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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.
no subject
"I don't think I have to remind you not to tell anyone about what I've been talking about with you," He told her. Granted, he had no idea if Ava had been running her mouth at all to begin with, but that also would have required her leaving her trailer occasionally which he hadn't seen much of. Dex might have been keeping a closer eye on her than he wanted to admit.
Then he saw something on the surface of the pink drink and became alarmed. Was there tiny little sharks or something to go with this set-up? Then he realized what he was seeing wasn't something swimming through the water but instead a reflection of something. It looked familiar but it still took him a moment to place Dr. Mercer's office. How much time had he spent in there? Countless hours. There was Dex himself sitting on the patient couch. He was about fourteen or fifteen years old, looking a bit like he was going through an awkward growing phase, but still recognizable. Mainly it was due to that look in his eyes, the kind of eerie blankness that came when his rage was close to taking over that was disconcerting both as an adult but which had been even moreso when he was a kid.
"Dex? Are you paying attention?" The doctor asked.
Dex snapped back to attention. While most of the time he was glad for these sessions, he was just in a sullen mood overall the way that teenagers sometimes got. It could really have been anything that got him this way. "....Yeah. I'm listening."
"I wanted to talk to you about something important today." Dr. Mercer had treated her young patient for enough years now to know that a good way to get his attention was to engage his curiosity. He was focused enough now for her to continue. "I wanted to talk to you about your diagnoses. I think you're old and mature enough to finally understand what I'm going to tell you." This definitely got the young Dex's attention. For a long time now, he'd tried asking Dr. Mercer what was wrong with him but she wouldn't tell him, always saying she'd talk to him about what she'd diagnosed him with when she thought he was truly ready to hear it and understand all that it meant. Apparently, that day had finally come.
The Dex of the present was paying rapt attention now to the pink-tinged memory. Ava was almost forgotten for the moment. This was a day he remembered very well.
no subject
She's about to ask more, about his childhood or his family, why 'Dex' rather than the name they gave him, nothing too deeply invasive, when a woman's voice ripples from the liquid below. Ava catches view of the reflection within it, not understanding the images forming across the surface at first. But the longer she peers below the more apparent what this is becomes. Some sort of memory, of his. And what she can only guess is his therapist.
Oh. "I can... shut my eyes and cover my ears, if you prefer."
no subject
The memory continued on reflected in the liquid surface. Dr. Mercer went on. "You have what's called Conduct Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder."
The teenage version of Dex processed that for a moment in his usual muted way before he nodded. "Okay. What does that mean?"
Dr. Mercer went on to patiently explain the basics of what those diagnoses meant for him and how that related to why he acted the way he did, how his emotions weren't processed the same way as everyone else's. Dex paid rapt attention the entire time. Clearly, this was a revelation for the young man.
There was relief on Dex's face and in the hopeful tone in his voice when she finished. "So that doesn't mean I'm....broken?"
"No, Dex, you're not broken. You've never been broken," she told him reassuringly. "Your mind is just built differently than a lot of other people. But that doesn't make you a bad person either. It just means you'll need to do what I've taught you, the strategies I've taught you to help control your anger and find empathy for other people."
Hearing that finally broke Dex down and he started crying. Not tears of sadness but instead of relief, knowing that he finally had the proper words to describe what he'd always felt inside his head. Dr. Mercer came over, wordlessly passing him a box of tissues and wrapping her arms around him. He leaned into her embrace, the way he'd done many times since he was a small kid, needing the comfort of a mother in his life the way he'd never gotten when he was young.
no subject
The doctor seemed kind and patient with him, almost motherly in a way, by the standards of a woman that's been without a mother figure of her own since childhood. That any kind authority figure would fit that role, providing structure and support and comfort that any young person surely craved. And that he clearly needed.
And at that age, or maybe it's this setting... there seems to be something more vulnerable about Dex that she wonders if she's imagining at first. Nothing on the surface, he seems difficult to read in the same way he finds her easy to do so. But it's confirmed by that crack of relief he exhibits, knows the pain of feeling broken well enough.
Still, the crying catches her by surprise more than anything else, her gaze immediately flickering towards the Dex of the present to see how he's processing all this. Again. Looks at him in a way she hadn't before, now that she has more insight to the way he thinks. And feels.
"I..." she feels weird, to interrupt. "Don't think you're a bad person, either," she reassures quietly.
cw: animal abuse mentions!
Dex's voice was quiet as the memory faded from the pink surface of the drink, subdued with the emotions that had come from witnessing a very important moment in his life. "That was the first time in my life everything actually made sense. Before that, all I knew was that I wasn't like everyone else. I knew other kids didn't torture kittens and kill squirrels but I didn't understand why I did. And why I liked it so much. Then finally everything made sense."
He finally looked directly at Ava again. "Thank you for saying that. It means a lot." He'd need to hear it about a thousand times more to actually believe it himself but he was always grateful to know not everyone viewed him as being a monster he saw in the mirror.
cw: scientific animal abuse and child abuse and coerced murder
The pink liquid ripples slightly, a very different scene shown within it. Of a young Ava, pigtails and flowered cardigan clutching an empty fishbowl, sniffling as her mother tries to explain death to her while flushing the goldfish away. Fading into Ava crouched over her parents' bodies, covered in ash and debris, trying to shake them awake but unable to touch them at all.
Of a slightly older Ava, frowning while watching the scientists inject mice with her harvested cells, trying to isolate her powers and transfer them into test subjects to see if they could be replicated into something more useful than a little girl. The mice scream and twist and glitch and rapidly disintegrate, the way Ava always knew she was fated to. Glad at the moment that wasn't her, yet still clearly horrified. The scientists seem more disappointed than anything.
"Because I remember being young and vulnerable and unable to really stop the bad things happening to me. But I think when you experience pain so young, it's difficult to make sense of it. Why it's being inflicted upon you, what you did to deserve it. Messes up the whole concept of right and wrong, good and bad. I..."
A barely older Ava at this point, still just as pigtailed, her worn teddy bear off to the side as she sits on a stool in a lab as a scientist with a clipboard observes her intently, taking notes. Her arm is phased through a pane of glass, with a cup on the other side. They instruct her to pick it up. She struggles, can't close her fingers around it. She whimpers in pain, shakes her head, she can't she pleads. She's told to try again, flatly. Again and again, until she masters it.
"I think eventually the only thing that makes sense is... learning to control it, wield it as your own. Learning to hurt others before they get you first."
In the liquid there's a much more brutal scene of Ava, now a lanky preteen wearing a prototype of her Ghost suit. Being trained on hostages, several already lifeless on the floor. She's instructed to reach into one's chest, and she hesitates before doing so, though she's visibly shaken. Uncertain, quickly pulling her hand back out at the scream of pain. Her face hardens, she does it again, closes her fist around the heart within until the victim falls.
She's praised by an agent, though it's devoid of any actual care. The hostages curse the ghost girl back to hell. Ava looks sick.
"I never wanted to. You were right, when you said so."
And then Ava back from her first mission, in that same suit now splattered with blood, clutching at her mask with tears streaking down her face, shoulders shaking as Dr. Foster tries to comfort her. She leans in for a closer look, fingertips touching at the liquid over Bill's face. Her expression sad and longing. "But I'd do it all again."
cw: car accident imagery
Dex looked over at Ava, speaking a little slowly as he put together the thoughts going on in his mind. "I think that's what my mom did for me. She knew there wasn't any cure for what went on my head, no way to make me get better. In some ways, it became clear over the years it was only going to get worse. So she figured out a way for me to take what was inside of me, all that pain and anger that I couldn't escape, and at least use it for good. Without her, I probably would have become a serial killer." He was dead serious about that. He would have used his natural skills and intelligence to stay one step ahead of the law until they inevitably caught up with him.
Things looked like they were about to get heavy and turn to talk about feelings, which had never been Dex's forte, so he quickly asked a new question. "Have you kept doing the three pigtails thing your entire life?" It was just a gently teasing question if only because he'd never such specific hairstyle inertia in a person before.
no subject
A better person than her would have refused, found another way, gotten out of the situation she was in. Or else they might not have made it so far, died by their superior sense of morals.
She glances over, fingers finding their way to grasp at the end of one of her loosely curled pigtails in sudden awareness of the attention called to them with that rather unexpected question.
Nods, but before she can answer, the liquid shows him. Her mother singing softly to Ava while combing her hair, sectioning it out carefully, Ava kicking her feet back and forth while sitting at the edge of the bed.
Dr. Foster years later doing the same, clearly trying his best to take after this task despite having very little hair of his own. 'Has to be three,' Ava reminds him quietly.
An irritated scientist with scissors snipping them at Ava as she twists away screeching and evades being touched, while another attempts to hold her down. Their remarks about her hair being in the way and a frizzy mess has Ava lashing out, scissors in her own grasp suddenly, but with her childish strength she doesn't get very far in the attack.
'I got them to agree to the design changes,' Dr. Foster later tells a sullen preteen Ava calmly, showing her sketches of her Ghost suit. 'With a hood so you can keep your hair.'
Ava just glares quietly at the scenes play out, so much resentment and hurt. "Yeah. Reminded me of my mother. I wasn't going to let them take that away from me too."
no subject
He watched the new snippets of memories play out, noting how Ava once again wasn't allowed even the ownership and autonomy of something as simple as her own hair, the scientists even trying to cut it against her will. He noted that Bill and the way he'd featured in Ava's memories was very similar to how Dr. Mercer had functioned for him, Bill being an adoptive father for Ava after her own had died. He wondered how much worse off she would have been if he hadn't been there for her. "They were cruel to you when they didn't need to be," Dex said. It was a difference, the lack of morals the scientist possessed even less than his own. Dex's had always been shaky but he usually wasn't cruel in that way, for simply cruelty's sake. His own always had a point to it.
"Tell me more about Bill. I keep seeing him in your memories." But it made sense since he seemed to be the only one who gave a damn about what Ava herself actually wanted and took her feelings into consideration at all.
no subject
"They knew to keep emotional distance with me. It was just a job for them too. Nobody gets too close to the lab rats when they know they're going to be dissected later." And she's plenty aware they'd probably have picked her apart like a rat if they ever thought they could transfer her powers to more desirable soldiers.
But Bill. "Bill had always been far kinder. Cared about what happened to me, advocated for me. He had been a friend of my father's, back when they worked together at SHIELD."
The liquid displays the scene of them first meeting: the kind scientist approaching carefully, Ava seated quietly atop her bed in the orphanage. Him offering the bear, her flicker of pain and disappointment at being incapable of grasping it until he urged her to try again. The hesitant smile on Ava's face as she manages to hold the bear in her arms.
Later, Ava screaming out as guards drag her away from him, reaching out in distress for help that never comes.
"He brought me there thinking they would help. And unfortunately... they were the only ones with the technology and resources available to do so. It wasn't like we could easily leave. Until they were exposed as Hydra and then... Bill took me in. Continued researching on his own, trying to find a cure."
The scene shifts to when she's older, Ava begging him for how much longer she has left. Weeks, maybe. Her threatening to kidnap Scott's young daughter for some sort of leverage, ransom against the Pyms to get the lab back. Bill firmly telling her that he's supported her despite everything she's done, but that if she crossed such a line, touched the little girl, that he would no longer help. Ava in the present looks just as scolded as the Ava in the memory. Before she turns away, declaring she'll find another way.
Ava sighs out. "I wasn't going to hurt her."
no subject
Dex continued to watch the snippets of memory and once again he was strongly reminded of Dr. Mercer with the kind of position Bill had in Ava's life. That one person who cared about people like them and didn't care that they were broken or had done such terrible things in their past. Once again, he wished his mom had gotten to see him grow up and use her advice for so many years. "It's good you had someone around to tell you that was a bad idea and a line you shouldn't cross. Me? I wouldn't have cared if you wanted to kidnap a kid. But people like us need someone to tell us no." Without that type of guidance from Julie, Dex had spiraled down into the arms of the first person he'd found who would guide him and never tell him no instead: Fisk.
The liquid rippled, showing another memory. This time it was Dex's turn He was about eight years old and sitting down on one side of a room while a doctor with a notebook in her lap looked at him. "Hi, Benjamin. My name is Dr. Mercer. Before we begin talking, I hear you like using your hands, so I want you to have these pencils so you can draw while we talk." He seemed very wary as he watched Dr. Mercer, a bit like a puppy that had been kicked too many times by abusive owners and hoped he wasn't going to get hurt again by someone new. She approached him, a warm smile on her face as she set down the paper and pencils before turning around to the chair she had been in on the other side of the room.
"Dex."
She blinked and looked back at him as she got back over to her seat. "I'm sorry?"
He paused for a moment like he was afraid he shouldn't have corrected an adult even if it was for an important reason. His next response was quiet and he didn't look up from the paper on the table in front of him to meet Dr. Mercer's eyes. "My name is Dex."
He waited for some sort of reprimand or scolding. Instead, all she did was patiently say, "Oh, my mistake. Dex it is. That's a good name. Makes you very unique." That got Dex to look back up at her, his interest clearly having been grabbed by the fact she was being so nice and understanding with him. "Well, Dex, if you want, you can call me by my first name, Eileen." She then went on to start the therapy session.
At first the boy still seemed to have that wary edge as he mostly just listened while the nice doctor talked to him as he drew on the piece of paper he'd been given like she'd requested. Eventually, he started to open up, trusting her with his biggest secret: that the death of his coach hadn't been an accident but deliberate murder. He clearly expected judgment or revulsion from her and was confused when instead she showed understanding that didn't seem faked at all.
By the time the memory started to fade out as Dr. Mercer taught him the phrase that he'd use for the rest of his life to try and empathize with people, "That's hard. Really hard," he'd started to smile and was genuinely happy to be talking with the kind doctor, the first person he'd ever really met who understood him.
As it faded back out, Dex's eyes remained fixed on his mother's face until the very end. Then he finally looked back over at Ava. "Even after she died, she was still able to help me. I lasted a long time just by listening to what she left me to keep me on the right track." The coping skills she'd given him had been the only thing that kept Dex from going off the deep end for so long. If he'd been able to find someone else like her in his life, he knew Fisk never would have been able to get his claws into him.
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She nods in agreement, about sometimes needing to be told no by somebody with their best interests in mind. Kept them from digging themselves too far in deep into consequences they couldn't crawl back out of. If she had hurt Cassie, she imagines the Ant family would have been far less forgiving, probably would have left her to die. And she would have deserved it, she's sure. Feels like it's only Janet's mercy that spared her.
Watching the exchange play out, she pays close attention to the calm, measured manner in which the doctor speaks, how she earns his attention and trust little by little. Teaching Dex methods to cope with his instincts, find ways to blend better amongst the people not like him.
"I couldn't imagine how it must have been, to lose the only person that really understood you. And still cared. I think... I think that's why I've been coping so badly here. Without Bill. I just feel lost." Which hurts to say, so she quickly changes the subject. "Do you still draw?"
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"Yeah. The day she told me the cancer was terminal I think I must have cried for a full hour..." He said, lapsing into silence for a moment. "It wasn't really ethical but I know she ended up loving me as much as I loved her by the end." Maybe even more just given the makeup of Dex's emotions only let him love to a certain extent. He was certain Eileen hadn't meant for that to happen but given she'd watched Dex grow up under her care and go from a potential serial killer in the making to a young man who would be able to actually function without her around meant she'd seen both his lowest and highest points, especially ones where he was vulnerable with her and no one else. It would have been hard to remain impartial after all that.
Then Ava changed the subject and Dex's painful thoughts turned from the woman who had been more of a mother to him than his own birth mother had been, given the length of time she'd been around in his life. "No. Though maybe I should take it up again."
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"It's... extremely. Tough. Being on either side of it. Bill knew I was dying, had to deliver the prognosis to me. Keep doing checkups, watching the decline as I got progressively worse. It hurt so much for both of us. That I couldn't get better, no matter what he tried. But it." Ava pauses, watching Bill shake his head while delivering the results of the latest test to her. Expression going from strained hope against the odds, to immediate defeat. The way he tries to pull her into his arms, but she's barely there to even hold, her entire body flickering in and out. "He's why I didn't just give up." She didn't want Bill thinking that her dying was due to his failure.
She wipes a bit at her eyes. "You should," she encourages. "It's a nice talent."
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"I'm glad neither of you gave up. That he cared enough about you to keep trying to help you even to the very end." Sometimes, for people like the two of them, just knowing at least one person out there cared about them and their wellbeing was enough, a comfort they couldn't find anywhere else.
Apparently, Kuma Lisa must have decided that the two of them had completed the requirements to talk enough about being the 'bigger person' to warrant getting turned back to their usual sizes because there was a sudden vibration in the glass they were in that signified they were about to grow much larger.
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But Ava's forced to shove the thought to the back of her mind to deal with later, giving a bit of a 'agh!' sound as she grows far too large for the glass, the whole thing toppling over as she lands full size atop the bar counter. She looks slightly dazed, but at least the wave of nausea fades quickly.
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"Well, that was.....weird." That was about all that Dex could say about the experience of being shrunk, trapped in a glass bottle, and then set afloat on an alcoholic drink with someone else to alternately view their memories. It would have sounded like a fever dream if someone had described it to him. "Let's not do that again anytime soon." Though if he'd been forced to undergo it with anyone, he was glad it had been Ava. She understood him in a way he found he liked a lot, though he was still processing why that was.
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"Absurd," Ava agrees, thinking of Scott and Hope and their whole shrinking ant tricks. And tosses her forearm over her eyes, letting out a delirious sort of laugh.
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Dex looked over and saw Kuma Lisa tending bar. "Can I get a drink after all that?" Unfazed by the entire situation, she poured him about three fingers worth of whiskey. He swallowed it down all in about three gulps before hopping down off the bar.
"Looks like there's a way out of this place," he told Ava. The exit had been made obvious and he hoped this wouldn't be like the train, where going through one door simply led to another hard situation to overcome.
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Then clears her throat, following his gaze to the exit indicated. "Well." What do you say after all that? She swings her legs over the counter, then hops down. "Could've been worse. I knew a woman that was shrunk down so small she was trapped for decades."
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Then he paused. "But if I was going to go through that with anyone, I'm glad that it was with you." Because he felt he could trust Ava and be vulnerable around her in a way that he didn't feel was possible with many people here. They understood each other on a level that he hadn't found with many other people even during the course of his entire life, let alone here in Folkmore.
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"Same," she responds after a moment. "And you don't have to worry about me telling anyone else."
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"I appreciate that." He really did mean it because he knew that Ava kept her word. She hadn't told anyone else about the things she'd experienced with him and Dex was glad for it.
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Ava shudders. And then hurries out while she still can.
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