's sweet."
For a couple lucky moments more, this is holding more of her attention than the situation at large. Yelena uses this time very wisely, of course, resisting any little shit urges that fall along the lines of attempting to push Ava in or wipe any of the liquid on her, but giving in to the urge to flick some at her with a little bit of glee. It's a strange contrast with the sincerity of: "I did not think you would be in on it, only that it would not be too difficult for some godforce to tell you would be the only one who would get a yes to that question." She really needs to settle on one single, better nickname for the Fox.
She wants to let that breath a moment, maintain her gaze on Ava's face to underscore that it is honest, but she can see the liquid in the glass changing and once she's caught a glimpse, once she has gained an impression, all bets are off. She has to look, and once she has looked, she could not look away, gone so still she may not even be breathing.
This is not where Yelena would have started from, when she started talking about her fellow Widows, although comparatively speaking, it is a "gentle" visual to start with. Playing out on the backdrop of liquid is the image of roughly 40 little girls dressed in plain dark clothing, in very neat and orderly rows of little desks, sitting up prim and proper and very straight with their hair in very neat braids, in complete quiet. It could almost pass for some very successful classroom somewhere that has magically gotten all of its' students to behave perfectly, except on the desk in front of each girl is a gun, and at some unseen signal, they all began methodically practicing disassembling and reassembling it, over and over, as quickly and quietly as they can.
In the second row, near to the middle, is Yelena herself. There's nothing to distinguish her or make her recognizable, and nothing that marks her out at all from the other girls except perhaps that she is a little faster when they get started, but to her own grown up eyes, she swears she can see the itch in her shoulders, the urge to fidget, the way that the most torturous part of this lesson was the quiet stillness required before starting the task. It's a visceral contrast to the way that same stillness feels so easy to her now.
When Yelena does move again, it is just to lean closer, and then jerk back a little to make sure she doesn't fall in again. Her tone, when she speaks, is as quiet as it ever gets, some sort of combination of muscle memory, sorrow, and reverence. "I have not seen most of these girls in years. You scoffed at us being the best, but you do not understand what it takes to make it out of training. 75, 80 percent of these girls were dead before 16." It's an guess, of course, they were hardly given calendars. "Do you know, I remember exactly what day this was. Most of it blurs together, obviously, it was so much repetition, but there was only one day that we had this class that at least one girl was not beaten and dragged out for not making the time."
cw child neglect
It's always been a professional curiosity, from having various encounters with them. Realizing there were other young women out there, a bit like her. Yet never truly allowed to connect with any of them, always on the other side of the conflicts, maneuvered against each other like pieces on the board. Her, faceless and nameless by design. Them, treated as disposable and interchangeable.
She envied them in some ways. Having each other.
Watching them practice together, quiet, with their guns, like a school that Ava was never allowed to attend, nobody her own age to interact with. It's difficult to pick out Yelena at first, within the rows of girls all styled so similarly. But she does manage, eyes trained on the young girl. And then to all the ones that probably never made it. "That's a low success rate," Ava remarks, and hates how it sounds. Like they're just data. "I didn't mean it like that," she defends. Doesn't actually remember how she meant it.
It's a cruel line of work. Beginning with how none of them actually voluntarily signed up for it. She stares at her own hands. "Suppose I was lucky. Only one of me. Couldn't be disposed of so easily. Even when I wasn't living up to expectation."
The image in the drink shifts away to a small sullen girl, sitting with her knees tucked up under her chin, alone inside an otherwise empty glass chamber. It could be a still picture, almost, for how nothing changes, no scene to play out. Only ripples of energy across the surface. Alone, alone, alone. "That's when I felt safest."
cw idk everything that's been listed above
Of course it does not help with everything. There is an urge to bite back, at that comment, however it was meant. Yelena can feel her expression tighten. And then there's an ebbing, and a slow exhale.
"That is not lucky. It is just a different type of shit." There is a bite to this, too, although Yelena did not intend to sound harsh, and it is not directed at Ava. Hopefully that is obvious.
No, that's not good enough. She takes in the image of little Ava for a moment, familiar rage in her chest, and turns back to now Ava, struggling a bit to figure out how to convey the thoughts she wants to.
"It is not - I do not mean to try to tell you how you should feel about the things that have happened to you, or to set or hold you to any standards here. To me, this does not look less like disposal. Prioritizing keeping you alive does not feel the same to me as keeping you. Your thoughts, your feelings, your personality, the choices you would have made given the means and opportunity - those were treated with no more importance than ours. It is the same and different, but not better. Not luckier. Does that make sense?"
If it doesn't, Yelena has not the slightest clue how to say it better, and so she faces forward again after a moment, just in time to feel really like an asshole for this particular scene change, this an image that lacks any giveaway that it is not what it seems, except perhaps Yelena's expression seeing it. It is the playground, and it is again a day she can pinpoint, hours before it all crumbled.
The explanation is a bit hurried. This would be easier if she had not managed to avoid it on that night of honesty, probably. "The first three years that the Red Room had me, technically, I did not know it. That was when I felt safest, even though it was a lie. It was just more beneficial to them if we looked like normal, happy children, with a normal loving family, and you can hardly tell a three year old that you are on a secret spy mission, can you imagine?" The phrasing is matter of fact only because she has repeated this to herself so many times, but it does nothing to ease the bitterness.
"This is Ohio. That is Natasha, and that is me," she points, although it is unnecessary, there is no one else visible. "And this is the last day of us being part of a cover identity. In a few hours, that cover will have been blown, we will be taking off in a plane for Cuba, first, and I will be learning what it is like to be shot at for the first time. And then the training begins, after that, I could not give you a safest moment, although mathematically of course there must have been one. I do not remember if I was ever alone, if I was, it was not unwatched, and we were not permitted loyalty to each other, so there was not a sense of safety in company. Only loyalty to Dreykov was allowed, hilarious, as he had none himself. To do this sort of thing to his own daughter, as well? The rest of us were products to him always, bought or stolen or what have you, so at least there is a logic, but his own child... I do not know if a more disgusting, hypocritical man has ever lived."
no subject
She's glad to be rid of the image of her younger self reflecting the same way she spends so much of her time now, replaced with a new scene... Ohio? She's not sure why that surprises her so much that she had spent part of her childhood in the US.
And it's stranger to see somebody like the infamous Black Widow, Agent Romanoff, long before she earned such a reputation. Just as awkward and gangly as the rest of the young girls had been, nothing visibly setting her apart as one day an Avenger. And Yelena, so small, not knowing at all that her family wasn't really her own.
"And so... your father. He gave you over. Did you ever see him again? Did he. Visit? Or was it simply over when the cover was no longer needed?" Alexei had been entertaining, charming in his own way, but-
And then Yelena speaks of a far worse evil of a father, because it was hard to imagine that a man that was capable of such unspeakable cruelty to so many innocent children was capable of having a family of his own. "Even his own daughter wasn't spared? What a monster."
no subject
"He went to prison, shortly after that. I am not sure exactly when or exactly why, but I did not see him again until we were breaking him out for information. I would not have seen him again anyways, it would not have been allowed. Too risky. Melina - she had been our mother, an older Widow - she was still working for the Red Room after, and I never saw her."
This shifts Yelena's expression, away from the careful blankness that came with her previous reply, to a possibly more troubling vicious sort of glee. "He was a monster. And I blew him up into a million bloody pieces. The only worthwhile thing I have ever done, probably. The most worthwhile thing I have ever done, for certain."
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cw mention of murder
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